Life in slow motion

The days are scattered and semi-sweet.

Hibiscus flower tea and melted butter, with cake on the countertop.

A rough and shocking shade of light casting in reminding me of a day that I can’t quite fully remember.

We are not a lot of anything lately.

Rosy cheeked and punch drunk on the veranda all alone.

Is the point to be worn so thin that we can see through ourselves and more to the other side?

Whatever I was worried about before seems small and far away —

questions that I once had are like trying to make echoes in a storm.

They have nothing to catch, nothing to bounce off of and the air has entirely changed.

I read somewhere — it won’t always be like this.

While that is true, it will also never be the same.

There is a goodness in this.

We are learning to be where we are.

I constantly remind myself, it is going to take work to make it work.

Here, the sounds of the geckos grow louder by midnight, it starts to rain 'and

here, the air is thick and sweet, and the trees grow more green and fluorescent overnight.

Here, people fall in love in the afternoon, and maybe we could too.

Just maybe.