41. |
I’m still trying to get better at this, though you would think that it should be easier now; I have completed forty of the things after all.
But it isn’t any easier and I have been stuck on forty for a long time.
Right now I’m lying in bed, outside and inside, telling myself that this can be done, that I simply need to start writing.
I was hoping to write something yesterday, but I ended up reading instead.
Reading a very old, pages brown with age, copy of Trout Fishing in America – some of it – and then the text Rivers had sent me for comment.
I commented, hoping that it was both worthy and helpful.
Rivers is someone I don’t know very well, but something she asked me at a dinner party when we first met opened a door that not many people know exists.
She walked through it as if it had always been open.
Rivers comes from America, but we met in France, she is living here until the end of the month and then she will return.
She will see her daughter.
She must be missing her.
I miss many things, most of them inaccessible and lying far away in the past.
My mum and dad.
My dog Joey.
My first girlfriend…
Maybe I just miss my youth.
Would I go back?
Given the chance?
Some things I would be happy not to face again.
Others…
I wonder if any of this gets any easier.
You would think it should be by now.
But it isn’t.
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