BackwardsIt still works. I can crawl into bed and pull up a blanket made of memories and sadness and it's safe. It's warm. I pull it all the way up over my head and underneath it the music is loud and a familiar face is right there, stealing my fort. Taking my comfort. Leaving hardly enough room for me to stay warm, suffocating my sanity or what might be left of it now.
Into a wall of fire
Matthew Good is singing so loudly I can't hear what Jake says to me until he reaches out and turns down the song.
Are you going to stay in here forever?
Until the weather is better, yes. It's called Hunkering Down. Don't they do this in Newfoundland?
They do indeed. But the weather is fine here.
Not inside my head it isn't.
We can fix this.
I don't think I'm fixable, Pooh.
What if you are? What would you do then, Piglet?
Oh, I would be so happy. I would never ever stop smiling.
Then that's what we should do.
I woke up because I couldn't breathe anymore and I threw off the covers to find total dark, complete quiet staring me back in the face, a waiting adversary and yet no match for my dreams. I get up, naked, gasping for air, borderline/hysterical, and I go and get a glass of cold water and bring it back to bed with me. When I get back into bed I smell sandalwood and it smells like Jake and I start sobbing because I miss him so bad and at the same time I feel so horribly ashamed for still feeling this way.