8 April 2012
I both love & loathe this time of day. And more often than not, especially of a Sunday, enhanced in no small part because of the Bank Holiday tomorrow. My sister is recovering from a long night out, dozing on the chaise. I'm curled up on my favourite chair, Sunday cardigan drawn cozily over my shoulder. I've lit a few candles for Holy Sunday, it seemed appropriate. Outside is a rapidly descending dusk, a sweeping half light throwing an evocative curtain of gloom across the room. I find it's a time that bequeathes the mind to think or more so, over think. I would almost turn in within the hour simply to rush the night ahead. I've given into such practices with furtive frequency, ever since the disintegration of my relationship. The dreaded box/screen in the corner is no welcome distraction. But this helps. Staggering heavy memories & opaque thoughts into a (somewhat) cohesive package.
It helps with the forgetting, not that I actively want to, but it seems that I may have to.
To a degree, in time.
Oublier • Opuss № I