Traveling onwards all the time,
meant that friends were few and far between.
I remember standing in the square in Tagahzout Morocco.
My boyfriend had just left me.
No more exciting first kisses,
only an expensive lease on our newly chosen apartment,
a broken heart, and a terrifying feeling that
I may never see him ever again in person,
as he traveled onwards to Russia.
My heart broken, and relieved at the same time.
I feel like a failure in love. In life.
But I must go on.
I look at the people talking and connecting.
In this foreign land, I wonder why I am here?
I see men talking lively in the streets. Holding hands while walking.
Kissing each other on the cheeks as they say goodbye.
This culture has an understanding of brotherly love
in a way that my culture of origin doesn’t.
But as I look around, I am one of the only women
this culture also doesn’t view freedom for women
the way my culture of origin does.
But friendship, friendship I see everywhere.
In the casual conversations around me.
I watch two men in particular having a rousing conversation
they speak together, and their bodies show an open familiarity
A laughter and a joy at being together.
I sit in the square watching them for a while
and all the while the burning in my heart grows and grows
Where is my friendship?
Where is my home base?