Seven I have not sent

Lindiwe saw me today. She said the camera girl. I stood at the counter and my eyes went hot. That is so dumb. I know that is so dumb.

I bought tea from her. It tasted like red grass. I drank it all.

I wrote in my notebook. First time my hand has made real words in months. It felt big. I will not say why.

On the bench by the backpackers I wrote to my dad again. Four long bits. The last word is the same as last time. And the time before. Same word, same me. I do not send it.

Seven now. Seven I have not sent him.

I do not know if I came here for the light or to get far from Cape Town. I will not ask myself yet. Maybe not ever.

By three the streetlights come on. By four the city is dark and quiet. I think I like it better dark. Less eyes. Less questions.