I am halfway through the long and overwhelming process of taking every aspect of my life, folding it away and starting all over again. Beginning with my wardrobe, sifting through the layers of velvet and chiffon and black, black, black, there are the crisp cotton dresses I wore in a different life and coats with pockets full of sand like forgotten love-notes from the ocean, the same ocean that refuses to stop kissing the shore no matter how many times the tide pulls it back; sadly I am a stranger to such determined persistence,
and over night, I abhor them all. Every shirt, skirt and the lacy dresses I wore so sanguinely. I watch them fly like feathered mercury and gather in heaps like shrapnel around my bedroom floor.
Tomorrow they'll go to the charity shop.