There are few things I appreciate as much as outside. That place with no ceiling. That probably sounds a little odd, and maybe it is. Maybe I spend too much time thinking about those who are caged.
Draw chalk lines.
They’ll be crossed.
All the old thoughts.
It is a privilege to breathe this air.
It is my opinion that love, that intangible, almost indescribable emotion, is unique to each and every person that feels it. Its characteristics are always similar; the complete trust in, necessity to be with and solace found in another person. But no two people will ever experience love that is the same. Children are as capable of love as adults, it’s just a different kind of love. Maternal love, paternal love, platonic love… categorise it all you want but don’t ever expect relationships to evolve in a characteristic way.
For me, love is completion. Not so much the final piece of the puzzle as the frame in which the puzzle is then placed because without it, it would fall to pieces. Of course that’s just me. People often throw around the question ‘how do you know when you’re in love?’ Well I think that’s quite easy; you don’t have to ask.
Shining, smiling, billboard people,
Noisy, shuffling, unsober people.
Primary colored America,
Countless grey streets.
Breathless, clammy, sunshine states,
Ice cold on the inside.
I write from a crowded yet sleepy tour bus trailblazing its way through Arizona to return to Las Vegas after visiting the Grand Canyon.
One of the seven wonders of the world, stretching across 18 miles and its floor over a mile below my feet, yet appearing bizarrely as an oil painted backdrop, it’s a bit mental, for want of a better word.
I can’t help but visualise the cities and towns I know placed like jigsaw pieces within that one canyon. Similarly, flying from Philadelphia to LA over miles upon miles of desert without seeing a single light, yet the flight’s duration could have taken us across Ireland countless times.
I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this, but I trust words to take me where I need to be. And I suppose travelling isn’t all that different. Take the myriad of characters seen whilst walking through Hollywood. Some of them embody and practically exude the place they live in. People who have never travelled beyond the state line. And it’s because they don’t need to. (I think the line between ‘need’ and ‘want’ becomes utterly blurred when talking about escaping.)
I don’t want to be an embodiment of the birthplace on my passport, as beautiful as it is, but at the same time, I’m aware and content that I probably won’t meet all seven wonders in my lifetime. And even if I did, I’d still be missing out on so much. Lookout spots in big cities that only those city-personifications know about. I wouldn’t know how perfect a sunset looks from an Arizonian backyard in autumn.
There are wonders everywhere. Home and away. Small and grand. The cost of a ten hour flight or in your own front garden. The only important thing is to acknowledge them. That’s the wonderful part.