The times are very challenging. I often attach meaning to the dust, hope against hope. It’s an imprint, really. I want to heal from my past. I know how to address conflict, how to defeat my own reactionary basis. I find myself in places with no internet connection when that was what I came there for. I drink their coffee and go. I pretend to work then leave. Someone else will have what I need.
It reminds me of a past lover. We cooked sometimes, back when I didn’t know how to cook. I rinsed the vegetables. I set the table, his living room table, and we ate on the floor. We fell asleep during the day and stayed awake at night to watch movies, sad ones, ones where everyone dies, or the world ends, or ones where lovers separate, where there was no hope. I used to leave before he woke up for work. I shoved my things in a backpack and watched Santa Monica Boulevard busy with cars, traffic, sunlight. I drove home slow, in no rush, in no hurry.