Migrations

by Charlotte McConaghy

Or maybe I was just hoping the bird’s final migration would show me a place to belong.

thinking back on the first few lines I marked in this book and wishing I could read it for the first time all over again

Sweetness would turn sour and even a sky as big as this one would soon feel a cage.

somehow I know this book will ruin me

A sky is a sky is a sky, and yet here, somehow, it’s more. It’s bigger.

finding places that make me feel the same way this book did is something so personal to me and I am begging to be able to bottle this feeling for when I’m back home.

I lie in the sea and feel more lost than ever, because I’m not meant to be homesick, I’m not meant to long for the things I have always been so desperate to leave. It isn’t fair to be the kind of creature who is able to love but unable to stay.

OH OKAY ? sick to my stomach 🚶🏻‍♀️‍➡️

I ponder the way things could have been different but try not to dwell there; only regret lives in what-ifs and I have an ocean of that already.

🚶🏻‍♀️‍➡️