I laze in bed, thinking of sunshine beyond my closed eyes; of gently billowing drapes in creamy shades, of trees painting bright shades of green against the sky; and of that favourite plate with the crack from rim to middle. It used to creak and grate when I lifted it. It irritated me, and I knew that one day it would break, but I couldn’t mend it or bring myself to throw it away. When it cracked in two I glued it together, and though it is not as pretty as when it was new, I love it better and my friends admire it as they never did before.
Fleetingly, I think of recent days and weeks, the pain and the final heartbreak, but they are as distant memories. I reject them.
I place my hand on my ribcage, feel my heart beating, and I almost rejoice. I notice that today I am not having to concentrate on not grinding my teeth, and I think:
So this is what it’s like to walk through fire, ice and ashes, and come out the other side.
©Jane Paterson Basil