Time Travel

Going home after 300 days.

Noticing the sun. It’s different now. 

Being so proud of someone it hurts. 

Walking around with no bra on. 

Laying on the carpet, staring at the ceiling, no where to be but here. 

Bagels. 

Falling in love with Led Zeppelin for the first time. 

Realising I’m ready to fall in love again. 

Getting called flat. Still no bra. 

Turning my phone off during dinner. 

Mourning the loss of my money tree. 

Drinking red wine, watching fire flies, talking about space.  

Being so tired I’m awake. 

Wondering if I’ll bump into my ex who’s avoiding me. 

Wondering if my favourite lamp will fit into my luggage. 

Starbucks. 

Wearing the same yellow dress in the wrong size. 

Meaning more to people than meets the eye. 

Getting a laser pointed in my eye. 

Telling the same story twice. 

The smell of concrete. 

Feeling lost in a city I once conquered. Knowing I never want to live there again. 

Eating Nana’s soup for breakfast, the one with the little stars. Summer cherries for dinner. 

Realising that people rely on me for their happiness. 

Using time zones as an excuse for fear. Theirs, not mine. 

Writing poems no one will read. 

Sangria in the rain. 

Cringing at the suburbs, they give me anxiety. 

Getting refused wifi for having a big ugly suitcase. 

Doing nothing and everything at the same time. 

Finding things I forgot I owned. 

‘Where do you live?’ And ‘Where is your home?’ are different questions. It’s okay to not know the answer to either.

Crying.

Remembering what it feels like to live in the past. 

Wondering if I’m doing the right thing. 

Wondering why we say goodbye. 

Knowing we’ll always be connected.