Yesterday I visited a forgotten place, probably the only public place deserted at lunchtime. No lines here, no worries choking up everyone in the room. Time seems to be slower here with only me and mostly a bunch of old people seating behind the counter with their envelopes and stamps. It was like entering a whole new world. One of them, a woman in her 60s, asked me for an address. Of course I knew she wasn’t expecting one with the @ or .com in it. It’s the physical, the tangible that she needed, where the loved one I wish to reach sleeps, bathes, breathes.
Happy Ball-lent-times Day! Because everybody having a ball today must remember that it’s a time lent to them. It won’t last. Just a thought that popped/pooped in my head. This is not me being #bitterOnValentinesDay :)) #disclaimer Love, love. It’s a beautiful day.
Months after I lost my old home, I longed not only for the old memories, the old comforts. I missed having a patch of soil I could call my own. These days, I keep plants in pots. I water them, I call them my own. Sometimes I talk to them. I tell them how much I wish they won’t give up on me and continue living. Some of them have died. Others have kept on, surviving yet still without flowers. The money tree placed in our bathroom thrives. The herbs are a bit lucky, too. I must buy bigger pots for them soon.