i’m sitting here on my phone trying to think of something to write before the meeting starts – cue the memory in my head of that guy with the tattoos who saw me writing on the pier and asked if i wanted to grab lunch, then cue the smart sensible me that said no thank you, then cue that person locked up inside, the “what-if” me who would have just gone and eaten lunch in the sunshine with the twirl of a skirt and a laugh. anyway, that’s not what i wanted to write about, i think.
what caught my eye as i was listlessly scrolling through social media was an article about haunted abandoned places and of course because it’s about abandoned places i click on it, because because because i love that type of stuff and i don’t really know why. sometimes, i feel like an abandoned person, all the edges of my heart cleared out from when he left, he left, he left, when’s the next one heading out the door? maybe that’s why i have so much trouble with the idea of someone setting up a tent for a while again. even a tent, even temporary, because taking down all the ropes and pegs again leaves little scratches on my insides, and if home is where the heart is, i think i’m homeless, wandering. nomad, gypsy, free to wander, now, maybe will you wander with me? maybe that’s what i’ve been looking for all along. the girl out there with flowers in her name and flowers in her hair, she wants you to take her hand and wander through life for a while.