Amsterdam and Tokyo are beautiful to me in similar ways: streets lined with bikes just slightly off-kilter, orderly queues outside of cafes, sidewalks layered with cigarette butts and filled with gorgeous people. If only the Dutch language weren’t so ugly. In spite of or perhaps because of their language Dutch artists so exceptionally capture the beautiful scenes in life. I found Night Watch quite underwhelming, instead, I consistently returned to scenes of the sea, the winter paintings, and the Delft streets. I do not yet have the ability to write about art in a satisfactory manner so instead I defer to Laura Cumming’s Thunderclap which communicates my feelings better than I would’ve hoped to myself (thank you to A for the recommendation). Truly, art is everywhere we look. I am not one to notice color but in this city I will always stop to stare at the cardinal red stools, the vibrant greens of plants potted in washed terracota, the worn-out mustard yellow floor. And how lucky the Dutch are, to so intimate with the water! I wonder why there are no great Dutch composers.

Perhaps everything is beautiful when three months of exhaustion catch up to you all at once. Each breath feels like a leap forwards. I cling to the breeze. I seek relief in cafes across the city yet no filter coffee nor espresso can unburden me of the weight on my chest. And suddenly relief is found at dinner with a stranger only to be lost a few blocks away from the hotel on the walk home. Would I still find the breeze so beautiful if I could summon its company at will?

I can’t remember the last time I was just too tired to think. Inhale. Exhale. The minutes pass in bursts. It’s 1:42 for an eternity before it is 2:14. I know that I like natural-process coffees. I know that I like the smell of the water. It would be lovely to fall asleep right here…

I am astonished by my capacity for love. Infinite warmth swells within for the way the trees dance in the wind and your perfume which lingers on my collar.