The sun is a wonderful thing. I don’t think I’ve felt so
comfortably warm in a pair of jeans in a long time—the last time I remember
comfortable sun like this was before the time I wore skirts for a year and a
half.
I went to bed at 11 for three days straight—that’s
impressive, in case you were wondering. I am a night owl at heart, and for some
reason no matter how many times I try to reform myself I always seem to slip
back, because its comfortable and exciting, in a weirdly head throbbing sort of
way. For some reason, as the clock ticks closer and closer towards dawn, I feel
more and more invincible. I’m sure it’s false doctrine, but I believe it
anyway.
I believe in wearing Portugal: my ring, my corações da Vienna, my
own heart. I don’t think I’ll ever escape it. To be honest, I didn’t realize
that I’ve been trying to wear an entire country for the past 103 days. It’s
scary that I’ve already missed 103 jaw dropping sunsets, where the clouds fan
out above the haughty cathedrals and the hushed oranges and loud pinks span the sky
behind the resolute castles. How can I not be there?
I didn’t realize I’ve been trying to wear an entire country
until I realized that my friend wears dead people. Her necklace is for her
grandparents, her bracelet for her brother, and her ring for her grandma’s best
friend—she told me they were tight.
Why do we wear what we can’t have? Why do we try to convince
ourselves that we’re not broken and not missing when we know that we are?
And while we're at it, why not talk about big decisions. They're just that: big. It’s like an elephant in
the room. You know at some point you’re going to bump into that wrinkled grey
hide at some point, yet you hide in every corner except the one that it’s in,
trying to keep away from it. Who said that magic 8 balls aren’t a viable source for answers? Or maybe we can just spin the bottle? Who decided that a 21 year old
should make these kinds of decisions anyway?
And the sun. It shines, illuminating every corner of my
muddled brain, my knotted thought process. Who knew this little head of mine
had so many corners for questions to cower in? If only sunlight could turn into
mental light bulbs, illuminating not just confused space but concrete answers. If
I squint hard enough, do you think I could see them on the rays?
