Deep Thoughts: A Letter Home


Dear...,


I am in Madrid fighting off heat and eating standing up. I amble into a bar for lunch. I have no idea what is on the menu. I point my hungry finger at the things in the window that are at least somewhat familiar. I don't know the names of anything. I guess and am happy. even nameless, they are delicious. you eat standing up, belly pressed against the bar. grab napkins off the counter to wipe greasy paws on. toss the napkins on the floor with all the other trash. this feels wrong, well taught american feels like a litterbug.


get on a metro and pop out somewhere totally different like a wormhole in space-time. on the top stair I see fountains spurting water over a marble house drawn chariot. the buildings are old and huge. they glance down in boredom at those of us who are looking up in awe. we are just another face in time. they have seen faces like ours a thousand times during the centuries of their lives. they have held many secrets in their bosoms, their walls are papered with our brief tales and troubles.


it is all so new. everyday and nothing is familiar. I am called to question my fears of the unknown. I made to become confident in my problem solving. I know no one, I am again anonymous. I am at the hands of strangers and their kindness if something goes wrong. I am just another face. I am me.


when my things are not here to reflect me, who am I? when my daily routine is no longer, who am I? if my friends are not with me, who am I?


these questions presented eternally, and forever answered and reanswered. the comfort in my own words gets stronger as I get older. this I can accept.


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Write Me: burntstargirl@hotmail.com