I go to the kitchen to get water and wash a plate
I speak to my housemate
She is preparing a pie
I tell her about when I got into making pastry a bit last year
Not making my own pastry, just making pastries
Rolling out the ready-made stuff
You can make rough parcels easily and they are forgivable and forgiving
No wonder people are bewildered
I wash my plate as we chat
Leek, bacon and potato are hers
I fill my glass
Nothing sweet in the cupboard—no need to look
I say enjoy and leave
I’m not self-conscious. A change. Today’s point
I go back to my room
I take off my slippers. I simultaneously cry
My eyes were watering earlier too
I walked down the street and it flowed
I have stopped wiping them now
I enjoy smiling at people with my tears and big heart. One doctor felt it
I do streets with wet or puffy or pretty eyes now and I’m unconcerned
I lie on the sofa. I jot a poem
It is light and big hearted
I might watch the second episode of Gazza
I wonder if that will autocorrect to the strip, goes by
I’m glad I have the big heart and the humour
I felt Gazza in the first episode, I really did
I think I can relate to his humanity but I wouldn’t tell a doctor or a reader that
Unrelatable empathy for non-sports fans
But it is doing something for me, so who cares
When I play football I imagine I look that good
There was a point in it somewhere
I can enjoy speaking to my housemates now
Maybe I should try making pastries again
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ashley dunn 
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