kaizen
“I hate solitude, but I’m afraid of intimacy. The substance of my life is a private conversation with myself which to turn into a dialogue would be equivalent to self-destruction. ”
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The chocolate cookie melts in my bag and my fingers are crumbly with Himalayan salt.
I walk the long way to my studio apartment to see the bubbles blown by a man with wooden sticks and rope. I like the feel of bursting against my skin and the way the children run after the soap circles.
The smell of pizza warms my room. The scent of paella warms my heart; it reminds me of Pascal and our nights together on his balcony making seafood with squid ink so the rice turned black and the shrimp glowed red in the moonlight.
I sip cold fennel tea before coffee. The ripple of the percolator reminds me of my hunger. There are more layers to need than I realized.
I leave my window open so the light flicks my bedding. There are no bugs, no spiders or mosquitos or flies. There is no breeze. My wonder arrives with the wind. I ask less questions when its calm.
I listen to French, Catalan, Spanish, German, and Italian discourses. Sometimes I stare too long at the mouths of the song, and the subject glares in my direction. Fear of recognition or eavesdropping. I should wear a sign that says 'English.'
My morning routine is to light something that smells nice; it's usually Superhit and reminds me of home. My room with the pink and navy rug and plants that spun from macrame hangers. My curtains were decorated with orange, purple, and pink flowers. It was buoyant and richly hued, a contrast to where I am now. All white with light wooden beams. I long for silk and crystal.
Abracadabra, Hebrew for ‘I create as a I speak.’ I write every day, floating lightly in the dialogue of characters I create from the memories of all those I left and long for.
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