Inevitably, Creased

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a letter that's very much in its feelings

enfolded // five: landedbefore the year is out August 2022 March 2022 November 2021 August 2021 July 2021 May 2021 unfoldings // may, 2021very much still here and tentatively broaching what's next. April 2021 February 2021 enfolded // two: sending a letter into the air.a few words to the grandpapa I never had the chance to meet but know fully in my heart.

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Before the year is out. I want to swim back to the surface. Touch base. Momentarily. Before diving back in. Burst into tears. Bask in that numbing winter sun. We entered this year in tears. It is difficult to return to this period of myself. It feels a bit like intrusion. In each of my attempts to take pleasure in all that has since unfolded, I feel that I both fail her and free her. To muddy myself in the mild disasters of, say, an East London organic store trying a little too hard to be French.

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TW: mentions of self harm When I think of where I am going, it is into the knowledge that I am perhaps here to stay a while. Emphasis on a while, written in slow motion, whittled down to the portion of myself which dares to lose all sense of time. I ask myself what I would like to do with all this while. I think I will wallow. Now I can actually plan for some annual leave. Finish the book that I know will take me weeks, now that I have months.

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I haven’t written here in a minute. The age old feeling of not knowing how to or what for, I suppose. Less articulation, and more just making space for thoughts to carry in whatever capacity they are in right now. It is impossible to return to where we last left off. Even if it was a good place. The body wants the comfort of something familiar, but I’m pretty sure the heart wants something bolder, like— It took exactly two full days to fill the wardrobes with new air.