A love letter
My dearest red earth,
The sound of your waves ricochets in my memory, and I miss you.
It catches me off-guard, really. It will be a nice, sunny day on the top of Oslo. I am sitting on my balcony, enjoying the Northern sun on my face (no sunscreen needed). I bathe in it, stripping the layers off me so that my skin shines, exposed to fresh air for the first time in four months.
The sun then plays hide-and-seek behind a cloud and suddenly it is 10 degrees cooler. The layers quickly go back on. And off again, and on again. Your smell lingers in those summer clothes that lay stacked in storage.
Your water is so blue. Those blue eyes that stun me every time I look into them. I have tried to forget them. I want desperately to forget them. I was not born of the sea, so how have I developed such an affinity for it? You charm me with your old soul, and I am lured to your shores, blind with fascination.
My feet have not met my sandals in over four months now. They sit at my door, along with my umbrella, for who knew when you would need which? They wait patiently, collecting the dog hair and dust of my new reality.
Melbourne, my stubborn, mischievous Melbourne. How can I forget the roaring echo from the MCG on a Saturday evening, or giggling in Fitzroy Gardens with Anna, whispering sweet nothings to the coffees in our hands? (a splurge at $3.40). How I remember the smell of the 96 tram on a Sunday mid-day, everyone still in their Saturday Best. Ahhh, the joy of being bloated from too much fried tofu at Laksa Bar, where they knew who we were. We always ordered the same thing, didn’t we?
I love you despite your pretentious cafes with exposed brick walls, my meal served on a cutting board. God, I hate food served on a cutting board. Yes, the salad served on a slate of rock was worse…
Come to me. Come to me, and I’ll learn to tolerate Vegemite. Maybe. (Yeah ok, maybe not). Oh but darling, I will buy fresh vegetables and kangaroo meat from your markets. I will tickle your fields of wheat and grapes! I’ll dive into your red heart, and never stop swimming.