Although I know it isn’t pressing down, a part of me disagrees.
A small dog lies on green matting under a market stall.
He trembles and the noises around us suddenly seem louder.
After yoga, such a tangible sense of space in my body
that I visualise it in a diagram, somewhere between the heart and lungs.
I forgot about the bubble wrap under the book on the floor.
Stepping on it lets off a noise like scatter-gun farts.
This time it makes me laugh.
Maybe because I feel lighter.
As I spread Marmite on Ryvita, I rememberkissing Jake's plump cheek, the taste of wet tear and peanut butter.