At the end of an arduous year, both in terms of work and in terms of emotion, I have dragged my broken soul to Cyprus. This is where I come for some sort of purge. To cleanse myself of the destruction of the previous year. My meticulous and spartan routine leave me to evolve. I replenish my soul by reading all the books I meant to read but neglected because of a busy schedule, I run and swim all the miles I should have but just didn't have time to and I sit, think and assess the moments which changed me.
I've started my monastic living a bloated, cynical and tired version of myself. In my experience, living here a while transforms me. The sun cheers me up, running makes my body lithe again and the good food and books nourish my soul until I return, replenished and devoid of caution, to my real life.
This is the closest I'll ever get to running away.
Day 1: My first run around athalassa park. This is my temple, running in the heavy scented pine and eucalyptus as the sun warms my back helps me to mull over moments lost. To remember nuances since assigned to 'memory'. The ritual of my run soon takes on a whole new life. The water tumbling in my bottle is the strings, played like a mazurka my heavy feet pounding a slow but steady rhythm. The melancholy breeze tickles the leaves and that would be the flute. I hear the music as I run.. I think through of how much my year has changed me and I realise quite how much I've buried, I've hidden for self preservation.
M is not longer a daily thought. His presence in the darkest caverns of my mind were a surprise.. How did he get relegated to the areas best kept for truly painful memories?
I can't remember why I was so intoxicated by him. I've shoved him so far away that I can't even picture his treasured smile anymore. I suppose it's a good thing but how am I supposed to use the feeling I had for himas a point of reference for my next victim when I can't even remember how he kissed?
The slosh-slosh of my water brings me back to reality. I've skirted round the high points of the park, the Kyrenia hills in the distance bear the flag of their desperation. The sun begins to sink. It's time to drive home and to remember how to drive after a year of inactivity.
Some things are best left unearthred. However innocent and benign they seem, it's best not to tackle with a tiger cub. They grow to be big tigers...
