I worked hard. I was trepidatious. Perhaps that was the problem. I brought so much fear to it. Why? I wanted to write it. I wanted her and her work in my head. It was a stunning show. Even he was engaged, and moved. I shouldn’t say, even, for he often engages. He is open to my life, to what fills me up, much more, really than I am with his. Though to be fair, that is usually sport, and he doesn’t ask me to. He is a solitary watcher. His tension is contained, he just goes quiet. No, he is more generous than me in all sorts of ways. So, back to the writing. I did it. I worked on it all day. In three stages, having to go to work mid-way. It is a struggle, that. I just want to make it alright. And having to break off before it is resolved is a wrench. And then there was lunch to get. And then back to it. Another two hours when I should’ve been resting. It was worth it but I feel it today. I am a little spaced, not quite here. Though I’ve been productive – shopping, walking, two loads of washing, admin, emails and now this.

He tells me there is to be torrential rain. It’s coming from the South, he says. From over there, he says, pointing. Are you pleased with yourself? he asks over breakfast. I don’t know, sort of. I am sort of. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, I know I worked hard but was it good enough?

Enough. That’s the word that rolls around inside my head as I walk. Am I good enough? Is there enough, money, food, ideas, work, time, love….What is enough? I have all I need. I am given all I need. All I need is here now. I waited for my back to tighten. It is automatic, like breathing these days. The kids made it worse. They jangle me with their noise and chaos. A mess of bodies, all legs and arms sprawling on the pavement on Great Darkgate St at 3.30 am waiting for taxis. They seemed younger this morning. Sixteen year-olds, possibly. Where are they from? Is it post-exams already? They shout and holler. It was shit, shouts a Chinese boy. It was shit. And a white boy, I have not! Others sit on steps and weep, a friend comforting them. Standard practice with booze, it seems. The gulls squawk and sail overhead. Taxis buzz around like flies. Pizza Lush was open and so was Finger Lickin’. My peace waits for me on the Perygyl where the sky and sea meld in the mist. No horizon line and the water laps against the rocks.

It is done. It is enough. Did do her justice? I cannot. She is too good. Was too good. I need a quiet day. So take it. Take it.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.