My Claim

 I was scrolling through green sage wall pictures when it hit me, "how much is the price of freedom?"

Maybe it's the soothing color, or hundred pictures of beautifully sunlight rooms I'd seen. There's an idea of how the morning rolled up in those rooms, the smell of coffee that tickled your nose, and all the spaces you had, with only your mark all over it.

Your very own marks.

How much money do I have to earn to buy the pretty house? How far the distance I have to run to reach it? How many time do I have to spend thinking about it? How long do I have to hold on to the thread I hang my live with?

When I thought about it again, I guessed I got it all wrong. I didn't really want a pretty house with green sage sunlight room. What I wanted was the feeling it gave me: a freedom to go by my rules, marking every inch of it with my finger prints, making it my own. My very own.

It doesn't matter whether it will be green sage or dusty pink or baby blue. As long as my name is written all over it. My very own.

Traveling Through

I'm in Planet Blue. This place is no strangeland for me, yet I always fail to recognize its scene. For me, it's always feelings first: when you've done rotating or taking a turn, you are a little bit empty, there's nothing particular in your head but buzzing of high speed train of thoughts, flashing sunlight or muted grey sky, pouring of emotions, coming one after another, never stay, never settle.

Yes, it's unsettling, just like the moment you know something grows wrong ahead of you, just like the moment you feel the ground cracks underneath you, just like the moment you realize it takes another inch to reach the stars above your head. You know it's been written down. You're going down next.

So I arrrived at Planet Blue. Someone sent me a one way ticket. When I opened my eyes, the day was new but the air suffocated my chest. I tried to draw a map, finding the destination under my name. When I couldn't find it, I wondered if I actually unwanted here. This place was not where I laid my head at night, now I know for sure. I wanted to leave, but I lost the ability to pull my tricks under my sleeves.

I have to remember again. I have to trace the trail of memory before waking up here. I have to relive it one by one, find myself some strings I could hold on too. I have to be patience, cause looking back is not always easy for the soul and the neck. It's been a pack of full moon, it might be another dozen. I learn to be compassionate toward the person who is loosing her way and the identity she was once.

It might be another dozen.

But as long as I'm fully aware of the change of the day, I can still make my way wherever home will be.