Hole in My Heart
My eyes shot; tired, dismal. I didn’t sleep last night. I got to a place of slumber but kept on reading, thinking and writing until it faded into the night’s darkness and the sun came up.
Today thus is a half-and-half: of my usual persistence; making black coffee, opening windows and shutters (to let the light in) and finally, sitting down to write - on the other side, exhaustion and a quiet awareness that I’m finding it difficult.
I never used to understand when people would say ‘I’m tired’. It sounded so spoilt somehow. The darkness was fine; I played with its shadows (for I believe that for darkness to exist, so must light). I guess I just didn’t want to come across as a brat, you know? Like those artsy kids who live off their parents but hang out in the East End and constantly complain about how terrible their life is - as though the world owes them something.
But the damage was relentless. Things just kept happening - the goal post kept moving. Every time I’d be ‘nearly there’, I would get slapped across the face a few times.
My fear has never proven me wrong. I’ve had this intuition since I was very small - of when the tide would rise and fall. I hate change.
The Good Man left for the airport yesterday after a week of high-love. I came back to the apartment; into this emptiness. I’ve always loved being alone (only-child syndrome). But now, that missing; the sense of longing - I am so tired of feeling that way.
I don’t cry - far be it for me to be the type of woman who longs for her lover. I’m not a brat, remember?
But I’ve suffered grief as the pinnacle of everything I’ve fought for. They say it shapes you but at some point I’m like ‘fuck that, pretty sure my character is built by now’.
So every time someone leaves, I get this ominous feeling. I walk around as though I have a hole in my heart. I strip the bed, clean the floors and do 3 loads of washing - so that there are no reminders (no scents to spark emotion).
I get on with it.
Do I understand what it is to be tired? No. Because today, though I feel like there is a hole in my heart, I made black coffee, opened windows and shutters (to let the light in) and finally, sat down to write. I stripped the bed, cleaned the floors and did 3 loads of washing.