I thought I could do it. But I guess I extended my wings a little too early. I think it’s time to call it quits. Back to the nest.
I am losing me. Losing friends and not really gaining any. Losing my writing. My love of art and words and the combination of the two. I have lost the flavours I once loved and indulged in, the freedom I once wielded in my hands.
The city is killing me. Inside and out. My body feels weaker with everyday. Sick. Again. and again. and again. I value health over happiness and I want to be healthy again. I’m not sure that happiness is to be found here anyway.
I miss my old city. The mild weather, the rain. It’s funny, but I really do miss the rain. Miss hearing the clatter of it against the windows. Miss losing myself in wanderlust, in the droplets against the glass.
But I have learned something being here. And regained something too. I have learned that happiness is completely in the grasp of one’s own mind, that no one dictates how I feel besides me. Time away from family has taught me that. Here, I don’t have anyone else’s expectations to worry about – just mine. Just self standards. I have regained my love of reading and that is something I am utmost grateful for. I can once again lose myself again – I can find myself in another city, another time, among another group of people. I have discovered, once again, a different kind of freedom that I had thought only existed in the mind of a child’s imagination. But it appears I was incredibly wrong. Books are timeless, ageless – they maintain a sparkle of magic that can be activated by any mind. I love that.
I will write more. I have been so wishy-washy with my feelings of wanting to blog more and then end up not doing it. Everyday doesn’t seem to be happening, but I will try for more. More. One step at a time, I suppose.
I want to go home.