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Two French Men and a Rolling Stone


Picture from Tokyo, Japan. Writting in Tokyo, Japan.

You sit on a cushion on the ground with your shoes off, you are next to two boys from France who will be sad when they leave. People are not as kind in Paris, they say. Japan is kind. You're home, you feel at home. You don't know why. The beauty of strangers. They provide the best kind of connection, a connection in which you need no name. You are not Jamie, or Jeremy or Benjamin. You are you, just you, a mover, a runner, a wanderer, sharing this moment and soaking in the humanness of leaving. This day and these strangers share their leaving, with you, with your goodbyes that mean forever. Forever goodbyes are the easiest ones. They are sure, they are honest, they are the full and blatant truth, and an accidental lie of it only leads to a pleasant surprise of a second meeting. You wonder why you feel so comfortable with forever goodbyes. Why you prefer them. You wonder how this became your home. Not this floor or the bed in the next room over, or this country or this continent that is seven thousand miles away from what you know. From the place you live. But this movement. The forever goodbyes. The displacement and the discomfort of the unknown, they have become so comfortable, so goddamn comfortable that you are home here. You are so proud of yourself, so proud and so angry. So angry because look what you did.


Years ago, you made your heart a stone. Rock hard. And one day, you used all your might, all your strength, and you pushed that stone down a hill. You pushed the stone and it went. And then it went faster. And it keeps going faster, and faster, and oh my god, this speed and this momentum is like flying.


But as the stone, your heart, is rolling and flying, it loosened, the stone that is your heart now excretes pebbles. Little pebbles of your heart fall off, as it rolls, like stones do. They fall off and they stay. Pieces of you stay, in these places. The stone can't stop now. It is flying. Look at what you've done. You can't stop moving. You cannot leave a place with the same heart. Part of your heart will remain in these places you go.


So you say your forever goodbye to the two French boys. And you sit in the airport, and say your forever goodbye to the little pebble of your heart that will be left in this place. And you welcome the home that will come next, and you wonder what shape your heart will take in this next place.

And you think about how one day, you will die, because everyone dies, and you think of how many times you have died already within this one life. How many pebbles you have dropped and how many different shapes your heart has taken. One day, you will die, and be gone for good. And still, those pebbles, they will remain. A piece of you, a piece of your heart. Never in one place. At home in the movement, in the everywhere. Not all hearts can remain in one place. Some stones are meant to roll.

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