Remember getting on the first plane, opening up the book you're beginning and plugging into my old black machine. I'm engulfed in every emotion that my music is sharing with me and at one point, I'm convinced that the voice isn't in the speakers, but that it's standing behind me whispering life into my left ear. I turn pages and sip on ginger ale like I always do 36,000 feet in the sky. Above you and me and anything that would connect me to the things I'm used to.
I'm new.
The trees are a new sort of strong, resembling things I can relate to. I've realized that in most senses, we do not learn from things, we compare ourselves to them like mirrors. They're reflecting me, those little trees. Shining back, and I look away.
I'm in awe in this town, but I'm taken to a new level as my sandals are lost in tan grains. My long hair becomes tangled and is whipped by the wind which gives the aroma of my heaven. This is my earth. My crystals my rocks and my safe place. I'm drawn to the sea, just being near it. I step in and it stings my skin from all of my clumsy nicks and scratches, I'm always injuring my poor legs like a child, but in the water I'm full again. I collect each shell like it's golden. Like that's what I came here for. I hug my moms neck and my sister can see my gleaming. It's written all over me; this is home.
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