Cuba

The white of this screen isn’t conducive to writing.
But, I think of Cuba.

I think of that corner table at the resort by the open window, the glass doors. I told myself then to be present, to remember, to take this snapshot back with me. I thought I had savored the moments in their entirety and now I see that I hadn’t, not fully. I still hear the midnight waves, the way they crashed, their sound like a lullaby bringing me to sleep. And I surrendered without hesitation.

I miss the sun, that warmth, that blue oceanic landscape with skies hovering over like a blanket of love.

How can one take all of that beauty inside and make it permanent? The beauty moves through – lingers in some places and leaves others as fast as it comes. How can one fully contain this?

I miss that space, that peaceful place. I miss Havana, its stones and cafes, the Cathedral, its children, mothers and fathers. I miss the elderly man on the stool, the music, the mint of the mojitos.

The heart is still there scattered along the shore, in a shell, on a wave, on the sand, imprinted in the air, along the graffiti and word Revolucion.

How does one leave such places?