Namaste blog tribe
I have to go.
My present reluctance is stemming from a mixed bouquet of heartbreak. First of all, I haven’t been back to Australia since I left my ex-husband at the airport on my way back to New York City, via Berlin.
But that’s not why my heart feels broken… not really, anyways.
About a week ago I’m pretty sure the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with wandered through. We all know I’m a lover first and foremost… so I’m a bit rattled.
Furthermore, Australia is home to me. I’ve been a Manhattan runaway for pushing five years now. I know it’s not time for me to move back yet, and I’m uncertain what a quick dose is going to do for me.
Above all, amongst all the fake lovers and time-passing affairs; someone appeared eight days ago who I can’t, and don’t want, to get out of my head.
He sleeps in my bed and sends me songs. Classical, punk rock and italian folk music… to start. He smells like apples and kisses me like no one in my 37 years has ever come close to. Never less than five hours a lick, to start.
I haven’t even mentioned it much around here, really. But the poetry pumping from my heart hasn’t let me sleep lately.
As much as I love falling in love, and can fall in and out in two hours depending on circumstance – I take my emotions seriously. Most humans don’t, I think that’s an issue of Earth.
I’d rather ache all vacation and long for the one truth to come along since I’ve been back in the city instead of faking to be excited to leave the most important thing that has ever announced itself to me.
Talk to you in Tahiti.