Heartbroken. I think I’m fine and then it all hits me again. And I just feel this incredible mix of sadness, pain, loneliness, nostalgia and happiness. And calm. If granada ever gave me anything, it gave me peace. But within that peace is such pain and sadness. And happiness. I feel so mixed up, i don’t even know how i should feel.
Ava sent me some pictures. And i just felt so happy. And then I thought about it. And every day that passes, it feels more and more like a dream. I look at my pictures and read my entries and it feels like it never happened. Like i made it all up. Then, every once in a while, i’ll be reminded of a feeling or of a sound. Like the sound of the wind whipping the liner off of our tent in portugal. Or the sound of the tissue lady yelling her sales pitch ” Yo tengo pañuelooooos!!!!. Or the feeling of being surrounded by 40 people from 30 different countries all speaking spanish and watching Matt light fireworks off of Laney’s roof. Or the smell of the dirty breath of the city: a smell so completely different than New York City, a smell of fruit, people, spices, dog, tea, incense; of heat so unbearable and a breeze so thankful. And then there were the birds. The birds of granada fly in no particular direction. they dart in desperate and chaotic circles, barely above the rooftops of the city, barely missing eachother. I used to walk and see them, and immediately think of Lorca, Falla, the Reyes Catolicos, and the those that died in the battles for control of the city. Granada is a haunted city, the birds know.
I think of these things, and all i can do is cry. because I don’t know what else to do.
I think of my early days in granada. those that seem most dreamlike: did i really perform poetry in a teteria? Did i really dress up in costume and run around Cadiz like a lunatic for 2 days? Did it really snow in Granada? Was there once a time when I was too scared to walk those streets alone? Did i really go to a massive rave in the middle of a dried up river bed in the mountians? Did these things really happen? Why are they so hazy and yet so very clear? How can this be?
I fell in love with a city. And I know in my heart, that even if i do go back, it won’t be the same. But when I think about it, i don’t want it to be the same. I went to spain a different person. It changed me. The person I am now will have new and different experiences in spain. It’s just the way things go.
When I was a little kid, I used to think that people’s souls were like blank canvases, and that every experience would leave a splash of color. And so when we died, God would judge our lives worthwile by the beauty of our souls.
Granada’s color is orange. An orange brillant and dark and rich, mystical and ethnic, familiar and happy.
Consider my soul orange.