Groceries

She touched me all over, as a lied on my back, eyes shut. For those brief moments, my pain disappeared, as I focused on her hands gently touching me. I felt content, safe and protected from everything. Happy? Maybe. It had been a while since such feelings came visiting me. “I’m sorry if my English isn’t very good. I’m from Faroe Islands. English is my third language,” she said. I smiled and said, eyes still closed, “It’s alright. I’ve been living in Denmark for five years. I should know the language by now.” She laughed and picked up where she left.
There is a sadness to this experience. I thought I would never have to pay to be touched, and there I was, undergoing psychomotor therapy. Which, between us, felt a lot like… intimacy. A closeness you only know you miss when it’s gone, and you mostly appreciate when it’s a memory and not while it’s happening on the regular.
The guy from the online supermarket just came and dropped a shitload of groceries. Ah, the comfort of the new millennia! No more panic attacks while queueing in no fucking shops. Glory! Yet, as I stuffed my fridge with veggies and produce, a rebel tear filled my eye. A flashback of times past, of another world, a different life. There was a certain magic to it.
Every person is a universe to discover and a path one could take or deviate from.
As I grow older, I come up with these bullshit quotable sentences. Sometimes. I wrote that one last night. Perhaps I’m finally coming to terms with this life. Growing acceptant of the tumultuous waves hitting my frail boat on the stormy darkness, and the clear skies and calm waters in the aftermath. A circle meant to be repeated in increasing cycles, with higher highs, lower lows and, who knows, longer and nicer mids, maybe?
I’m grateful, despite it all. Strangely so. Once you hit rock-bottom, there should be nothing but up, right? But it’s not just that. I’m thankful for those days of love, those hours of hate, the peace and the war. Those sleepless nights, endless days and the lessons, all those crucial lessons. I feel tired and aged, but wise. Beaten up, yet healthy inside. And that’s thanks to those who came and went. Those moments we spent together and those lives that were; those bumpy paths and those dead-ends. Somehow, I always picked myself up again, and went back to the sea. Ready for the next storm. Terrified, but ready.
Therapist: checked. Job: checked. Groceries: mega-checked.
Okay, then.

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