Yesterday was the first day I can remember that I didn't check my email. Even typing this my fingers feel like they don't work, like they're a little rusty on the keyboard. Either that or maybe the R key is sticking in all this humidity.
Twenty-two hours is a lot of travel. Car to ferry to car to plane to plane to car to beach. Coast to coast, literally: Puget Sound to the Outer Banks, 2499 miles. (According to Google maps, this would take 39 days and 22 hours to walk. I'm not sure whether they're assuming sleep, though.)
Floating in the ocean opposite from home
with my big little brother who just
bought a house--I've never done--
the beach, its tiny people and receding
responsibilities, only visible between waves--
A loosening, unraveling of fossilized
internal knots. For a change,
I don't have to hold myself up.
Travel troubles or not, broke or not, missing Gabe even; I'm glad we came.
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