Like the unique sadness there is to mornings. Like the olive grey light that slants across the walls when I have slept too late. I dreamt of you again this morning (again, sleeping late.) It felt close.
This afternoon, still grey, tentatively February, I acknowledged acceptance of a kind, but it was like sinking into bathwater a few degrees too cold. I have been cutting fragments of my self away bit by bit and eagerly handing you the pieces until there was nothing left, and then apologised for not giving enough. I'm sure there was a precise point that it all changed but it felt like a gradual lethargic degradation. A bow stretching, stretching. A hem unravelling.
There is something sweet around the edges, you know, I would have done anything for you (I would still.) But here I have isolated myself and have nothing to fall back on. I do tell myself to stop using people (oh, men then) as crutches. To stop looking for myself in others. I dreamt you up, if I am honest, I dreamt everything up. I once knew a man who was too alive for this dead world that he let himself out and I've been finding ghosts of him in every man who's ever called me beautiful since. In every drunken slur, in every house that swells with silence.
Some days I wake up and can't move, and only then do I remember that particular strain of sadness (you do not know it until you feel it) only then do I remember the certain kind of hopelessness of knowing the bathroom floor after testing the strength of the shower curtain. But I have my rituals. Awareness of self-fragility is not the same as conscious naivety. I forge a quiet confidence in the fact that I have learned to accept solitude, it is a gentle victory. No one can touch you there. The days press on and stretch out regardless. Last week at 6 am I rode the DLR alone just to see the pink dawn bless the docks, and make silver silhouettes of the skyscrapers. I find a small solace in my ability to see love in everything, it is a gift that no one can take from me.
Some day we might find a soft place together.
Somewhere you say my name to me again.