I woke up a little before you. It was a Friday morning. It was a sunny day. I was not in Corsham. Life was good. I felt so serene – it was one of only a few times that I’ve experienced the true feeling of being content. This was a little strange, because the night before I had been extremely distressed – worried about a future which I know now was very real.
I’m not in the habit of bed sharing, but I have done so on a couple of occasions. For me, it’s a very pleasant experience and one which I know a lot of people don’t quite understand. It’s just the matter of being near to another human being, the feeling of closeness and security which sleeping alone can never provide, no matter how nice it may sometimes be. The simple act of sleeping together, without a sexual context, is a bonding experience which I believe should be more common.
I looked to the floor at my blazer and water bottle and I wondered why I hadn’t hung them up anywhere. But before I could indulge too long a look at my most trusty possessions, I noticed that you were waking up. I was pleased.
Strangely enough, though the memory of that morning remains clear in my mind, in particular, how I felt and what I saw and thought, I cannot actually remember our conversations. All I remember is that I was very grateful for your hospitality and I was doing my best to express that – perhaps excessively so, as I am in the habit of doing.
As the morning teetered on into the early afternoon, it was time for me to go home. The most peaceful morning had come to an end and, such as is the case with all moments in time, was gone forever and never to return – but it remains a safe place of calm and relaxation, stored safely in the archives of my memory to revisit at times of duress.
