he says 'you are letting yourself go'. it is not pretty.
the air is gathering more humidity now, clouds stack and balloon, a lonely shark is circeling in the harbor.
'papa, papa' the childrens cry and run towards the shore. papa means shark. the dolphins are gone.
palm leaves whisper - when i don't look, they sound just like any tree. i know there are differences, but they are subtle. my eyes are weary from staring at this screen. it is good to let my gaze settle upon the roofs of Lamu. sweat, tickeling my neck.
he says 'you are right too, but i am right also. but i get your point.'
my point was that i see value in not letting myself go but not for the sake of an ulterior motif. for the sake of being disciplined, undogmatically, but not for the sake of wrapping guys around my little toe. in the end of the day it all boils down to this, for me anyway: you can play games, you can be strategic and it may all pay off - but you better know very well what it is you are after and what it is you truly want. you might wind up in uncomfortable situations otherwise, where you have to detangle and unspin in an effort to let go of what you just tricked into your life. i prefer honesty.
the problem with that is - the line between that and letting yourself spill and seep through the cracks of good will is fine. still - i believe that even in our worst moments of letting ourselves go people who truly like us and are attracted to us won't be repelled. Tiff was right. it is a selection process. wild. but oh boy does it select.
i can't even say 'too bad you didn't make it' - because i know it ain't true. the only thing i probably really want is the fact that i can't have you. it is simple as that and i would like to be proven wrong, but in the end of the day, this is my song. 'papa papa' where is the shark? i want the shark to be my friend. i don't want papa to be alienated. i want papa to come running and save me when i fall off trees and break my head. i want papa to come join me in istanbul and support me when i am almost dead. i want papa to eat all the jell fish in the ocean and hack away on the thiefs. i want papa to enter my past and fill it with presence.
and then, maybe, i can let go of you, phantom, phantom you. twilight bat, perfect mirror, projection canvas, jellyfish. elusive pattern, you.
there is a different time count here, in Lamu. there are tentacles that want to reach out to you but the urge isn't strong enough. i let the palm leaves do the whispering. i let the papa do the circeling. i let the seagulls do the following of the dhaos and the wind and the fish. i let the cats do the scratching and meowing and hoping.
let me disappear into the night, into dreams of dying and birthing. of growing and unearthing. of becoming who i am.
