"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>words are useless, especially sentences; they don’t stand for anything, how can they explain how i feel? traveling, traveling

>today i will be in oxford. spinning on two wheels. enveloped in liquid music. bathing in the city. i will cycle past the oxford university press and hurl for all their books read for my Masters degree spawned from under that roof.

next weekend, i fly to faro. dad is traversing portugal as we speak, and i will fly down just as he examines the consecrated ground where he was born. the streets his ancestors called home. the roots he thought he was better off forgeting are now infecting him like a pathogen.

then mum and sofi arrive in london. visits and holiday extravaganzas with family. home is never far away. they arrive on my four month anniversary of moving here. milestones celebrated. hurdles before and ahead.

finally, zadar hits my radar. the adriatic coast, a seaside worth resting on. a warm sun gathering at my feet, creeping up my body. reminding me of the light which stole you away from me. here i am, making peace, making my own.

i am laughing at your serious tone. at your silence and hiding. because you’re full of shit. and when i vanish, you’ll find me again, a black and white photo, on the jacket of the book you’re reading. you’ll wish.

laugh, laugh, laugh.

at least i think it’s funny.

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