You make me feel like me again

 

05-05-21

I feel different, almost. I’m the same, but I’m lighter.

I walk with purpose and I treasure the moment I pour the hot water from kettle to mug. See the tea bag rise, pull against the string.

I haven’t read, haven’t written, I’ve just been. Even the tears that slide down my cheeks feel refreshing. It’s a weight lifted, it’s a breath of air.

It’s choosing me. It might not make any sense, but it does to me.

I move around white walls and tan tiles and soft sheets. I use heavy pillows and sip from warm mugs. I eat off plates with dots on them and use the slightly slanted gas hob that bends pancakes out of shape.

I sit by the window with my legs stretched out, I sit on the bumpy rug with my legs crossed, I curl up on the sofa with my feet touching yours.

I know you like your green tea with the bag taken out. I know you find it nice that I pee with the door open. I know you like humous and crusty bread. You smile with your eyes and your ears and your excitement is infectious.

I love this little dance we do.

We have this little routine. The way we watch a film, and talk about it after. The way we have a serious conversation and then make a dumb joke and fall about laughing.

The bags hanging on the hooks, the towels sloped over the rails, the garlic sitting half used in the cupboard and the biscuits on the top shelf.

The way you scream laugh and then realise it wasn’t even funny.

You make me feel like me again.