A wordsmith is what she called me but the jury is out on that. Words always seem to fall short of emotion and intent. Words often seem cheap or plagiarized. Words usually seem like not enough. Never enough. Maybe my feelings are just too big or maybe it just seems like it. It could just be my insecurity. Maybe they come about better than I imagine they do.

This is a melancholic mix and seems to align well with feelings about leaving. The music is about as somber and melancholic as the tones in the image above. That shadowy ochre, and there’s the sad indigo. There is the space between the two figures, divided by the sharp angle of the shadow. She is boxed off, away from him. He is going away. Is it a mother and son? Lovers? Or judging from the difference in clothing, a sharp divide between the new and the old? All of the above? Hard call, and like most mornings, the words aren’t coming easily and that doesn’t help.

It’s rare that getting on a plane and going away anywhere leaves me like this. It’s got to be more than the trip itself but what exactly could it be? Why the blues? Why the sad indigo blues? The answer may or may not come but there is music as a balm. There is music.

This image isn’t so stark and forlorn. Christmastime, which is coming. Time rocketing into the future while the city itself sleeps. Wake up in a new place in a new age, perhaps? But oh, the music. I’ve forgotten the music.

Hauntology: Nostalgia for a future that never came to be… even though there are other futures that have become the present. And to be fair, the present isn’t bad at all. Quite the opposite and maybe that’s why it’s difficult to leave this time. I’m not sure.

Time to pack up though.

Time to go.

Remain open to the idea that this may be a postcard from the future.