They feed me still.

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I had been tearing up and down Bali on my scooter when I pulled over after seeing a sign for some falls.
I couldn't tell you the name of them or where they were, I couldn't lead you back to this memory with a map.
But it's there. 
This local guy was the announced tour guide, and since I had finished feeling lame about responding with "just one" or "for one, please" days before, I confidently went right along with him to see those tall falls all on my own. 

We walked up the terraces while it softly drizzled from the sky. I offered him a cigarette. We took photos of us making goofy faces. I remember making him jump on this bridge for a photo. Total strangers just shooting the shit.

Then we sat in his shop with a friend of his. I bought some chips. We sat and laughed.
I'm so glad we took this photo because I look at it and it's just, it's happiness.
It's all there. 

And I don't know how I could hold this brief afternoon any closer to my chest, right up to the very trueness of who I am.
To be so far from home and asking a stranger how long he's been married while I stuff ketchup chips in my mouth, I will always want to be that woman.
To be that inspired and consumed by very, very simple things. 

To this day, I remember what it felt like to ask him to take my photo next to the falls, what it felt like sitting there on that bench, what it felt like to drive away so full.

Those memories, they feed me still.

Dani KreeftComment