Space of enunciation. At times the only way for you to forgive yourself is to pronounce it to them. Or a glance. Good poetry but his attention didn't catch your frown. To be upset at a ruined image, to want to return to the memory of yesterday as it was. How to undo understanding. Pause for business, shift of attention. We enter the fields like always from the west. The light is different over here. I scan the horizon and denote the ones behind me, surprised at their richness. There is a volume of things that took place and I smeared it as experience and it will continue looping as memory. Not much time is needed for this drowning emotion to take centre stage. So much laughter and so much smiling and so many words exchanged. Actually. It's a good thing, these are good times, it's been a good year. I ask everyone, or at least I try to in my head. Train ads tell me how to talk to my family, these seems to be quite sensitive times. Are they? We are all here, each one a screen. We are all here but someone is always absent. I fall asleep on the couch with my legs up, anxious thoughts pressing down on my forehead feeling the newness of corduroy, these amazing couches that still feel new and will continue feeling new for many visits to come. None of us ages here, this house maintains our youths and there is loads of space but somehow still the shouting comes through, it's faint but it reaches the kitchen where the cheesecake is being made. The cheesecake ignores it. We all get baked in 240. It's jiggly. It's like we all return to being kids, we nap and make tea and bake and unpack and pack the dishwasher continuously. His incapacity surfaces; we laugh at their generation. My news take centre stage, it's fun even though it's kinda strange but I enjoy the call for attention, only possible because you are here. They are so close now and I feel far. Is it strange that I like it - i like the sense of separateness, other stuff going on over there, there, somewhere unknown to here. Food is really important. Words burn in my mouth. The chemistry of baking takes centre stage and wins over the chemistry of emotion. Maybe all emotional connection that attempts to be made after trauma is only made possible through cake? An open mouth. Her digging on the plate and refusing dinner only to eat bunch of cheese and a bunch of wine but who asked. She wants attention but she can't be looked at. Where is the opinion? The tree got moved outside, it stands there in the distance; it used to take up a whole room. Abundance takes many shapes.

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