This week has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, but I've been thinking of this poem a lot:

Al Purdy: Poem

You are ill and so I lead you away
and put you to bed in the dark room
— you lie breathing softly and I hold your hand
feeling the fingertips relax as sleep comes

You will not sleep more than a few hours
and the illness is less serious than my anger or cruelty
and the dark bedroom is like a foretaste of other darknesses
to come later which all of us must endure alone
but here I am permitted to be with you

After a while in sleep your fingers clutch tightly
and I know that whatever may be happening
the fear coiled in dreams for the bright trespass of pain
there is nothing at all I can do except hold your hand
and not go away

I'm not going to say much about this week, except that I'm hanging out with Chris again. It's complicated, but good.

I'm going to Doors Open this weekend for the first time ever! Somehow, I've managed to be out of the city for it all the other years that I've lived here, or I didn't know about it. It'll be lovely, I'll take lots of pictures (where I'm allowed).