I am a Christmas bauble. Round and clear. Actually, just plain glass, not very Christmassy at all. The finest, most delicate glass you have ever seen, and possibly dangling by a thread. Every step I take it feels like I'm about to shatter.
We went in to town the other day and met friends for lunch. It was a beautiful sunny day and we live in a beautiful city. Two out of three of us didn't want to come home, so we stayed in town all day, while one out of three of us slept in her buggy. We played by the sea and drove round the waterfront and walked some streets and stopped for cake and juice. It was lovely. A good day. But the whole time it just felt like my chest was caving in. There were memories everywhere of course. Though it wasn't the memories that were the problem, it was the now, wanting him to be here now. And where my chest and heart and lungs were supposed to be there was a collapsing fence, rail after rail continuously falling inwards. Good days are a different kind of hard.