The Kiss, Gustav Klmit. 1907–1908

a pause

I’ve traveled the world in search of answers.

It’s a crippling honesty, this. To abandon rhyme or reason. The tides and turns of all we’ve seen, tasted in each other. An intensity, a companionship. A hidden world carried inside a person, among all the people and places I’ve passed through.

A life of questions. Changed lanes, changed cities, countries, continents, cultures, languages. Again and again chasing what pulls on that one tight string through a soul, my soul. And here is where it leads.

Hidden under a blanket of silence, a world of endless colour. Soaring highs and rasping lows. Spun in solitude together.

And yet the chaos is a peace. A settling. It is quiet.