I’m on the other side of the world.
It’s 10;13pm here. My hair is dripping wet and I am keeping myself awake until it is dry enough to fall asleep. The time in the right hand corner of the screen keeps catching my eye. 8;13, 8:14 am. That time belongs to home. Or maybe, home belongs in time.My face is in patches of red and white, due to the tears I have just wiped off them. My mother is sitting next to me, reading and rereading a love letter my father has just sent her. A letter she just gave me the privilege to read. This explains my dis-colored face. I didn’t know. I didn’t know my dad could write, and I mean really write. He doesn’t just chuck words down on a page, and hope they sound okay like I sometimes fall into the habit off. He has put effort into every single word, and oh my can you feel it. He explains her voice as music, then this letter must be the sheet music. He puts every key point in red, as if he needs to express more, how all of him stands behind all of these words. I’m crying because I have never read anything as beautiful. I’m crying because I have witnessed true love in front of my eyes every single day of my life, and I think I might be the luckiest girl in the world. And I am crying because I love the way, they love. I understand now, why I write, why I sing, why sometimes I talk the way I do, poetically and dramatically. I knew this all before but its like tonight, it clicked, it all makes sense. I have witnessed it all from him and I am only mimicking some of the most joyous things I believe to exist. To sing as loud as you possibly can, to talk as if every detail matters, but to act your emotions out when your words are falling short, and when you love, you must love with all of you and I get it, I finally get it and I know, that these are the things I need to do for the rest of my life.