Day 7

Strasbourg is decidedly a woman. And life here is decidedly Love.

She wakes me in the morning, touches my ears with a purr that rises to a roar that settles into the universal Om.

Touches my eyes with her pubescent rays scrambling over muted, pebbly, pink roof slates.

Touches my skin with her snappish morning dew so that I adjust my covers until only my nose peaks out.

I haven’t used a watch or purposefully looked for the time in a week. Things still get done, yes, and its not better or worse. It’s just different. As we were brushing our teeth, Kristy told me how she got sentimental last night thinking that it would be her last night here, her last meal with us, her last time sitting by the river. As I walked out, I joked that this would be the last time she’d see me walking out of the bathroom with my toothbrush.

What a jewel! She left me

  • Mouth wash
  • Tea
  • A plastic bag
  • A rose
  • Another flower
  • Postcards
  • Lotion
  • An empty plastic bottle
  • Various notes
  • Q-tips
  • Some sort of charger
  • A plastic container
  • More Q-tips
  • A French cell phone
  • A Bageo
  • Some sort of advertisement for something
  • A sweater!
  • A stolen beer glass
  • And this video of her flute audition

I’m suspended in the center of a crystal and I’m not sure what It is, but It is coming from every direction from a source I can’t pinpoint, and It projects this limitless, infinite, rainbow on the wall, pregnant with potential.

It’s a state of shaking the sifter bit by bit, day by day, seeing the good bits fall through.
It’s a state of not wanting or needing — anything.

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