In an effort to quash the overthink I went into the desert.
The sky went for a billion miles over my head and orange rock erupted from the earth.
I took a moment of solice down by a waterhole.
In the shade with my eyes closed, I imagined I was in another place.
Drops trickled down cracks and over ridges even though it hadn't rained for weeks.
Time means nothing to this place.
To sit on a rock that shot up from the ground millions of years ago,
where people have scooped their hands into pool to drink for thousands of years,
made me feel so small and insignificant.
As the sun tracked across the sky, I got talking to a group of French travellers.
We joked and laughed.
They invited me to stay with them next time I go to Paris.
We drank champagne and looked out at a setting sun.
I couldn't help thinking that time will be sooner rather than later.
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