8am. Head under the pillow, wishing to be asleep after a restless night, thinking
This is a nightmare.
In shavasana on Wednesday, I realised I needed to call Dan to confirm what my belly knew to be true. I gasped for air, let it sink it. Shell-shocked, and then abruptly reunited with myself. Accepting where I’m at, I asked my mother if she will be okay with it, if she will forgive me, if I don’t have children.
At the Art Factory with duct-taped boobs, I danced and sung and twirled frenetically until drenched with sweat, solemnly affirming my desire to honour my spirit.
Gentle nahko snoring.
Crouching in the shower,
kissing his forehead ‘maholo’
him smelling me/ in the band room, him smelling me, before anything
losing my words, losing my senses, being speechless
thinking to myself ‘whatever you want. i will give you whatever you want.’
half asleep this morning,
what a nightmare.
Knowing we do not belong to each other, we are borrowed. And yet. Yearning, to be touched, to share, to be invited in. To be known by you, in the other senses of the word.