The best thing that I have done today is to go outside this balmy mild blowy night, after eleven, despite feeling suddenly sad and hurting physically. The air wrapping, shifting around me. The dog enjoying a longer [in time not length] bedtime walk than normal. Standing in the dark realising how much I want to find words. To listen for them, to actively seek them, also to wait for them.
It didn’t matter that it isn’t wintery, that I am sad, that I hurt. I smile. But I could cry.
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