The tango music creeping in through my half-open sliding glass door.
My neighbors speaking in Spanish, even though for eight months this is all that I’ve heard.
The blueberry 8pm lighting of an Argentine summer making the intersection below my bedroom glow with subtle beauty that I could take in over-and-over again.
I think deadlines give us a sense of impermanence.
Maybe like how death makes the finality of our lives that much more present.
But for me, tonight, it’s just the idea of my distant-needs-to-be-booked return flight back to the U.S.
Suddenly, I have a deadline—a new perspective of time, which is silly because time is still the same.
So now I will play this game with myself as I dance with two more months, trying to
to the day-to-day.