“We miss you,”
they say.
“When will you come back?”
I don’t know.
Confusion;
Melancholy;
Frustration;
Desire;
Fear.
Where are the mountains,
the rivers,
the rice fields,
the music,
the food?
Where am I?
New York?
Phuket?
Iwate?
Stopping,
standing,
looking around befuddled.
“Come back,”
they utter.
“Why did you leave us?”
they plead.
What can I say?
Sumimasen.
Gomen-nasai.
Arigato gozaimasu.
Ganbatte-kudasai.
Owari.
Love,
Alekusu
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1 comment:
Darling, you left to move forward, not to be constantly pulled back. If this is where your heart lies, you can always return. But your time in Phuket seemed to imply that you are seeking a new rhythm by which to govern the flow of your life- it seemed to imply that being a lowly English teacher was not your ideal. Perhaps what you miss is less the place than the fact that you had been here long enough to find your groove...??? I'm playing music to you from afar...not to call you back, rather to add spring to your step in the now.
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