We are all messes of ourselves, and yet somehow the pieces always make a puzzle.
I suppose we are all walking on a path of dust to the mountains.
Counting freckles in the mountains.
I’ll happily drown if you’ll be there too.
I looked up and saw the Milky Way painted across the sky like it wasn’t real and it made me feel like, really, neither was I.
Perhaps I should have known.
Written half in Prague and half in London and wholly from my heart.
There’s nothing like a long train journey for an epiphany or two; to remind you of who you are and where you are and where you’re going. In transit is sometimes the best place to find yourself.
Adventure is calling and it always sounds like the mountains for some reason. I can’t wait for the next great escape.