Leaving Spain. Feeling Lost.

Let's make a deal. I'm going to share a couple of horrifically depressing journal entries that came straight from my paper journal that I wrote during the bus/plane/train rides after I left San Ambrosio. After these couple of serious posts, I promise I will go back to writing less serious nonsense. So skip these if you want, read if you dare; it won't hurt my feelings.

I am completely lost. There is no comfort here. I feel my heart. I actually feel it. It's like a bucket is attached to a string and evertime I allow myself to feel, the string is pulled and my eyes are flodded again. I cry at everything. That field over there is green. Bawl. That cloud looks like a fish. Hysterical.

Another love affair. Another broken heart. But this time, I don't long for the comfort of an abset warm body next to me in bed, or the calm whisper of another breathing close by. What I long for, is simultaneously more and less tangible.

A lover gives you pleasure. Passion. Physical comfort. If you're luck, a lover gives you companionship. Stability. Security. If you stick around long enough, things change but your love remains. It's the only thing that brings consistency. The thing that wakes you up in the morning. The thing that brings you back into bed at night.

I miss the sounds. The crickets serenading through my open bedroom window. the occasional cow mooing and the dog barking at the moo. The roosters with their incredibly persistent crowing beginning at 4 AM and lasting until half past 9. The sound the van made when Rachel unlocked the doors and opened up the sliding side door - the same noise that woke me up every morning (Surprise! Now you know why I was always late!). The sound of the horses whinnying for their breakfast when we turn up at the yard. The sound of Smokey begging for me to let him follow the van. The sounds of the horses shoes clip clop down the main road in Los Caños. The sound of their hoobes pounding the hard sand and waves as we gallop full speed down the beach. The sound of Jack's moped howling up the drive after I've gotten in bed for the night. And the crickets as they come back out for the vening, providing a gently humming backdrop for Adrian's dad practicing his flamenco guitar on the porch next door.

The pink and orange glows playing off the clouds behind the field as the sun rises. The charcoal dapples on Infanta's legs, hinting of her previous black state. The fog settling on the rice patties in the valley behind Vejer. The tops of the umbrella pines that extend like a forest of broccoli. Paco working hsi mare in the homegrown picadero near Sally's Whiz. That first glimpse of Los Caños from the top of the Torre de Meca mirador. The wild daffodils growing on the sand dunes. The black rocks of the beach when the tide is out. The mountains of the Moroccan coast on the horizon. The long scary track of san down the corkscrew. The sunset on Trafalgar Cabo from my bedroom window followed by the spinning glow of the lightouse light. The stars clearer here than anywhere in the world. Oso minor and the satellite that hovers over the straight of Gribraltar in the exact same spot every night, every day.

No matter how much I try to ignore it. Everything feels like home. Everything looks familiar. As the bus races down the highway, and I find myself saying goodbye to objects and places out the window; I feel completely wrecked. I can find solace in nothing. Nothing makes sense. Why do I have to go? Why am I leaving? Is it too late to turn back? What am I going to do?

Stop this train. I want to get off and go home again.

Comments

[Richard Alison]

Thanks for sharing your experience with all of us..It really touches the heart..

[John Carter]

I like the story, thanks for sharing impressive one. Really feel touchy n emotional..