Shadow of large long branch on beige wall. Moving because that’s the moves of the century. Moving because that’s the way to feel the world.
And conversation with parents voices. In my headphone ears. One was in Canada. And the other in Brazil. And there I sat in Thailand, on a wooden bench with bats winging around my head.
Special feelings are ones where only certain people or things can make happen. They can be small. Like shadows on walls. Or big. Like family.
They can be big like culture. Culture doesnt fit in my head. It comes bustin out of my ears and I write about it like I’m reliving it and all those feelings comes swimming over. Easily.
Small things that poke your mind and feels good. A connection. Within yourself. Like you’re the one laughing at your own joke. The joke you told inside your head. Because her hands massaging my face, smelled like a bubble bath I had years ago. Because that smell rolled up a memory and a frame of time I hadn’t thought of in years. And love gets to be both big and small. Because small things can happen and you connect it with love. And big things happen that we attach love to, too. Like proposing. I’ve never been proposed marriage before. But I’m married. And have been proposed hundreds of things.
And it is later than what it was earlier So that’s usually a good a sign as any To get into the clouds of Sleepville.