caribbean dreams

My computer is broken. It's extremely frustrating. I may have to get a new one when I get back.

I will write more about the Caribbean, but we had these perfect little bungaloos with mosquito nets covering the beds. There were journals in each room with entries written in French, Spanish, English, czech, German, and more. Falling asleep in the heat, with the light above my bed lighting the net above me, I wrote:


My face is warm, my eyelids heavy.
Twirling the thin glass stem between my fingers,
I watch the soft light illuminating the
edge of the pools of red.
Liquid gliding easily along the glass,
mocking me,
pretending like one escaping drop won't be permanent.

Staining images and burning dreams,
I'm working harder than I should.
Laughing too loudly, listening too intently,
I recall places that existed only in a moment
and people who spoke only for me to hear.
My hand appears steady,
but my cynicism knows me better.

Exhausted, I wake remembering it's you
I'm pretending to forget.
The shadow of your laugh used to echo for me
constantly.
Speak to me.