I’m biking down the hill, non-peddalling, with the rain on my face. Drips, drips. Here it comes, the unavoidable sun, of what’s just happened and what’s been done. I’m flowing. I’m crossing the most beautiful bridge in the world. There’s a willow tree reaching down in the dark. No one will approach me.
Sometimes I’m walking, just walking, through the neighbourhood, wondering what’s changed. I’ve kind of lived here all my life, nearby, but it never struck me as happiness. Today the sun is out and Maarten and I are discovering. There’s this lingering atmosphere of decreasing and increasing interest at the same time, of raw versus posh cosiness. People are sitting outside cafés drinking cappuccinos and beers. I’m wearing my new sunglasses and holding onto a sweet hand. Carrying a see-through bag with a corny pillow portraying three kittens looking all dazed and confused. I’m all sweaty from walking these hills but I don’t care.READ MORE