May we all find such a camp. Such a grog. Such a coconut. Such a laying down.
I lay down beside the imprint in the sleeping bag. Not to sleep. To listen. May we all find such a camp
When I left, I took nothing but a coconut shard and the memory of a man—or a ghost, or a version of myself—who once had the courage to stop walking and simply be undone in a tent, under a sky that didn't need him to be okay. Such a laying down
And the grog bottle, though I didn't drink, showed me a vision anyway: the last person who did. They sat here alone, watched the stars spin, and chose to lie down in the tent not because they were broken, but because they were tired of pretending not to be. To listen
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May we all find such a camp. Such a grog. Such a coconut. Such a laying down.
I lay down beside the imprint in the sleeping bag. Not to sleep. To listen.
When I left, I took nothing but a coconut shard and the memory of a man—or a ghost, or a version of myself—who once had the courage to stop walking and simply be undone in a tent, under a sky that didn't need him to be okay.
And the grog bottle, though I didn't drink, showed me a vision anyway: the last person who did. They sat here alone, watched the stars spin, and chose to lie down in the tent not because they were broken, but because they were tired of pretending not to be.
