Thankfully, I no longer have the notebook. Left in a bag, lost on a train. Would I want to read what I’d scribbled, starved, drunk, alone in a hotel room, by the sea? It’s always the same. But isn’t that what we’re all afraid of? I’d like it if things would stop, so I might just stay here forever. Yes it hurts, but that’s who I am now. In this moment, it’s the pain that defines me and in a way, I don’t want that to go away. It hurts because things change, and though life may come to rest, briefly, it’s never long before the next ride begins.