Were all stars to disappear or die,
– W. H. Auden, The More Loving One
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
“So, because I work in adult entertainment now, I don’t deserve to be happy?”
“You won’t be happy with me.”
“But I was!”
“And I want you to continue to be happy and fulfilled. It doesn’t matter what you do, we are all human beings after all.”
“But it puts you off me…”
“Doesn’t, as a friend. But it doesn’t attract me, at all, either. I have a complicated relationship with intimacy.”
“I know. You were making progress with me though.”
“I have been cheated and lied to so many times.”
“Don’t you miss me?”
“Sometimes, of course. And at others, I regret who we are. Today’s word is: wistful.”
It’s a dull Sunday morning. We begin the month of June with dirty whites, faded greys, and murky browns. The weather from the past few days has successfully chased away any residual warmth off the streets of London. Obstinately, I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt today, my hands unusually warm. Could very well be that the second breakfast I had – a single fried egg, sunny-side-up, half a small avocado, sliced thinly, smoked salmon with freshly squeezed lemon juice. A little something-something to keep me going until lunchtime. Yes, I measure my days in the number of meals I plan on having. But also in deep sighs, lower-lip biting, and evident nervousness; all are an indelible part of every creative’s tools. May I refer to myself as one? Am I worthy? Am I ever going to be good enough?
Look, I know. I know oh so well that we cannot eat a recipe. We have to exert ourselves in a way that’s constructive and conducive to something of value. And I will continue on this arduous journey of trial and error.
“And ghosts must do again what gives them pain.”
tsvetoslav shalev 
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