existing on a greek island
my world looks like this these days. i wake up. i write. i work. i listen to the sound of the sea — though these days it’s silent — and i try to recall the meaning of art, of money, of traveling, of life. i try to list some good reasons in my head for witnessing all of this, conjure something to look forward to: having a home of my own somewhere, with plants and pottery, being in love with someone who can actually love me back, taking a plane to china, finally, to visit the graves of my two grandfathers who died in the last two years, disappearing somewhere in a bamboo forest and having a good cry - but then i bring myself to this here and now: alone on a desolate greek island in autumn. i walk through barren sea cliffs to watch the sunset everyday. i turn thirty in two weeks. i sit down and try to stitch something beautiful out of this solitude.