Feb. 5th, 2015

tamara_russo: (No Fate)
I'm home. It was a good day at work. It started good with the car and the radio show I love.

I went to see "You're my night" ["At Li Layla"]. I didn't like it but the cinema did me well. I had popcorn and fruit shake, like every time. I went alone, and sat alone. The quiet and darkness hugged me, like they do, and I felt safe and calm.

I drove home. There was little traffic. There was great music. I sang at the top of my voice, the way I do when no one can hear me. Most people like to hear me sing, but when I'm alone... I sing almost at a shout. It's cleansing. I've always done it. It took me years for it to come out well enough to call it singing. It makes me feel like I have real wings. Like those of a seagull. Those of a dragonfly.

The house is empty. My mom left a lot of light on. I can never understand that. she leaves it on for the animals. They don't need it.

Facebook has a date for something I'm looking forward to. It's great. I'm still flying. Still, from this day I actually spent in a way that was good for me.

The date book is in my bag, but a piece of paper is stuck there. I know what it is when it falls, when I open the date book. I go over it, find the one square that I'm looking for.

I only brake for a few minutes, but the tears do flow. They come out like I'm ripping them out one by one. It's so dry. so little sobs. I've had bigger crying feats.

But it seems like everything, these past few weeks, months, I don't know, needed this day to finally come out.

The fatigue, the stress, the pain, both mine and borrowed, both for me and for others, found its way out in a few simple dry sobs and a few, numbered, tears.

Even though I could let go. The house is empty. There's no one around to see this. I don't cry in front of other people. But that's just what there is. And I don't know if that's it, or if, somewhere along the line, much later than now, I'll look back and wish I'd've forced myself to cry longer.

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