Tonight I sit in the warm glow of candle light and listen to the traffic outside, seeping through the small crack in the outer storm window. I've found a new appreciation for static and noise. Listening to the world, I feel naked, exposed to the elements. The sounds of a hushed voice speaking into the phone in the next room keep me from being physically alone, though I am alone.

I feel a sucking pressure in my chest, like my heart has imploded and the muscle and tissue is trying to fill in the newly formed space. It's been there for two and a half weeks. I notice it acutely in the quiet before sleep or when I sit after work to relax in my studio. I'm alive. I'm still here. But I'm not who I was 3 weeks ago. I'm a darker version of myself.

There's still a band of depressed skin where I once wore a ring. Wore it for exactly 10 years last week actually. The 18th of September. But the 8th of September is the day I now think of. That was the day my ring broke. The day my chest imploded. The day I was betrayed by the person I trusted more than anyone.


Written last night. It's good to get this out. If you expected photos, there will be more. I promise.