I am wondering if it is possible to carry on forever like this. Things are good. Things are awesome. I dance all night on feathered shoes, and in the daytime we bury ourselves in duvets on rooftops and inhale laughing gas and cackle at the airplanes troughing white lazers trails across the sky. I am letting myself kiss and be kissed and think nothing sordid of nuzzled affection. I am being kind to myself. I am trying to be generous. I discovered that I am heart-wrenchingly lucky and I am having fun. The weekends stretch three days four days five days until there isn't any week left at all to worry with, until we are just drunken-soft fetal tissues, curled up together on sofas, crumpled together in pockets. Sometimes I feel as if we have managed to crack a hole in the continuum of normality, we have tricked the universe into giving us away in style. On Sunday afternoons, when I sit addled and breakfasted and pints-again with the ones I adore, I think about forever and I hold on tight. I sigh into the cocoon, into the abyss. Spring is coming. I can smell it.
The time to let loose is starting again.
I can't wait.