room ten-oh-nine

Dear Ben,

Tonight I am full of unspoken words.

Brimming, despite the fact that I have spent nearly all day talking.

On the phone, to my mother.
On the phone, to Girlfriend Number One - Girlfriend Number Two - Girlfriend Number Three.

It is hot out: the heat arrived suddenly, this morning, taking the city by surprise. The streets were full of people with winter-blanched skin and slumberous gaits, eyes hazy with disbelief at summer's sudden appearance. I felt like I was coming out of a collective hybernation.

London, awakening.
London, squinting in the sun.
London, not - quite - ready.

Now, at 11 at night, the room retains the heat of the day. The sliding door that gives onto the terrace is wide open and the hanging laundry on the cold radiators gives off an almost pungent scent. As if it will rot before it dries.

I have been thinking a lot about decay. And destruction. About what makes things fall apart.

Have you read Yeats' 'The Second Coming?' I am thinking, in particular, about the beginning of the poem:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity

It is a piece about the second coming of Christ, actually. But I rarely pay attention to context, when I recall lines of songs or poetry. When I get words stuck in my head that won't go away.

The centre couldn't hold, Ben. Things fell apart.

I am giddy in my confusion.

After death comes birth. From the flames, the phoenix. When everything breaks down, it is time to re-build.

In my head, I see visions of creation.

I went out today and bought a £175 dress to be a bridesmaid at my best friend's wedding - after having broken up with the man I had, at one point, thought I was going to marry.

I didn't cry.

I walked among racks of dresses - and what dresses, Ben, what dresses! - and I ran my hands through the different fabrics. I fingered the shoes on display and imagined myself buying armloads of them.

Then I took the escalator down to the ground floor and trailed through the maze of perfume and cosmetics counters. I sprayed myself with Issaye Miyake and spent the rest of the day sniffing my wrist.

I rang my mother.
I rang Girlfriend Number One, Girlfriend Number Two, Girlfriend Number Three: "I found the perfect dress!"

On the train home, I sat, holding the bag with the dress pressed against my chest, wondering at my own elation.

And I didn't cry.