Tuesday, May. 07, 2019 @ 1:59 am
On the dawn of the day that I move into my new home, my body sheds itself, birthing myself anew. I lay awake for hours, at times jolted with pain so intense that I stare at the ceiling with my mouth open in a silent scream.
I get out of bed and go into child's pose on the floor. Finding no relief, I move into cobra. And then squatting as if in childbirth. Finally laying on my back and doing nothing, just bearing the pain.
The butterfly needs to extract itself from the chrysalis.
I finally fall asleep around five in the morning, the waves ebbing into a soft stillness. An hour later, I'm wide eyed and rushing to the bathroom, everything running out of me and onto the bathroom floor.
I stand alone in my apartment for the first time. The living room a vast expanse of sunny parquet flooring. The one thing that I have with me is my ballet shoes. I take off my coat, sit on the floor, and put on the dirty pink slippers. I stand up, and into the sunlight I move just as I’d dreamed. The wind rustling the leaves of the tree outside.
Another moment of perfection, of a realized manifestation. My white walls, the drenching sunlight, the patina of the hardwood floor, and space to move.
I’m unpacking. Stacking dishes in the small wooden cupboards, placing my shoes in a neat row in the closet.
Peter texts me: Any interest in going for a mild run?
I’m staring at my phone. It’s a Monday night, and we saw each other yesterday. And he’s asking me to go for a run. This is decidedly… relationship-like.
I dig around and pull out my running gear. Tie up my shoes, and ride my bike over to our meeting point. We run an easy five kilometers. I’ve never run with a man before.
It’s playful and fun. I’m faster than him, and I rib him about this and that. We dodge around the people walking, and people look at us and smile. The sun has already set, and eventually we are running in near darkness.
At the end of the run, we both stop to log the run in our apps. He stands with his back to the ocean and the remains of the sunset and takes a selfie.
“Come here,” he says.
Puts his arm around me. And he takes a photo of us.
We go back to his condo for water. I finish the strawberries. I’m laying on the floor stretching, and he’s standing in front of the open fridge. This is all so domestic.
I ride my bike home. HOME!!
Thanks for running with me. he messages.
I curl up to sleep on the floor of the bedroom. I have no bed yet. I have little stuff in general.
And yet I have so much.