I cried for fully fifteen minutes today. I told Sarah I had smoke in my eye and went into the bathroom to look at myself. Once, I was reading Huxley in bed and I felt myself starting to cry, so I turned off the light and pretended to sleep. Sarah must have known because she spooned up to me and slid her arm under my neck. I spun into her, hiding my head against her chest and tried to be quiet. In the morning there was a face stain on Sarah’s singlet. I told her she makes me drool.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.