Interview

Preferably naked

 I love being naked. I love feeling everything breathe and stretch and glow. I love the shivery warmth and the kisses of the cold brushing against my arms and legs intermittently.

I love how vulnerable I feel, yet, comfortable and safe in my body. There’s a calmness to knowing that you are okay with how you look. And when I look into the rippling glass, there’s a me who looks back, and there’s something otherworldly in my eyes. The expression of someone else looking in, of assessing and admiring with disconnectedness, but understanding.

I can feel the air hitting every inch of my skin as I step forward, one leg up and over the half wall and sinking into a pool of swirling galaxies. I love bath bombs too. I love how they froth and bubble and vanish in my hands, the more intricate ones bobbing back and forth in the water like a firecracker.

                                                                      Firecracker

My best friend says I’m a firecracker. She says that I’m a strong woman, but when I get angry it’s like watching the fire burn low on a string, a pause of tension where I’m processing my feelings.  Then suddenly, I’m a molten red explosion, beautiful, but loud and overwhelming.

I don’t get angry very often, so just like watching firecrackers, it’s a special occasion. My anger is quick, but soon is fizzled up and swallowed by darkness and silence.

If my best friend is right, and I am a firecracker, then I must have been left in the rain, because right now there is nothing to burn. I wish I could light up, and give a show, but there’s nothing that can ignite a passion or anger inside of me.

It was over six months ago, but I’m still not the same. It’s all because of the people I’m done with.

                                                                   The people I’m done with

I’m done with you. That means no touching, no speaking, no nothing. That means being on the other side of the planet. That means radio silence.

Being done with you is hard.

What can I give you, when I haven’t got anything left? Why is it that I’m supposed to forget you, and yet, there’s more to me that I want to give away?

I’m done with your friends too. Your friends were once my friends, but you can have them. A few of them have tried to speak to me, but they just link back up to you, and I can’t have any links, only severed strings.

You seem to have a poison that is spreading through every part of my body, it’s burning through my toes and fingers, racing through the pulse of my throat, my lips and eyes are clouded by it, even my once long and beautiful hair has been scorched, chopped from the neck down. It’s a bad poison, but now I feel buoyancy. Lightheaded.

To combat the lightheadedness, I put on music. I thrash around in my bedroom hoping to jumpstart something inside me, but it comes up hollow. I listen to something miserable instead, hoping to bring tears and then I could just be over with it, but I remain icy and hard.

Maybe I need warmth.

                                               

                                                                                Warmth

I love baths. They make me warm. The water is invasive, and laps at any part of me that I give it. But it is warm, and I haven’t felt truly warm yet this winter.

The hot water is melting me. It hurts but it’s a relieving feeling. Maybe I’ll join the glitter and the lavender scented pink foam, and I’ll go down the drain and become something new.

I look at my reflection in the water. She knows me, and I know her, and we share a knowing look.

I slide as deep into the bath as I can. I feel like a small crab nestled in a shell, water covering my mouth and prodding my nose. My hair lazily floats around me like golden seaweed.

Baths are good, because there are bubbles and wine, and they make me think deeply about aspects of my life.

I take a photo of them, post it on Instagram, and pretend my life is great. My reflection tells me that one day soon it will be.