meg erridge
you wake up this morning
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You wake up this morning and you’re not the same as you were before. I don’t mean you’re different to how you were yesterday, I just mean something has changed. You can’t remember when you were last not like this.
9am – you make coffee. It’s sweeter than usual, although I can’t see why. You think about waking the woman you went to bed with but you shower instead. There’s danger in this new life that no one else seems to understand. Except me.
As you wash the soap from your hair your eyes sting – this change isn’t progress but a return. You wonder what it is you’re returning to as you watch the water swirl down the plughole – scum caught in hair.
You feel no different as you go about your day – a subtle ache perhaps. More physical than longing. And now it’s time to go to sleep. The night comes slowly but it will be over before you know it. I tell you there is nothing to be done except what you did yesterday but I see the disbelief in your smile.
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