Writing on the blog is deeply personal. I imagine I sit you down, offer you tea, hold your hand and look you in the eyes. Whilst you may read this and throw it away, or never think of it again, I think of it every day. The power of you sitting with me, and giving me space to share my thoughts.
Sarah Everard did all the right things, but enough wasn’t enough to just get home.
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.
or just a moment that ache stills and I feel no pain and that is because I know they are no longer in pain, they are free, and they are dancing with angels.
Crying is a natural response to the world. Yet, here we are insisting it takes place behind closed doors, and it is something we should be embarrassed about.