limbo

[helenic]

     libellum: caught in that cocoon of light

New layout with an old photo. I'm pleased with it; the previous was just so May Week it made me uncertain each time I looked at it, confounded me with memories of Cambridge and drunkenness and beauty and depression. This is for the space I'm in right now, a certain temporary peace. Child in my parents' house and adult at work, patiently accepting the days until I find myself, in limbo until I'm with him again.

She doesn't need to see his bed to know what it looks like. Its details are frozen in her memory; the tangled sheets that clung to their damp bodies, twisted beneath them as skin slipped on skin. The way the pattern of sunlight fell on the wall above their heads, snaring them in a silent, luminous cocoon.

It's from a piece I wrote a week or so ago for a writing challenge on the forums, the prescribed title of which was "emptiness". I realised half way through that the story wouldn't fit the title but I kept it anyway, intending to return to it at some point. It's about a girl in denial about a breakup, unable to comprehend the reality of her loss, still "caught in that cocoon of light". I know that has little to do with my situation because, well, we're still together, but I liked the phrase and it suits how I feel at the moment; my breath still half-caught in the euphoria of being with him. I haven't quite come down yet from the high of his stay here, can't quite believe it'll be three weeks before we're together again.

I keep half-expecting to turn around and see him there, smiling; to ring his phone and have him pick it up. I entertain that illusion and convince myself that I write him emails because I prefer to, not because I have no option, no way of hearing his voice. I miss his text messages but I tell myself it's because he doesn't want to disturb me at work or to get me into trouble when my phone goes off. I play make-believe, pretend he'll be here when I get home, that I'm only away temporarily and he'll be waiting for me on my return. Because that's closer to the truth than the trick my emotions would play on me if I let myself think about it, the pit of despair they'd throw me into at the idea of night and night and night without him - and worse - the knowing I'll be without him, anticipating each and every minute of loneliness. If I don't plague myself with thoughts of what's to come it's easier to bear. I'll live in the moment, slow day by slow day, and after the moment has passed I'll be there again, with him, in his arms, my lips on his lips, his heat pressing against mine. Really, in the course of our lives together, this isn't very long to be apart.

(This was lifted almost straight out of an email I wrote to him two nights ago, because I have no other words. Forgive me if I tell things to him before I tell you - while I feel a need for this place that's stronger than ever, my time is too precious right now to write everything out twice.)