When you arrive someplace new and it’s at night, you smell those smells of combustion and you’re tired and you’re not sure if it was worth it, this Risk, this Leaving you’ve done. But registered in your olfactory is the memory of what happens next - the new morning.

 I wonder if he still looks at life as hard as he once did. I wonder if it’s possible to slap our hands against the present and shout ¡Mira! on a daily basis or if we must lose the blueness, if we must lose the wonder.

Sometimes when I walk along the water I imagine myself from above, my presence a lone dot there along the edge of the mapped world. When the waves come in, I'm lost to the sea, I think. Way up above it would seem my shallow footing in the white surf was the end of me - for a time at least.