Time Out

by HelluvaGirl

I love the parks and stadiums I stop driving by in the most unusual time of day. I step out and have a cigarette leaning on my car window, radio playing inside, and watch the autumnal bushes giving away secrets to the wind. It’s somewhat thrilling to appear in places I never purposefully go to. It makes me think what happens there all this time I’m not around, and something must be happening every day. 

I love the way my psyche returns to a normal state after unheard-of 9 hours of sleep and I am able to see the sparkle in my daughter’s eyes as she jumps up and down in the bathroom while I wash her before bed. And how we pretend tangerines are aeroplanes flying into her mouth (Cyprus), and when the gates (her mouth) are closed they turn around to fly away (my mouth) and then she grabs the tangerine, nearly biting off my fingers, and we scream laughing at the dining table, and repeat it 20 times.

I love lazily stretching out on my sofa at night while listening to a love song – don’t they speak for us these days… The amber light intimately caresses me, descending from the ceiling, as I listen to the lyrics and just try to breathe, thinking about the oxymoron of me hating masochism so, so much now. That real, methodical self-torture of idealists. It’s so draining to be on the reverse side of it, quite fatally attached. It’s ok, I tell myself: I now see the direction to the shore.

I love being called Sunshine. I take it as a joke but then I possess a weird sense of humour, so maybe it’s serious? I love caring too little. I also laugh a lot these days because I seem to be amusing with that humour of mine, and I am quite amused in return.

Another day, I keep telling myself. Another hour thoughts redirected. Those are the small insignificant strokes that will bring you to the shore and you will awaken from your prolonged messy dream, and you will shake off the salt from the skin and will not step on a ship again for a long, long, long time.