Awake just after dawn with no inclination to leave the bed with pillows as my only comfort. It’s cold and raining.
I suddenly remember that it’s October. I already miss the auburn month, and of course, I regret not paying enough attention to it too busy with the day-to-day living, too busy with the words words words.
Then, finally, the silence.
I suddenly remember a sentence I wrote almost a year ago. When I first attempted these. To think nothing of it. To think nothing. To feel nothing; how does one do that?
It is only the first. It is already the first.
Four days have slipped away from you in a stupor of an autumn illness; your immune system perfectly susceptible to that first cold that comes when you are least prepared for it and it just knocks you down. Like the messages, like the voices you hear when you are coming up from the station but you know they are not calling for you. For whom then?
No coffee for four days; your self-pity cannot stomach it. On the fifth, your body no longer feels like your own. You need a movement. Where is it? That first reconnection with the world is the hardest. Where have you been? Nothing moved but your thoughts.
The sky hangs low. Like a blanket, like an approval that you haven’t requested but one that you have been granted. A promise that you made and that you need to keep. For yourself.
What are you terrified of? Not all decisions you have made have been wrong. Remember this firmly.