Saturday

| 2018 | 12 | 08 | baked bread and salted butter |

dear stranger I met eyes with in the post office



I wonder what you made of my hair, loosely acknowledging the tie i'd found in the pocket of the pair of jeans i'd pulled from the back of my wardrobe.

now i know why they were there.

I wonder if you could see the tired in my eyes or my frustration at my failing attempts to both hold up my jeans and hold the three parcels in my arms. awkwardly shaped.

I could see you were tired. not the kind of 'up til late partying' tired, but a serious, deep, dog tired. in that split second i could see you looked sad too - past the point of being fed up.

In a way, I wanted to reach out and offer the type of pat on the shoulder my dad so often does when he doesn't have a clue what to say. Like the time he came home from work, found me crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by coco pops and spilt milk (he had the perfect opportunity there too) and knelt down next to me. The sigh, the gentle hand resting on my shoulder then the immediate kettle boiling were the three ways he was telling me he cared, he loved me but it was time to crack on.

She bustled past, and the moment was gone. It's so stark when your bubble bumps with someone else's. We get quite used to overlapping bubbles, integrated bubbles, opposing bubbles, but rarely are they sympathetic bubbles. not as in proffering sympathy, but sympathetic in a way that would suggest they would get along. alike. similar.

- - -

people watching I think, in a weird way, is a very important way to learn.

It's not about judgement. but understanding.

It's about seeing rather than just looking.



meanwhile.

I just napped like i died and the whole world is looking a bit more inviting.