Daily Writing Piece #1 - 12th April.

I could hear the harsh patters of rain assaulting my skylight as I lay in bed; in conflict with myself as to whether to get up and start my day or lay here forever. In a relaxing bliss of overpriced scatter cushions, my 24-year-old blankie pruned over my arm and the knowledge that the world still turned even whilst I lay, I continued to lay. And I continue to lay, resisting the urge to take hold of my phone and scroll aimlessly for the next few days. And then I realise, it was today. I knew the trepidation I had been feeling all morning was for a reason. I crawl myself into the bathroom, slapping some water on my face, hoping it wakes me up. I brush my teeth as quickly as I can, and I head downstairs. That’s when I see the message that I wrote myself all those weeks ago. 12th April – don’t forget. Not that I necessarily have a habit of forgetting important dates, I’m usually really good at remembering people’s birthdays and stuff, but this was one day I didn’t want to remember.

The keys are where I left them last night when I got in from work, right next to a pile of letters and cards that I haven’t had the courage to open just yet. I grab the keys and head outside. The rain has seemed to calm itself down as I walk across the road to the shop, it’s still bouncing but not like earlier. The flowers are always so close to the front of the shop, I’ve never really understood that, but I suppose for people who just want to get the process done, it saves a trek around the entirety of the store. I take a bunch to the self-serve and checkout myself. It’s not that long of a walk to where I need to be from the shop, so I began walking. Some sad playlist accompanies me there, lots of acoustic guitar and sad piano ballads. There aren’t many places you are going with a bunch of flowers on a Tuesday at 2pm in the rain. I feel the stares of pity and sympathy. This is something we all go through, I mean, someone will be hopefully doing this for me someday, but it never makes it easier. I get the stares. The questions they must be asking themselves. I can see the gates in the distance as I inch myself closer and closer. I can feel my stride shortening, each step becoming harder and harder.

And then I reach the gates.

It takes me a second, I must admit. I question if this is something I really want to put myself through today. But I am going to have to face up to reality at some point, and today is just as good as any. I know where the plot is, I picked it out but navigating a place that is filled with such sadness and sorrow really throughs autopilot out of whack. I somehow find myself there, trusting instinct to guide me. I never know how to act in these situations. It’s just me in this whole place, so why am I debating with my self if I should sit on the grass, stand, lean on the stone or why the hell I haven’t brought a camping chair! A camping chair to a place like this? Surely that’s offensive? I can tell that these thoughts are just ways of putting off the inevitable.

I’m not hoping to stay here that long, so I stand. Those little boxes with the holes in stress me out as well, why do you need a degree in engineering just to navigate the placement of flowers in a metal box. I somehow manage it, rather successfully I will say. I can’t face looking at the calligraphy on the stone, instead, I just look upwards, accepting that this is my future. And that was that. I check my phone, 3pm.

Happy Anniversary my love.