sunday diary

butterflies in her dreams, taste of home away from home in a fresh morning coffee, smooth and smily eyes, cheerful-heartbeats-in-her-lounge, laughter and intimacy on high bar stools. a departure announcement splits her day in half. bitter sweet, they say. a few tears and the melancholy of warm despair is back, an old haunting friend that gracelessly visits her on departures.

it’s the cost of exploring foreign lands, she recalls. in these moments, her heart brings back memories that are not from specific people or from specific places, but from a feeling of her hair flowing free on a bike ride on a homey air, a familiar smell of threes, the bright colors of different seasons. she misses belonging somewhere in a rooted way.

in the beginning of her travelings, she never knew if she was chasing something or running from something. perhaps both. perhaps trying to find and to lose herself at the same time. not anymore. she knows she was never lost. the melancholy of the departures is the spreading of her roots across oceans, seeding parts of herself in others, blooming by the energy gifted to her by others. belonging grounded wherever her heart lives.