there are very few things i remember about the brief time i lived in morocco. washing my clothes by hand, snail soup, roses. roses on the dining table, lining the streets. everyday i saw a rose. someone would hand me one, a stranger, a friend.

i have been lonely, lately.

everyday i sit at my desk, answering emails for work and life, and look out at my lavender, almost in bloom. i do my best to surround my sense with lavender. the scent of choice for my soap, deodorant, perfume, ice cream. i want the calm, the serene of it. i want the maternity of lavender, the peace of it.

today, sporadically, i burst into tears. from exhaustion, from too many people, too many obligations, from not enough love. i have been lonely for love. too many friends live too far away. a heart cut in pieces and handed to corners of the earth. and here, in this new corner, feeling the newness again, the wonder again, the adjustment to a culture not-mine.

i like when paul says this: "now i know in part; then i shall know fully, even as i am fully known." and i cry out, know me!

so, today i bought rose soap. because i need to bathe in his intimacy. i need to break from meeting so many days and remember that he loves me, because he loves me, because he loves me. which is another thing i learned in morocco.