Honolulu

Our hotel room in Honolulu had a balcony that I loved. We were on the 19th floor of the Sheraton Waikiki and the balcony had a "partial ocean view," as the hotel called it. When I stood on the balcony, I could see Waikiki beach to the left, and the city of Honolulu to the right. There was no view of Diamond Head from the balcony, and there was constant traffic and construction noises, but I didn't care. I fucking loved that balcony. Though I couldn't see Diamond Head, I had a view of the city slowly inching its way up into the hazy mountains. I saw the waves coming in to my left.  I sat out there every morning in my pajamas, writing my morning pages and soaking in the perfect weather that we had every single day. I would close the glass sliding door behind me and be alone with my thoughts. And I would write. I wrote about what I loved about the trip, and who and what was getting on my nerves. And I confronted the love and grief I have for my grandparents. I would write feverishly, and then suddenly stop for a moment, needing to take in the scenery and process my feelings. One day when I was finished writing I stood up, arms outstretched, and closed my eyes. I felt my grandparents so strongly, so suddenly, that I opened my eyes and began to talk to them. I tried to talk to them every day I was there, but most of the time I couldn't finish my thought without choking up. The day we went to Pearl Harbor i stood with my hands on the railing and tried to tell my grandfather, but I couldn't get more than a few words out. There's so much I wanted to say, so much I still want to say to them. And sometimes I do say it, but it's not the same because they aren't responding. It's at those times I miss them the most, because all I want is to have another conversation with them.