365: 2015

January 2015

The taste of the unknown felt different then. You leave home comforts in search for yourself, only to find loneliness a hard pill to swallow. You cry hard down the phone to loved ones.

My life is a lie I am trying to fake everyday and it feels so hard.

Look after me please, you plead.

‘Trying to adult’ becomes a welcome phrase as you burrow under the covers of the white bedcovers you bought with your first ‘proper’ pay check.

The introvert in you tells you this is normal. It doesn’t feel normal to ‘recharge’ every weekend.

You retreat.

You burrow — too much and too often.

You get writer’s block.

You start to read again.

Not just to escape anymore but to find answers.

Is this it? It this what independence feels like?

You read more.

You walk. A lot. Head down and head up. Muttering ‘I’m a hurricane’ under your breath. The fresh air forces fire in your lungs that can demolish a migraine.

You listen.

You learn you’re not alone.

You smile genuinely again.

Watching the sun set above an ancient city after climbing what feels like a thousand steps.

Dashing to an after party, giggling under coats in a downpour wearing a ball gown and heels.

Walking home at 2am tipsy with old friends, pretending you’re 18 again.

In the middle of the crush of a pulsing, sweating crowd singing ‘life has a hopeful undertone’ at the tøp of their lungs.

On the sofa during three hour chats, dishing out useless relationship advice and laughing at ridiculous TV shows.

Alongside fellow folk in colourful costumes in a place where in jokes about Doctor Who make sense.

At a fake train platform on September 1st surrounded by giggling geeks in robes.

Hearing your heroes talk, hearing intelligent people more coherent than you talk, hearing anyone talk really.

Watching friends make lifelong vows of love, colleagues dancing erratically to David Bowie, your sister rolling her eyes at your Star Wars jokes.

You learn the comfort of true silence leaving your phone buried at the bottom of your handbag and the joy of community through the crossed wires of the Internet.

You live contently in your head again.

The sheer joy you had wandering solo at The Met are rekindled in libraries, galleries, museums, coffee shops, cobbled streets, parks, bookstores.

You write.

You always write.

You hesitate to post.

Until now.

December 2015

The taste of the unknown feels familiar now.

You swallow it down.

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