Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus
Shakespeare missed out a bit, it seems.
We may be a lot, or little
More, or less
Plentiful, or lacking
Happy, or ever searching
All of these may be within us
But just as much is outside
And in the liminal spaces between the two withins
It’s in these spaces, that bodies talk
Through touch, speech, taste, and sight
Love is felt, lost, and rediscovered
Fellowships forged, broken, and reunited
It is within these spaces, that we become
More than us, even if just a bit more.
Or so I think.
I wait at the entrance of a bar
Brewery, drinking hole, a bustling space
Dreading the meet to come, I’d rather be someplace else.
Someplace else with friends, comrades, keepers of my soul
Fragments of my fellowship
Friends with broken arms
Friends chasing stories
Friends who feel ghosted
I’d rather be there instead of here
Here the hope is that there will be a story for the evening
To move beyond borrowed experience and have some of my own.
So when I meet these dear friends again, there will be a tale to tell
An evening to narrate
And belonging to feel
That was the last time I thought of writing.
I will eventually I guess. Four countries, Three months, Forty hours of travel, one emergency landing, half understanding of class readings, and zero idea of a phd topic warrant, at least, one post.
I knew what it was.. I swear I did. I started this to write about my dream. Like right now, and I can’t remember it anymore!
On the bright side, I can safely say that no one died in this one. Yet.