Mr Relax enters; brim, trim, slim, a grin departs as if a whisper flown and sewn into our skins. It wins us over, and over, and over, so. this. bliss trickles; hiss and kiss the coals, souls turn to him before eyes – wide at the centre, tied to let enter and paddle in their pupils.

Myself? I can’t stand the man, preferring to hold too tightly to little, than letting the lot wash over, wash through, wash me clear and clean of identity that long I’ve left to grow like mold in my cupped hands, in my clasped hands, both dark and damp environments for fear to grow, and convince you that it’s medicine; too sick to even understand the prison that it puts you in…

I’m listening. I’m giving in. I feel my smile-lines deepening. I know that I’d be happier if only I weren’t grimacing, and trying so damn very hard to carve each pebble on the path.

Let me tell you who I am, and what I do – if they’re distinct? – then you can make up your own mind if you’re living true; being me, in you. *** An early bird, I feed the dogs, and head on down to an empty gym, enjoying the absurdity of exercise at dawn, finishing my workout before you’ve even woken up.

A pot of coffee on the go, I catch up on the news, rifling through my email, making notes so not to lose the feel for how the day will play, and pander to my goals, so by the time I enter in, I’m prepped for all the roles.

It’s after five, but not yet six, I wrap up to head home; I use the walk to file and form the things I’ve come to know. We walk the dogs, we cook up food, we catch up on our days, we wonder about the future, or we roll about in play, or find ourselves absorbed in tasks, and all can be okay; variety forms edges to our long-extended stay upon, within, beside this earth – for which we shall adventure, and document through artful means that long outlive our tenure,

so that we may be remembered by the art we leave behind; impressions of the time we took to organize the mind.

Given all the time we’ve had, and were it now that needs and musts come to the fore, and bear their wares – a fierce demand that forms implied, in lieu of calling it by name, or of looking it in the eye – then we in turn must inside-out and empty all our carriers of coins; the tax is high for what we owe. The only thing we learnt to grow.

It might have been a better day had all the stars and paths aligned, but think of all the whats and ways we’d miss if all were as designed.

Remember how we’d cycle down and round about the bend? Through avenues of trees, we’d weave, and huff as we ascend the path through dunes, the sea in view – a promise at its end; where poffertjes and chocomel will welcome us as friends.