Not hungry

I’ve sat in a hot bath in a dark room and cried until my tears were the only water that warmed me. I’ve carefully tucked photos inside envelopes, inside the pages of books, and then deep inside drawers I don’t open. I’ve sat at my desk from dark morning til dark night to avoid those hours at home, alone. I’ve pleaded and bargained with gods I don’t believe in, guilty and still greedy for their salvation. I’ve sung our songs til I lose my voice. I’ve bought two wedding dresses in hope; I’ve put two wedding dresses away. I’ve tried to stop telling stories with you at their centre and quickly ran out of things to say. I’ve driven past the park you proposed in, seen its colours change with the seasons of many years. I’ve marked anniversaries that don’t mean anything anymore. I’ve woken in the dark with a start. I’ve spent long nights awake. I’ve kept photos of you on my phone, too scared to delete all. I’ve questioned what I did wrong. I’ve slipped into one of your shirts. I’ve waited for you to change your mind. I’ve wondered if I’m losing mine. I’ve sent you messages I regret. I’ve felt the ribs surface beneath my skin. I’ve watched the silver spread through my hair. I’ve seen my reflection in a mirror and wondered who I am. I’ve endured dreams that you have a child who’s not mine. I’ve loved you fiercely since we first stood at your mother’s grave; I’ve whispered to her, asked her to help me. I’ve lied to my friends and to myself. I’ve felt self-indulgent. I’ve felt helplessly sad. I’ve tried to forget you. I’ve imagined every way you might come back to me. I’ve had no appetite since you left.


I walk home from work on a chill midwinter night, music tucked inside my ears, wind whipping my hair and skinning my lips; a night when the sky is so dark and so deep you feel the earth will defy gravity to rid you from its surface, to fling you out into the depths. It’s dizzying and exhilarating. Nowhere in the world do I feel lonelier than in my hometown; an environment so familiar I can reproduce every detail behind closed eyes, where I feel any absence with the startling burn of a fresh wound. Where days, weeks and months become so routine that one wrong step, one new route, or one missing link attracts the gaze of a curious spotlight amid the ordinary gloom.

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Dear I Could Eat Again,

Thank you for pushing me to practice writing and eating, every week, even when I’m tired and uninspired and sometimes not even hungry. Thanks for letting me get things off my chest. Cheers for your steadfastness. Thank you for travelling the world with me and for being my home stenographer. Thanks for encouraging me to be honest. Thank you for making me talk through my issues and for never interrupting or telling me what to do. Thanks for teaching me that my stories are ok if I think they are ok, even when no one reads them. Gracias for the many, many memorable meals we’ve shared. Thanks for letting me put your name on business cards before you were born, I realise that’s a bit embarrassing. Thank you for teaching me discipline. Thank you for being there when I need to cry and when I want to laugh. Thanks for helping me make my mum and dad proud.

Happy 1st birthday my blog, you bring me as much joy and agony as my own flesh and blood. Now, what should we do for lunch?

Love, Faith xo

ps Thank you for letting me take a break this week to write you this letter instead of a story, I know it’s a cop out.