As I’m lying there in the park looking up at a glorious sun, she’s running herself a bath. Each action is clumsy and childlike from the Vodka she’s been knocking back, and although she doesn’t feel happy she giggles to herself all the same, quite unsure as to the reasons why. Swaying there watching the running water, she giggles like a kid, or a lover contemplating the last sexual act, half embarrassed, half liberated by how it makes her feel. Stripping off her clothes, she walks around forgetting what she’s supposed to be doing. She even forgets she’s running a bath, and upon remembering rushes to the bathroom to find water overflowing onto the tiles at her feet. There’s a second of frustration, but it soon passes. No need to fret. No need to get angry. Taking a few deep breaths, she turns off the taps and drains the bath a little until it’s at a good level. In the mirror, she sees stretchmarks and blotchy skin. The image of a woman once a girl. The reflection of a beautiful, organic creature with a heavy heart that never seems to shift. Running a finger over her tummy, she lets her mind wander. Maybe motherhood will make a woman of her after all. Maybe to cradle a new life will let her see just what’s important, and just what’s not. For a few minutes, she stares at herself in silence. In those eyes of hers, she’s not quite sure what she sees, and the more she scrutinizes, the less she knows. There’s beauty for sure, and tenderness of course, but there’s something missing she’s never been able to grasp. Is it really motherhood, or something else? Perhaps she’s still waiting for that one true love. That one soul that will ignite her like no other. But the more she turns these thoughts over, the less and less anything makes sense. Turning her head to one side, she grabs a wet wipe and removes her makeup. Tossing it down the toilet, she lowers herself into the bubbly water. The heat gets into her bones, and when she closes her eyes, a cat she resembles once more, so content and seemingly oblivious to the world. But those thoughts still linger, and as she caresses her tummy, the more she wishes she knew what it was that’s not yet been found.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com