Of being held

Photo by Markus Spiske

It is past seven in the morning. It is raining outside, and I am drinking hot dark chocolate. From here at the kitchen table where I am writing, I can see a sliver of grey sky, and I am in love with it, the way I am in love with the soft wind coming in from the window, ruffling the curtains, with the orange light from the kitchen counter, with Oscar Peterson’s Blue and Sentimental playing as I’m thinking about all of these.

The past few months haven’t been easy for me—I lost a loved one, lost a job, lost an opportunity to live and work someplace else, lost a source of income that would enable me to pay rent, lost my sense of self and my sense of time. The more I lost, the further I walked into the deep dark, convinced I will never recover, certain this is it for me.

There are days when I am just curled into a ball unto myself. I was too exhausted, I couldn’t even cry. I look at my body in the mirror, turning this way and that, thinking about this bag of skin and bones and how it is the only thing carrying me through the past weeks and months.

Once, I lay in bed and tried to think of everything I crave, of what makes me bloom into a fever of want, of what makes my thighs open—I just wanted to feel again, I wanted to know if I am still clinging on to life even if I walk in a daze most days.

I thought of being filled so deep, of kisses on my neck, of being held. I thought of hands on my skin, of being wrapped in an embrace, of being the little spoon. It was the delirium I needed, and I went to it like a moth to a flame.

“I’m not a stable person, and often I encounter great difficulties in life, which often seems quite unbearable. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I love the world and life itself, and, even when in pain, I still have the pleasure of feeling part of a cosmic movement.”

— Herman Hesse, in a letter to Volkmar Andreae, sometime around March 1913

Desire is one of the reasons why I am still here. It makes me get out of bed early in the morning. It has enabled me to start again from the beginning. It is the reason I am sitting here right now saying, I will endeavour to be more present, because I want to be. Because I want to live.

The things that have happened to me happened. And now there is no path but forward.

T. xx

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