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Fib

Not quite sure why I did it. I think it was because I didn’t want to appear stupid. I should’ve been honest and just admitted that I hadn’t read it. It wouldn’t have mattered. No one would have cared. It was silly and I felt so for doing it. I went to confess to him. He laughed, hugged me and said it was fine and then spent the rest of the morning pulling my leg over it.

My dreams continue full. More about food. An empty carton of beetroot juice. And a lover. And that old familiar feeling of a desire never sated.

The wind wasn’t the 45 speed they had promised and the rain held off. I was grateful. I had my usual walk, well almost, a little curtailed as I had so much domestic stuff to do before breakfast. He’s just gone out now, all waterproofed up.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.