Sunday, 6 March 2011
It is prowling towards midnight, and the self-satisfied purr of the wind as the last train pulls out of the station below is so comforting, and at the same time intoxicating. In the darkness I could be anywhere; I could be lying back on a hilltop, gazing at the stars; curled up on a platform, high above a city, watching the lights; or lying on a couch, facing into warmth and listening to the wind together.
Today I wandered the city with a friend, burning a hole in my overtime slush fund as I tried on dresses that nipped into my waist and flared out at my knees. Swirled in change rooms to feel the glorious swish of material against bare legs and tried on Italian suede boots. I bought new red shoes, and in the sheer delight of owning them I insisted on wearing them, swaying on the spiky heels and loving them so much it felt indecent.
I breathed this weekend, for the first time in a long time. The first breath while kicking back in the rain, droplets misting in my hair as I swirled a glass of wine in my hand and shamelessly people watched from my seat. Feeling a bit of my sparkle come back, from wherever it has been hiding for the last little while. And I didn't need to spend any money for that, getting to come home with my purchases was a nice bonus, but it was more than just the temporary high of newness.
I wonder at what is happening out there, in the twinkling lights of homes I can see from my window. So many people asleep, dreaming their dreams and snoring softly as the wind whips past. But there are others out there, like me, awake in the night. Not for any reason. Not because they were woken, or have work to do. But because there is just something about being awake in the inky darkness; that swirls around my ankles like black satin on bare skin. And I think of the conversations I could have, if only I had someone to share it all with; then smile as the wind answers.