all apologies

The grass in Ireland is so green; it’s almost too green; it’s waving all around me as I walk. There is a soft rain spattering across everything. It’s really more of a mist. Being outside in Ireland feels a little like crying. I haven’t cried in months.

There are all these tiny gravestones dotting the grass. Maybe they’re actually road markers or something. I walk down the street, the sky warm and gray and weeping above me, and wonder if grief really pours from every stone here.

It’s raining here again. I’m sitting at my gate for my last weekend trip, this time to Madrid. I woke up this morning after less than five hours of sleep feeling melancholic, like I lost something, or am about to, or maybe I already have.

I watch the wind whip the grass into tiny tidal waves. The rain lashes down; the sky is unforgiving and cold. Yellow leaves twist in the air. As I watch, aqua sea foam shame rises in my throat.

I can imagine the heat that will soon be on my skin. If I step into the sun, will I get freezer burn? I watch the rain again.