Friday January 6, 2017
I'm at the southernmost point of Africa, being my southernmost self. Jagged slabs of rock slice the sky so thin I can see right through it. Other worlds become visible, but we don't need them because our rocks are smothered in breathing stars. A few dead jellyfish are here to remind us what blue is with their defeated tentacles, but blue is no longer the color I thought it was. The landscape is unfamiliar but I let my body read it and they seem to have a secret code of their own, one of windy gestures, sandy steps and cloudy breaths.
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