There is the inevitable - the obvious things that are asking to be done. Then there is the sunshine and the hidden cobblestone streets, the palm leaves rustling in the ocean breeze, beckoning me to explore.
The sunlight kisses the yellow white beige color of the terrace, reflecting the aging color of the fort, Portuguese colonial traces in an islamic town that reaches way back to the Oman empire along the Swahili coast.
My mind strays - the question whether or not to go on a sailboat ride. The logistics seem so complicated. To trust or not trust that shady guy? Because last year we ended up going with someone else. He wanted an advance. I chose not to go but to work. I wonder about my priorities. My thoughts rush across the bay to the main land. There is G. and his smile. There is something about this boy, I can't tell. I remember losing you for good, and Solange was on rotation. You denied any softness after you had gotten so deep into my mind already. I was hooked and dangling like a fish on a fishing rod. You never gave in, not one single bit. It felt like running against a wall. It was the mystery of finding solace in desolation, somewhere, a secret code.
And then, with distance, it all seems a bit odd and strange and so very fortunate that it never worked out in a way that we could get even more entangled.
Usually, when I meet men, they either remind me, strangely, of one of my sisters. Not, that they resemble them, but I call them 'A' or 'J' types. G. is Emeralda type. I would introduce him to my Godmother.
That's what's up.
Losing you. Losing is good, sometimes.
The sunlight kisses the yellow white beige color of the terrace, reflecting the aging color of the fort, Portuguese colonial traces in an islamic town that reaches way back to the Oman empire along the Swahili coast.
My mind strays - the question whether or not to go on a sailboat ride. The logistics seem so complicated. To trust or not trust that shady guy? Because last year we ended up going with someone else. He wanted an advance. I chose not to go but to work. I wonder about my priorities. My thoughts rush across the bay to the main land. There is G. and his smile. There is something about this boy, I can't tell. I remember losing you for good, and Solange was on rotation. You denied any softness after you had gotten so deep into my mind already. I was hooked and dangling like a fish on a fishing rod. You never gave in, not one single bit. It felt like running against a wall. It was the mystery of finding solace in desolation, somewhere, a secret code.
And then, with distance, it all seems a bit odd and strange and so very fortunate that it never worked out in a way that we could get even more entangled.
Usually, when I meet men, they either remind me, strangely, of one of my sisters. Not, that they resemble them, but I call them 'A' or 'J' types. G. is Emeralda type. I would introduce him to my Godmother.
That's what's up.
Losing you. Losing is good, sometimes.
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