The end, the end, the end.
I slept late, ate two types of pie with the wonderful Cari, walked around an organic food market and then went to the airport. Just an average Saturday in Amsterdam.
I was exhausted but ready to start something.
I’d not seen Kate for a year and a half. At first she thought it was a coincidence that I’d turned up in the same hotel as them, in a different country to which I live. Damon and I had been planning it for months.
We checked in, had warm ham and sauerkraut sandwiches at the Film Institute. I held their coats while they did a photoshoot for the cover of a magazine.
We ate steak for dinner and I watched them play to a full room at 2am. Then they got in a taxi at 5.15, headed for the airport, then a festival in Germany. Fifteen hours together every 18 months just doesn’t seem fair.
We always talk about getting our chosen family back together, about having everyone in one place again and it just feels like a story with no end.
I was counting down the hours.
People in Amsterdam aren’t afraid of letting you see inside.
The secret lives of others, Amsterdam.
I wandered around an autumnal Amsterdam alone, my head swimming. I just had to learn how to carry it, bit by bit, to just start something.
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A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone, and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now.
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