drake, iron and wine

send yourself out in the rain
mark crooked windows
them blue window panes
send out ships from your chest
send them out in the rain

the rain which was deep
deeper than the indigo
yesterday
is escaping from the vastness
of the universe
tipping stars over
and finding its way
into your cup of tea today
spread open your finger tips
and invite it in

the late evenings
were full of ghost cars
finding their homes
only to send themselves
out in the rain again
as the earth spun
spun itself silly
the cub's nose remained
as the 'x' in algebra
there
there
ever there

background music

Two weeks ago, we completed three years together. What an amazing time it's been, and Shoelaces Undone, right here - has seen it all. Music, the lavender splashed right across my way to school, companionship, anger, jealousy - just about everything - singularity, plurality, Cubby-ness and a world without him.

Those times, generations ago when they were married to one another, was a different world all together. Love was unquestioning, affection was untainted. My arrival at home would be greeted with her hands stroking him to sleep. Or them playing cards. It's only now that I'm realizing how much of me has been shaped by these little events, these twosome games of Rummy.

functions of solitude

Clean up after your dog, it says everywhere here. Or there's an eighty buck fine. Which comes to a lot, but I have to keep reminding myself not to convert everything. In the supermarket, or at stores. I also have to keep reminding myself not to think of my very own shedding monstrous furball all the time. The very thought of him makes walks and bus rides a tad bit difficult.

I arrived here at the beginning of fall, and leaves line sidewalks every morning and evening. Roads look different at different times of the day though. Days and evenings look different themselves, days being more bearable and evenings - well, not even close. The beauty of this city - the zigzagging traffic, the millions of boots mapping their way around and so many words of kindness shared daily, with the knowledge that they might get lost in the humdrum of another weekday - would have been a little more wonderful and intriguing, had thoughts of home not been such regular visitors.

They say that you can feel London winter right through your bones. As is the case with London loneliness. And the fact that when you stare at the clock ticking 21.46, thinking to yourself that it's already tomorrow back home is no easy feeling to live with. What dreams I must be missing. Sleep in the last week and a half has been absolutely dreamless. They have been elusive.

Some home cooked food lines your shelves. You don't touch it. Touching it would make home even more real. It would make your childhood and teenage, so much more tangible. 

Cubby!

Piece of my heart, the whole of my love.

Tickled most adorably, and floppy ears perpetually Cerelac-smelling.

Cubby, a space and time in my life - a life entwined with mine. Here's to many more sleepless nights, rooms smelling of pee, and dancing around his meals.

I love you.