Friday, 25 January 2013

The Sub-Editor - Breathe and Be Honest

BREATHE AND BE HONEST

I haven't aired the house for a week and condensation is forming on the windows. I can no longer see out.  Not clearly.


Condensation on the windows, and the hems and linings of the curtains are damp to the touch. The delicate form of a dead moth has disintegrated into dust; a soft, brown dust on the smoke-stained gloss-painted windowsill. As soft and silky as face powder.

Outside: a flurry of snow settling on flagstones and leaves, car-bonnets and dustbins lids, further obscuring any chance of seeing clearly.

The condensation accumulates as I breathe in and out; and I haven't been out for a week.

As a child I often held my breath, as if under water. And, as an adult, I learned to hold my tongue; so sharp it will cut me, my mother always said. I think, if I hold my breath and say nothing, nothing bad will happen. So, I hold my breath and my tongue and believe nothing will go wrong.

I used to pray to God, and then I stopped. Too dangerous to wish for something without understanding the consequences. So, now, I never pray, in case what I wish for in the present results in some terrible long-term outcome.

To wish for change is a terrible risk when survival is merely a desperate clinging-on.

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