The Night Owl
We heard the news on a Sunday. ‘So fitting', I had thought to myself dryly then, a little smile dancing wistfully across my face at a memory of you, dressed in your ill-fitting suit, sitting in your favoured spot, on the aisle at the front of the flock. Blue veined hands holding tightly to your hymn book, your voice always strongest, proudly loudest when your favourite part of the verse was being sung.
The hot water felt incredible. First hitting my scalp, the water running over my hair, a rush of warmth felt all down my back. Sighing out loud, I marveled at how this could possibly be the best shower I’d ever, ever had in my life- in all my 34 years of showering? My mind contorted into numbers, trying to work out that answer - but mathematics had never been my forte. Inwardly rolling my eyes at myself and my overthinking, I turned to face the other wall and just immerse myself in the moment.
Long shadows now appearing across the sand, it was getting close to happy hour on our little island oasis. I closed my eyes once again, relaxing into the sensation of the late sun and sea breeze across my faintly sunburnt skin from bathing on the front beach a few longer than planned.
The TV Reality Host vs The ex
Dear Donald, I married a version of you many years ago. Nearly 10 years, 3 children, a goldfish and far too many traumatic experiences later, I also fled from it. In a terrifying 2 hour window of time. In a crisis. $350 cash in my pocket. Into hiding, barely able to breathe.