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Being unable to breathe

I want to write
If it wasn’t for my blog
If I could not write
Where would I be
Without the words

I feel nausea at the thought
And I wonder what he feels
If he can write
If he can talk to someone
I’m alone but at least with my words
I throw a rope across the seas
And hope my friends grab it in time.

Last night was rather depressing. I went to bed around one, because I refused to sleep until I’d done at least my French work. So me and my translation about Russian political history pissed each other off until 1am. Once I’d printed, I got myself to the bathroom. Zoned out while I was half naked. Thus froze my ass off. Eventually managed to talk myself into getting into bed. So I walked past all the big windows, facing my huge dark garden, my dangerous garden with its four attempted break-ins and my biggest, darkest fear. I really hate my house at night. It scares me the fuck out. Eventually managed to get into bed, and lie down. The neighbours had by now proceeded from mild vuvuzela experimentation to abysmal hip-hop and r’n’b festivities, à la car sound system. In my head their cars are all torched now and all their stupid cd’s obliterated from the earth forever. They kept on the noise until 5am. Now, if they were playing Muse, I would have been as happy as can be. But all that reached me was utterly shit sound waves. I wafted in and out of sleep, and thoughts about Nick, and wanting his arms around me, and realizing he’s most probably not coming back, and aching. And then at one point I noticed that the suitcase on top of my cupboard looked like a giant man in the eerie night light. And the shaft of white light coming through the window was reflecting on the cupboard. And then I heard noises in the house, creaking doors, the sound of breaking burglar guards. I’m just imagining, I told myself. It’s just a drunk digs mate coming home and banging stuff by mistake. That’s all. I heard a deep voice and couldn’t figure out who of the two girls could have such a deep mumble. Somehow sank back into a frightened little sleep. Woke up paralysed and thought someone was standing over me, a street kid. There was a white pole in his hand, it looked hollow, he was blowing some kind of gas on me. I forced my hand to move and I felt the polystyrene texture of the pole and I knew I was dreaming – that like Nick said my mind overpowers my body- and if I could just break the paralysis I’d see there was no one else in the room. I pushed and pushed and then I got up and there was no one else there. I got out of bed. Neighbours still blasting their crap outside for all the world to vomit in tune with. My house is silent. I try to breathe. It comes back to my mind, like a tidal wave, all the pain of the past 48 hours. I am alone. There is no one to make me feel safe so I got to make it happen for myself. I cradle her body to sleep.

She is a child, shaking and unconscious to reason. Slowly we give in to rest and the night fades away, one more time.


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