cold, empty, the imperfections weighing heavily on new-formed holes; eenzaam maar niet alleen, the stone said, and i want to tell them all they're wrong. gifts are no longer gifts but shared blood, half-finished water bottles, little oil flasks, it's crazy what kind of things can mean things. the past few weeks have been too much ending too suddenly, and now i find myself in sudden halt unable to take everything around me in anything other than calm numbness; more blueberries, make me as blue as ice and waves and sky, so i can take a break for a minute
campfires on the beach with crackling seaweed flying burning into the air, the cold lingering around the little bubble of heat we created, there was beer and smoke and warmth and stories, and the northern lights unfolding into the sky for us, how far i have travelled