At the boundary

Rainy day today, feels about right. I miss Myanmar more each time: border crossings leave little time for reflection or a quiet parceling out of emotions, smells, things to leave or the things we carry forward.

No longyis, an immediate jolt

And faces without thanaka

As I am shepherded through narrow immigration channels and across a characterless no-mans-land and across that arbitrary line where Thailand begins, rising like a wall

Invisible in the air

Another day ticks forward and the distance between us and Cambodia shrinks down a little more,

Not that I’m counting.

After all, rainy days are for taking stock of the things

Before the rain,

And the things we carry after the storm.

One thought on “At the boundary

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