OSL

You board a bus and cross a country line, this summer never ceases to fill you with adoration. It's gift upon gift upon gift, and you even snuck in an extra lake swim when no one was looking. The four-leaf clovers inside your phone case begin to pile up and burst out of their holder, you're sure there's a metaphor in there but all you know is you feel joy at every turn. 

There are people on this earth who really take care of you, there are homes here to which you always have a key. There's a magic in there that you cannot begin to put words to. 

The bus rolls into Oslo. There's a transfer, a train, a sunny afternoon and the fjords glittering. There's an adventure ahead and another key in your backpack for later, gifts upon gifts that could never fit inside wrapping. You spent an entire life being afraid of Everything and suddenly you find that you're not. It's disorienting, but you do not kick it to the curb. 

I spent an entire life being afraid
of Everything
but I have an entire life left
to not.  

Rain Day

It's gray. Your windows face north and the sunlight doesn't reach your skin like you need it to. The computer stares at you with its demands and you're slowly realizing that maybe this little box is at the root of your weariness. Perhaps you were not made to while your life away in front of this little square with its incessant buzzing. It's a thought that bears mulling over. 

You think again about fire lookout season. 

They say the cloud cover will pass mid-day. You're not sure how long you can wait. One day you moved across the ocean and it taught you a life can take place in a million different ways. You've never been the same since. 

Maybe that's just what it is to live a life. 
You're never the same
once you've done it. 

Rokoko

What a gift it is, you think to yourself after the melee has quieted down. To live everywhere, to belong in any corner, to feel at home on any horizon. You see no more pride in the Stockholm inlet than the American Wild West, and it thrills you to realize. A whole life struggling with the either/or only to realize it's about the and/also. 

 Two weeks ago you were driving down English country road with a car full of dogs. One week ago you were alighting on medieval island shores. And here you are, staring at hundred-year-old rooftops in sunlight, squeezing more summer out of each step down the streets. I look at apartment listings and room shares, I look at country houses and sitting gigs, it's August and the world is still all opportunity. She writes to say life is a bitch and you haven't enough words to explain how wrong she is. 

We talked about you the other night, after the evening had gone dark and the children went to bed. Remembered your bright laugh and the darkness of your last few days. Remembered how we all walked out of that spring changed. I've never forgotten to be grateful for the lessons you taught me. 

Have never forgotten that staying alive
is the only reason I've done all these things that I've 
done. 

And I wouldn't want to live
without them.  

Ferry (v)

You drag a bag to the subway, light drizzle on the pavement and you fall in line with the Monday morning commuters on their way into fall. Their clothes have an air of defeat. Long pants. Umbrella. Key card. Didn't we just start the summer holidays, how are they over already? On the morning news, the meteorologist says even though it's the end of summer we've some warmer days ahead and you want to shout it from the rooftops. Don't give up before it's time! 

In the harbor, a ship lies waiting. One thousand, three hundred thirty-one people board. A few dogs. The Baltic Ocean ahead, not a speck on the horizon for hours until there, at the end, an island, a dock, another group of familiar faces and your heart grows to twice its size again. 

Yesterday, in a borrowed doorway, it was all goodbyes. A little too soon, always a little too soon.  Two years and change since you waved from the airport window. The years defy belief. His daughter grows into everything you could've hoped, a hundred years ago they waved you off on a train and she was just a baby. A thousand years ago you got drunk in a hidden bar and he didn't tell you she had already been dreamed into existence. Twenty-four hours ago you remembered what it is to carry a moment in your chest that is at once heavy as lead and light as air. The women on the ship say August is basically over but you know they're wrong. 

I will carry August with me
always. 

Farewells

It's too many goodbyes, you think, but relish in all the hellos you have yet ahead. It's a gift of your own making, and you're not too far gone to see it. I give myself this love, I give myself this summer. The train darts down the Swedish countryside and you wonder if there's a life hiding there somewhere. 

But it's only August, and none of the questions seem quite so intimidating, quite so dark. It's like they're just fun trinkets you turn over in your hand, like reliquaries in an old English manor house. 

A week ago you were driving against your instincts on a narrow country road, proving things to yourself you never thought you might. Now here you are thinking maybe the world is at your fingertips, after all. 

There was a time when you didn't want to see another day. You know there was, you can almost remember it now. It's just the disease isn't in you today, isn't gouging you out from the inside at this moment, and so the spectre of death as a welcome friend feels like a story you read in a book once, not like a promise you held on your fingertips. 

There will come a day when you don't want to die, 
you told yourself again, again, ad nauseam again,
as if saying it enough would make you believe it
(it didn't). 

Turns out, the prophecy coming true only added fuel to your fire. 

Not only do you not want to die 
now
but you want to live like a hundred stars burst inside of you. 

Like bursting into the stars 
is the gift itself.  

Idea

I am tired. The dog sleeps at my feet under the desk and I think maybe that's the better option. The first days of August are warm outside the window, but I can't fight off that small, worried voice in the back of my head that says fall is coming. It flinches at every chilly breeze, every inkling of cloud cover. You say it sits in your bones but you're starting to wonder if it's a learned fear after all, that it sits in your skin instead. After all, generations of your people have weathered those winters and survived to create you. Do you dishonor them by becoming so soft? 

You remind yourself that Novembers can be mild and delicious in New York. 

Yesterday, at the top of a hill, overlooking the Atlantic, the Mendips, the M5, I thought I am in a moment of my own creation, and it seemed such a gift. How many years was I frozen in catatonia, staring across the waters at other people, living their lives like they were allowed pursuits, thinking such allowances were not for me. 

It's strange the truths we teach ourselves to believe. 

You wonder if it's too late to believe something else.  

Worth

The days tumble from out of your hands, as they always do when you think you've bought yourself infinity. Perhaps you're a little less stressed about it these days. Maybe in the back of your mind somewhere you are making peace with yourself about your incessant imperfection. 

Maybe in the back of your mind somewhere you're starting to think perfection 
wasn't the right goal, anyway. 

You hike to the top of Glastonbury Tor, watch the English countryside spread out around you. There, the rolling hills, there, the lush hedgerows and stone cottaged villages, there the Bay and Wales behind it. Here, the land you've come to see, making itself known. The sun is bright, the sky blue, the breeze joyful. They hear your crumpled accent, ask where you're from, and you no longer worry about your crooked answers. It just is what it is. 

You long for your friends back home, in all your back homes, delight at the thought that you'll be seeing them soon again. There's a moment just before getting what you long for that is the sweetest thing in all the world, and lately it feels like you're living that moment over, and over, and over. 

Well, said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop 
and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing 
to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it 
which was better than when you were, but he didn't know 
 what it was called. 

You know there will be fall again one day, 
there will be Darkness
and fear
and the unbearable lightness of 
no longer wanting to live

but it is not today. 

For a brief moment 
you are invincible,

and if this is the reward you get for
being alive

then alright.