I have been restless.
Over the course of almost two years now, I’ve been stuck on the same piece of land.
I have been to multiple shorelines, but the other side has never been the places I am looking for.
My land-locked feet are waiting. Waiting for that rolling wave of humidity that will meet me again and again. Waiting for a particular kind of sky and a particular kind of mountain. Waiting for a familiar type of rattle and a certain kind of human density.
Some days I think I could give up everything here just to embrace the sound of the cities I love and have not seen for so long.
Some days Toronto has no hold over me.
I often feel like the other language of me is straining against my skin, 偶爾它強烈的思念讓我旋轉，使我的世界繼續旋轉。They depart in place of me. These words.
I miss the cities grown into my bone.
I have been thinking of the slippers I wear all summer at home, with their sunken grooves where my heel hits heavy against the ground (a habit of walking my parents can hear in the house). How the rainwater pools in them during typhoon season, how the leaves stick to my calves and the ends of my toes.
I have been thinking about where I might go to watch the sunrise and an ocean, or maybe a sea.
The never ending transit of my living.
This is not nostalgia. 因為我要的依然在。
Just another kind of longing, which breaks down at the edge of this language.
I once told someone that my future is an act of returning.
I am working hard to step into places I stepped out of.
Have you ever tied string to the tails of dragonflies?