I was going to write about a really fantastic chocolate today.
Or I was going to keep telling you about Melbourne.
Or I was going to describe to you the rather tasty dessert I made, several weeks ago now, for a dinner party with friends.
The moon will not be patrolled and she shines free and fearless and there is no sin in anything that shines that fucking much.
– A Love Letter From A Stray Moon, p.70
I didn’t realise at first, but my left hand was curled so tightly in on itself that my fingernails dug into my palm.
Later, I ate an embarrassingly large amount of the slice I ostensibly cooked for tomorrow’s party, all because parts of it were a little burnt and for some reason I thought that the way to fix the mistake was to eat the evidence.
And then on the next page of the book, I found this:
It’s a display, that’s all. The reality is that I hold my own hand, I cry, I drink, I sleep.
– A Love Letter From A Stray Moon, p.71
I closed my eyes. I wrapped myself in memories that feel like a warm blanket of feathers at the same time as they feel like knives in my throat, and I let myself sink.
Then I looked at this photo of my dog, which my friend Jess took on her phone after my birthday dinner. As ever, this photo of my Demon Dog made me laughlaughlaugh, and so I let myself push off hard from the ocean floor beneath me in search of air.
But instead, I wrote this.