You imagine you might die from it.
Living perilously, you cut lemons carelessly and cross roads, head in handbag,
searching for mittens.
Then, dancing at the edge of the sea
you think of all the things you might have that you didn't before,
kisses, smiles and such.
You decide to live,
buy new wellies,
feed the birds.
This place feels like a secret again. I can shout and sing and hear echoes.
For a time, the room was fuller and people were watching and waiting to see things fall out of my mouth and heart. I was a comedian with only three jokes.
Now it's quiet and I come here to twirl around in the space, whisper things to walls and sometime dab at my eyes with a lace hanky.
old me would have had to watch a programme like that out of ghoulish
curiosity. The new me has learned that this kind of information only
showers my soul in demon soot and the devil's engine oil and has me
searching frantically in the library for 'unseeing' spells that do not