On the other side of the attic windows, there is blackness.
I crack them open to let the smoke out, and cold air slaps me in the face as it tumbles into the room. I don’t mind it. Cold air is easier to breathe.
On my side of the windows, there are candles burning, their flickering light reflected in the glass. I am bundled up in a snug, worn jacket and the yellow scarf from Amsterdam, jeans, and an extra pair of socks.
I’m tired and I’m hurting on several different levels.
I’m cradling a mug of hot tea in my hands, and it’s too hot to drink just yet, but breathing in the steam – the contrast between hot air and cold – feels wholesome. I feel like I’m healing something on the inside.
I feel apprehensive about trying to sleep. Lately I’ve been having nightmares – I don’t remember the stories, but I remember the feeling that goes with them
– the shock in the moment when a knife slips, or when there isn’t one last step at the top of a familiar staircase in the dark –
I don’t want to feel that feeling, but I’m so tired.
Candlelight is comforting. Flame and smoke, and warmth and yellow light. Familiar smells, and memories of sitting around a campfire, sharing stories. I feel closer to all of the things that are earthly and tangible and real, and untouchable, and for always.
There is also a cat who lives in my room – or I’m allowed to sleep in her room, depending on your perspective. She hates everyone but me. When I’m in her room, she makes it quite clear that she requires attention – chin scritches, behind-the-ear scratches, a lap or the curve of an elbow to curl up inside. If I don’t give her attention, she will climb up my limbs like branches of a tree, and bat gently at my face. If I close my door, she needs to be on the other side of it. We share warmth, and she smiles and purrs soundly when she’s happy. And when she’s had enough, she tells me.
The tea, the cats, the candle wax – they nudge me towards a safer state of mind. I can rest here. I’m tired and it’s okay to let everything be. It’ll be here for me in the morning.
I’m a tiny speck on the surface of a tiny world, and everything is hurtling through space, and why of all of the arbitrary ways to experience this universe am I looking out at the world through Loren’s eyes…
Remember to put the candles out.