The number of churches I saw in Reykjavík in seven days: 1.
The number of churches I saw in Barcelona in one afternoon: 2.
Spain feels familiar in soothing ways, even though the pollution irritates my respiratory system. The kindly gentlemen who display restraint with their drama, even as their features suggest incipient catharsis. I, too, am searching, but afraid to suggest the wrong kind of vulnerability or enthusiasm. Since friendship is based on willing to make yourself vulnerable, I stutter, look on jealously as the world continues to turn with my fears proving once more unsubstantiated.
Barcelona edges closer to
The word I mainline in my quest for identities
You’ll have me longing
For a very simple kind of salida
Don’t know what to do with you
Now that I’m in here
Stealthy correspondence, a cynical encapsulation
Of what would be the essence I could
Come closest to capturing
Catalan flags still up
Gorgeous touches erupt
Into my vision
Necessitating detours
Pursuing division
So I can represent myself as whole
What’s really to fear
In an Icelander’s love of Beyoncé?
What’s really to learn
When you can’t break through
Neither to yourself nor other
Just remaining locked
On autopilot, go!
Bad habits may lead me elsewhere
If the price is right
