an ocean heart

There is something about the way warmth lingers under my skin even hours after sunrise. There is something about long drives and passing rural scenery. Something about the things that catch my attention every year; the red house in the middle of fields and forests and a river flowing almost disguised (and all of that one abiding shape), under a big tree in the middle of a field the copper statue of workhorses pulling a sledge and a farmer and his wife walking at their side (who knows how old), how the treelines in the horizon are soaked in green blue (the mountains of our land), the myriad decaying barns, that field edge just by the side of the highway where we caught a glimpse of two foxes about seven years ago (memories, memories, memories). There is something about having one static place where nothing ever changes but we have every year we’ve returned (and so we shall). There is something about the way the city holds its hands around my throat; and how I manage to fight it off just once in a while. Something about how riding a bike around town can romanticize a whole city, almost (put on my rose-coloured glasses). Something about how beautiful the city looks in falling light and passing lives; and how underneath the ugly truth still flaunts itself (yet which one is the truth?). Something about laughing and laughing and laughing. About still being able to see the beauty where it is (everywhere) and find the courage right where it always has and will be (me). I’m alive, I’m alive. (The sun lingers on my skin as night falls; the moon lingers on my skin as day dawns) Life, it is so ugly and beautiful at the same time that I want to cry (the truth right there).

(I'm just so happy)