We start with the sea.
This is the first day of the Rest of My International Life, the first time I’ve seen my dear friend in years, and I find myself scooped up from the airport and deposited here.
It was supposed the remedy for monstrous jet lag, but as I walk towards the water I don’t feel tired.
The Danish sky looks as if it’s barely holding back a storm, but we’ve come too far to go back now. So we spread out on the dock, me and my friend and her love, the humid wind somehow a substitute for the sun we imagined bathing in. We dangle our feet in the brisk, clear water and giggle over foamy Tuborgs and the unbelievable fact that somehow our lives managed to cross again, in this tiny corner of Scandinavia.
Wrapped in a borrowed cardigan, the wind pulls at my hair and clothes without discrimination. But it’s a hug, soothing hands rubbing up and down my back, my arms, telling me that this is a new day. Telling me I am made to live in it.
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