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2 Teaspoons of Assam

It isn’t much but it is enough to raise my spirits. I struggle with that knowledge though, wishing I could do it for myself. Why do you think people drink? he asked, as we washed up the breakfast things. I know, I said. And it is a small thing. Yet the fillip is nice. And I need it in this lengthening dark.

He woke cold. I’m shivering, he said when he went for his early pee. I made him a bottle and tucked him back in. He was slightly better at breakfast. I worry so. I watch him as he watched me. We are all we’ve got. And I know that I will have to lose him but let it not be yet.

A bee was on the window in the shared hall was I prepared to go out for my walk. It was still, stuck or clinging to the glass just above the geraniums. Should I help him outside? I thought. I decided against it. It would distress him so, and he looks peaceful and perhaps he has come in to die. Let it be, I say to myself as I walk, trying to circumvent the tension in my back that always comes.

There were 3 red kites circling in the sky when I went upstairs to make lunch, yesterday. They are such majestic creatures. Sometimes the rooks try to chase them away but they were unmolested then in their circling.

She told me she was slight agoraphobic and I said that I was scared of the dark.

Two boys with their hoods up sat in the space under the castle, conspiratorial in the dark.

I dreamt of Mum again. I was following at her heels trying to find a very particular face toner made of rose water from a trail of shops. I was good to be with her again. And she wasn’t phased or cross at our lack of success. We would just keep trying, that’s all.

Morning is coming.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.