And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me..

 [wearing H&M dress, thrifted denim jacket, Parisian sandals, Zara bag]

 So, Morocco has become home. I am making friends, I am adjusting.. I am even speaking French. At least I think I am.. Everything works itself out, in time. Wounds heal, albeit slowly. But still, memory, stays our worst enemy.

Memory has turned my life into a tragedy. I am strong, as Hemingway would say, "at all the broken parts." But even the strong can break, over and over again. The trick is, to be so convinced that happiness is within reach, that we continue to glue ourselves back together, and never tire of doing so. In that lies my saving grace. I am the tragic heroine of my own story, bound by my past, shackled to my fears and cursed by my ignorant hope. And this story is a lot of things, but boring it will never be. I laugh, cry, dance, crawl, smile my way through it all, the sky coming down on me, but I stay blinded by the sun.

Sometimes I ask myself if I would be happier if I lived a mediocre, monotonous life. If I had a routine and stability, and never had to doubt or dissect any part of my soul. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to feel happiness and love without the trepidation of losing it all in a heart beat. Or that it would be so refreshing to be able to look into the future, without having to carry the past with you.

But sometimes, I think, it all has its purpose.

And sometimes, like today, I think, I wouldn't wanna have it any other way, anyway.



Oh and.. Here's a video.