early

It's half seven and I am asleep, curled on my side after a late bedtime. He nudges me awake, hands on my back, and I slither over into his arms, what's wrong?

Those worries you have before the day gets truly light are the worst, grey sadness, limbo of pre-action. We drift in and out of sleep until the room is brighter.

I wait and wait for the weekend where he won't leave on Sunday, where we won't hold these concerns (just others) between us in the stillness of the morning. Where we have all week (all life) and he won't wake so early, so sad.

vday #3

(last year here)

Yesterday we spent the day in Kensington, visiting the Natural History Museum and Kitchen W8, then lazily browsing the shops in the clearest, sunniest weather we've had since before Christmas. It was decadent and perfect, and it went all too fast.

I suppose it isn't surprising a day disappears at such a rate when I can barely believe it's two years since we drove to Tintern Abbey, eating chocolate all the way. I love thinking of moments in those first few months, the fizz of excitement being with someone new and wonderful (and I still get excited, every Friday, every time I know I'm going to see him) and how I knew, smiling at him by the tube stop on the Goldhawk Road, that it would last. And, oh, how I hope that whatever happens in these next months we will still feel this way.

Since I last wrote an awful lot has happened and as a result of a terrible accident I have post-traumatic stress symptoms. Life has been pretty fucking awful. Things are much better (counselling and supportive friends and family; and him, of course, his constant mopping of tears and telephone calls) but I'm not myself. It's an odd existence.

I am also trying to fit the puzzle pieces of our lives together, we are both trying. I will never stop trying.