words.

i'm in a position right now where writing seems to be my main source of calm. even if it's just a few words.

i'm always writing about the grass being greener. i have issues with that phrase. always have. as ironic as this may seem, for as long as i've been envisioning the most-likely return to l.a. (since may), and since specific events have sped up the return to now, i have the strongest desire to be away from this city and tucked away on some island.

on a beach.
the finest sand.
the warmest sun.
the softest breeze.
no phone.
a studio with a big kitchen.
a barbecue.
a towel.
lots of bikinis.
pareos.
a surfboard.
a skateboard.
a bike.
a camera.
a piano.
a guitar.
a hammock.
some books.
a journal.
no people.

the last one isn't completely true.

there's something about writing letters. perhaps it's the kind of distance i'm looking for. keeping in touch in a ridiculously meaningful way without having to be there. it connects. it's reassuring. but distant. distant in the most beautiful sense of the word. the commitment is simple, yet so significant.

and from a beach.