Write the good

Good is time in a place that looks like where I grew up. More cows than people, as always say. Lost in the middle of green pastures and hills, no houses in sight, the comforting weight of a backpack holding all the belongings I’ll need for the next 15 days. Good is time going by slowly. Waking up and going back to sleep. Feeling the linen of the sheets I splurged on but never regretted on my skin. Sensing the warm bubble I’ve built around me over the past height hours. Slightly opening my eyes in the half light of my room and seeing the rug and side table and chair and plants that feel so very mine. Good is a sunny day in the shade. Sipping on cold lemony drinks, lounging in pillowy chairs, talking with people with whom I don’t need to pretend. Family. Chosen Family. Good is allowing myself to forget. To ignore. To deny. For an instant. Good is revelling in a hug. We don’t truly deeply feel hugs often enough. Pinpointing every millimetre where our skin touch, noticing every single thread of my shirt that your body is pushing against me. Good is just cuddling. Cuddling with no agenda. Good is having a clear calendar, good is a puppy. The unbridled joy of a tiny woof. Good is feeling inspired, sitting on my couch, forgetting the time that’s passing, writing that scene that feels more like a daydream than fiction. Good is allowing myself to live in that dreamworld, in the world where I only know how much beauty love can bring. Good is feeling my lips tingle when I remember that kiss with that crush. Good is the feeling on my tongue 2 minutes after I’ve eaten a rhum soaked grilled pineapple. Good is looking back and realising how much closer to myself I feel than a year before. Good is hope. Good is forgetting. Good is feeling. Good is letting go. Good is letting life happen to me for a minute.

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