Coming home to somewhere I've never been.

On the other side of the world, with 12 hours lost and space now at a premium, I write with you asleep on your "bed."

It has just started to rain. So hard it is blotting out the view of this Frankenstein city.

I have not travelled this kind of culturally far since I was young. Since I was hungry for danger to augment my identity.

Now, I am not looking for adventure at all but a way to find peace. I can have it here because it is so far from most of my responsibilities and difficult decisions. Truly I have become a vacationer because my everyday, at home, presents enough danger.

Travelling here was easy; much easier than I ever hoped for. I slept and was comfortable and entertained by a porn memoir with pieces of me in it. Seeing you was the easiest of all.

The world works us so hard it is of course a comfort and delight to reach eachother because it is like coming home. Only not what I have made my homes into (strict cylces of cleaning regimens, unbreakable routines and continuation of old cycles) but something safer and much more soothing.