We did the day well, the final few hours of the morning, or was it a sense of mourning…not sure…wore our best-us tanks and shorts…gulped in the crisp this is your last day here bit of oxygen…packed the suitcases as if we were becoming zombies, hungering for something fresh, like MAYBE, a few more weeks of P-Town Bliss. We knew the OMG this is the last day ritual, and like unwilling labs rats placed in a maze, turned, tossed, hesitated, sighed and completed our tasks.
The walk outside, the sun already mocking us with its warmest of greetings as if to say nah-nah-boo-boo, I am going to make you sweat just because you are leaving…but perceiver we did, looked at wispy clouds, slapped a few teeny tiny mosquito’s as they darted and danced stealing some of our blood but leaving us a reward of some place new to scratch. Commercial Street, the main thoroughfare at 6:30 is just awaking so the quiet is as powerful as the clapping of suitcases being towed along the street almost in a parade of fare thee well.
We are, if anything, in life, so able to remember…for good…for bad…but for purpose…we are not to think it is any kind of punishment to be sad, to long for, as awful as those words might resonate, they at least permitted us to experience moments where love, like, potential and peace may have found footing. We are if anything a whole of the sums of that we tried, that we touched, that we tormented over and that we might find triumph. Hello, goodbye, hello Provincetown, as the song ‘See You In My Dreams’, written by Isham Jones goes “…I’ll see you in my dreams, I’ll hold you in my dreams…” Day Twelve
