A week away. Not long enough. Absolutely short enough.
I returned on Saturday afternoon with the Cornish sun very much a distant thought. The same beautiful view indented in my mind. I was sad to leave. I felt like I was leaving a little part of me there.
Every morning a man walked his two dogs on the beach just below the apartment. One was old, the other lively and young. The walker carried a tennis racket with two balls and would hit them individually for each of the dogs. It was something so simply executed but magical to watch. This was part of his daily routine. And a part of me felt so jealous that I couldn’t be a part of it. That I couldn’t have one equally as enjoyable and fulfilling.
And it made me question my own existence. My current state of happiness. Was I actually content with what I had. Why did someone else’s life make me feel so miserable about my own. Why had I not changed something to make mine a better place.
As I ran through the St. Mawes country lanes breathing in the inescapable sea air, I came to realise a few things. Life, as I knew it, had so much potential. That this was just the start of better things to come. That I was just above water. That I was just breathing. That there was so much more to what I could be.
I want to leave that little part of me there. Just so I know, when I ever need to remember what it took to take a breath, I would know where to find it. That little slice of me, left in a little world that wasn’t here.
Now I can go back whenever I need to.