Five days with not one single post on. Well, that's what I call outrageous. I could explain why, but since I don't believe in "explanations", only actions, I'll defer from giving them. In these days that passed, some things got out of hand, so I'm working hard on managing them, put them all together again. It won't be an easy task, but I believe you can solve pretty much anything if you keep your options open, your mind clear and your eyes on a thought-through plan to get out of the swamp.
Some pictures have remained on Nagi after my trip home, and many of them can't be worked into a post anymore. I somehow have to write things when they happen, and rememoring them, going back to them doesn't always work for me. The feeling washes away, mutates, gets lost, and it stops being the same.
Time is an interesting contraption, that holds us in this net-like bubble. You get a different sense of it when you travel longer distances, like from Hungary to Costa Rica. Even if you don't get jet lag, it's an interesting feeling when you have to adjust your computer, your phone, your PDA and your watch, or watches (like in my case), and your mind goes to that other place, that other time, and while you are still wide awake, you think of your beloved, who is already in bed, sleeping, maybe snoring, which becomes the sound that makes you smile and you love even more than Tupac's "Gangster Paradise". Time holds you to a certain life, a certain routine, and when you get a bit dislodged of it, it's like you get trapped for a moment in a castle in the sky, from where you can see far, far away, to lands and lives you cannot touch.
God knows how much I miss being home, miss waking up with Kari, have his arms surround me when he wakes up, his long hair on the pillow, his nose against my cheek. My bed here is so soft, so smooth, so perfect, but it has no Kari in it, and I miss that more than my three fluffy pillows and my fluffy duvet. There was nothing from my regular stuff in there. I had two drawers in a very messy cupboard, clothes in two suitcases and books piled up in to cardboard fruit boxes. CDs piled up on small places, and yet I was home. I was lost in dreaming, in planning, in holding his hand while we walked in Budapest, Krakow, Wien and looked at the things I'd love to see in our home. A lamp for the dining table, or for our little reading corner, that would make it cozier. The bed I wanted for our bedroom, taking the forms to him, and discussion the tone of the wood, cheking his demands for storage under it (which it has). Smiling because we want the same kind of turn of the century, distressed furniture, that speaks of old and simplicity. No overdone additions, just the beauty of well balanced handmade woodcraft. The smile in the peace, the simple, daily things, such as watering OUR little plant, him smiling because I talk to it in English, me picking and arranging his many magazines and papers, seeking constantly ways to keep him organized and make it easy for him to find and follow. Getting to the point where I know where he put this or that, which he forgot and has been turning the apartment upside down.
It doesn't have to be big, spacious, only ours, and be filled with us and the things that speak about us. Our pictures, our memories, the things we pick.
Now we are apart, but only in space, for my heart has not left his since January.