i haven’t written in a while. i am in despair my creative nonfic pieces are a hot mess i don’t want to read my pieces out for goodness’ sake and there are things i were supposed to write for like i wanted to write about befriending strangers in poland and the tragic beauty of fleetingness like a rose and it is tragic it is as if he has died, as if i lived for three days, four, and a portion of me died
damn i miss poland, but a place doesn't make an experience as much as the people; as much as watching french-rapping old men in bill piel attire (collared short-sleeved shirt and berms) over beer with jack daniel evans and isaac nam
as much as braving the rain along the riverbank and then taking shelter under a piece of glass barely big enough to cover us both as he talks about watching my favourite movie black swan on the alps and some guy getting a heart attack
and then finding ourselves in a place so dull that they put an advert over it on the map
and especially the last night and that berlin story and growing up in tanzania and oh
the castles and the churches and the cobblestone path memories are so fragile so beautiful i could cry
maybe it’d hurt too much to go back
but then i’ll just hop on another free walking tour in hope of similarly fun company - but never as good, never as good; never have i clicked so well with someone and never again
i wonder what agape will be like when it comes; we can play around with half-assed love now, the fun of the flutters, but it’s nothing. it’s a mockery of something more beautiful. how much more beautiful? will i get to know? will he have a thirst for travel, will we be explorers together, explorers of ourselves and of each other, and will we be work on farms in new zealand and at that divine pie place meliartos in athens and will we be english teachers in japan and will we own a cottage in oxfordshire. will we breathe israel and eritrea and egypt. will we target the little islands. will we explore this country’s own little islands. will we be explorers. will he laugh on rooftops and in fields with me, guitar and beer. will he also be a romantic shithead. will he not mind me being around 24/7. will we cry together and lift our sorrows up to the Lord. will we work hand in hand, two hearts as one.
will i miss these days in dorm rooms, and the friends sleeping over. will i miss iowa with hamid (the most incredible days) and looking for fun on a dead monday night in philadelphia with sandra and chancing upon a karaoke bar and befriending the two dudes with a car. chris and alex? generic names. one of them was born in scotland and he didn't even know that their national animal is the unicorn. (one of their national animals, anyway.) will i miss amsterdam street with sabri sandra sarah, or the night these two guys tried to hit on us and we spent the entire night making them guess which countries we were from so that we could finish our beer and leave. no karaoke thanks. and i had to lie about my surname because i wasn't going to say i was a hoe. will i miss poland. i think i always will.
the first day i went on that walking tour in poland i befriended a guy from hong kong. can’t remember his name. can’t remember if he told me his name. we walked back towards the square together and halfway through he ran after a lemonade girl to try to hit on her, but she was attached. of course she was. she was absolutely beautiful. the most captivating eyes.