The Diving Bell and the Osprey (3 good things)


2. 2

By what do you measure your losses besides the bathroom scales? Grams? Tears? Oceans?

When years fall away like the dignity of a dementia patient – the rings of a tree trunk stripped away one by one until you are sitting on the kitchen floor trying to find the cracks in the cloud cover, trying to decide whether you hate the rain or the sun more, trying to work out whether that even matters when you can’t remember the taste of either.

When you are parcelled from one room to the other in search of warmth; too eroded to stop your emaciated hands from quaking like birds on a hurricane line.

When you realise that you don’t want to have a birthday party this year because nothing has ever felt as much of a lie as your status as a teenager does right now – crushed into lies damn lies and statistics by digits on heart scans that explain the need for constant supervision and new tissue boxes every week.

When it suddenly clicks that few things are prettier than magnolia trees or more precious than your father’s arms.

I am grateful for: A text that asks if I want a DVD dropped around, a porridge bowl the in shape that we think hearts are that feels more of a life source than the scarcely beating organ I contain, the words my dad has forgotten to stop repeating ‘I’d rather be hurt by loving someone than be free from their pain but empty of their love’.


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