remembering spain

Ten years ago, give or take a few days, I was sitting on a beach in the south of Spain, with a small notebook in one hand and a black pen in the other, scribbling words in paper.

It was about six o’clock in the afternoon of the last day of the year and I was watching the sun go down. It was an amazing sight to behold, the air was sweet and warm, I was feeling lazy and intoxicated by the sights and sounds around me: people walking leisurely down the boulevard, young beautiful things eyeing back, smiling at me in delight. The peace and beauty I felt in me drove me to write about that moment, to put into words what my body and my mind were experiencing then.

I miss that day so much.

There’s a simplicity that comes with life. Knowing that there are no excuses when it comes to understanding it, that you have no time to waste, even if you feel like you have to start all over again. I like that. Sometimes.

I like feeling a sense of peace inside when everything around me overshadows my entire body.

Still, all the inconsistencies and the days of relentless waiting can only amount to a brief moment in the light of my recently discovered self. But the truth behind these words can only be explained by the utter realization that, after all is said and done, we are beings of light and love. Estranged souls that feel deeply and never cease to weep. Even now, as I try hopelessly to hurry my hands across the keyboard with all these words I have inside, an implacable sense of peace falls upon me and clears my mind of all thought.

The joy of believing in yourself is as big as the pain of not feeling anything at all. Remember this always.

Frank 16:22

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