Another. Day.

I remember using the same plastic bottle with a thumb dent in its side. I remember planting seeds on cold slabs as my Greek neighbour took his rubbish out. I remember washing dishes with pink marigolds. I remember wearing a decorator’s mask shaped like the paper shell of a tortoise. I remember feeling conspicuous, sweat gathering on my lip. I remember the mask blocking my line of vision, unable to see which bank card to use. I remember a rounded policewoman walking across a field to tell me to stop playing Frisbee. I remember time feeling malleable, moveable, moulded into anything. I remember thinking I don’t want to write this linear. I remember talks of restrictions being lifted and feeling less free. I remember wanting things to stay the same until other things changed. I remember feeling like I’m living another Life [capital letter intended]. I remember thinking I should but I don’t want to. I remember my neighbour handing me some pastry parcels filled with feta cheese. I remember going backwards, going forwards, days meshing into one another. I remember unfurling leaves, hedge trimmers, birds.