“So we are all women now. But we are still those girls, who knew everything and nothing. These bodies have grown into us, and we them. We have opened ourselves to life, to pain, to love. To men. And for the most part, as we sit in the Castle pub on our regular table, we agree we have survived it. Not every hand has been evenly dealt, but then the game isn’t over yet is it?”
On being.
It’s a good pain. Necessary. The pain tells us the weight of what we had. Tells us it mattered. Shows us we are alive, alive to the world in dimensions that make no sense.
August and everything after.
I sit and stare at the wood pigeons hopping through the plum tree, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling. I am a bell, rung. I am the vibrations in the air from the sound; invisible, charged, reverberating but with silence. I am still. I am motion. Something is over and it will not come back.
The same, but different.
“Whatever this was, is passing. Back to life, then, whatever that brings. To a Monday morning. The same, but different.”
The peace of wild things
“…the only swimsuit I own has an extremely sexy cut out panel of mesh plunging across my breasts to my navel, and I’m not sure that ‘podium dancer on a fag break’ is the look I need to inflict on the other early-morning athletes…”
And Other Idiots 