it was such a small thing.

in san francisco i bought an overpriced jar of some sort of moisturizer from kabuki springs because it smelled like fresh cut grass. i was standing in a skinny hallway lined with products waiting sadia to finish her treatment, slathering testers all over myself. 3 days in a hotel room with its dry heat had sucked the life from my skin leaving me feeling like a walking slab of turkey jerky. i looked at prices of things and made use of them in the moment. a $60 jar of manuka honey. i rubbed its expensive contents onto my cheeks and face feeling like i was getting away with something.

sadia came out of an unmarked door looking like someone had told her the world wasn’t ending and everything was going to be alright. i wished i had booked a massage.

“what are you doing?” she asked. “you look…shiny.”

“I need this,” I whispered. “my skin is dying. it’s going to fall off and i’ll just be this mass of walking meat. i can’t anymore.”

“are you ok?”

i handed her the jar that smelled like blue skies, mowed lawns and long days.

“don’t judge me,” I replied. “i need this. it’s february in portland. by march i’m going to question the existence of the sun.”

$20 for a thimble full of sunshine. how san francisco.

i miss the city.

my friends tell me, “let me remind you why you don’t.” and “do you miss seeing human feces everyday? or do you really like setting money you don’t have on fire?”

they’re right.

i miss them. i miss the idea of sunny park days and the feeling that anything is possible.

portland feels unsafe right now and i hate that.