Teaching, working, breaking open and seamlessly coming together in Casablanca, Rome, Tunis, and Spain.
I am better then how I left you in those emails that must have had you worried. I am living and haven’t documented any of it. All of it is in my head. Embracing a dead phone, a towel coming over like a veil reaching over two heads facing each other. I don’t document with words and that is how I have been living. In between silences and two eyes that look and see everything and kiss your head as you kiss their hands and you can’t hide anything. And you don’t have to.
Two months ago my mother came. I was in the next room and kissed the eyes that refused to give me what I thought I wanted. It hit me. In the heart. If my Father was still alive my mother would not be here sleeping in the next room in the place that reminds me the most of him. All things came home.
A day after my mother left, I cut each inch of my hair. Off.