When they asked about my day I put on a face and joked about the cute West Walean with the nose piercing and the tattoos that I’d made coffee for to anchor him back to earth after a general anaesthetic. I didn’t voice the warmth of the moment before he went home when I took the needle out of his hand and he held mine a little tighter.

There are some things that can’t be eloquently reiterated. Like the intimacy found in a hospital bathroom, with a woman my own age, freshly diagnosed with inoperable breast cancer, speaking gently in a melodic Nigerian accent about her two daughters – aged 11 months and three years old.

Some things can’t be turned into soundwaves, beyond a deep but unheard sigh. Like those couple of minutes looking out over the softly unquiet sea, watching the moon rise as orange as the sun on the horizon. Like how sometimes walking past bustling bars can feel as lonely as being the last person left on earth.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s