I need to remember what I am.
It’s been two months since I left the tiny bubble of Mallorca and tore open my life for anything conceivable to enter. In that time a lot has happened.
I woke up rolling amongst sheets and pillows this morning, my cat stretched out against my back in his feline slumber, a cool summer humidity hanging in the air. Last night I had promised myself to take an early morning walk around the village I call home for the last few days so I step out onto the aged hardwood floor and softly pad barefoot down into …
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