Quiet night in.

I skim my hand over the water’s surface, ever so gently. The temperature of the bath matched to mine. There is no end to me or start to it. I am surrounded and I rest so freely in that knowledge. All my sounds amplify here, though, despite that it is far from quiet. The slosh of water, the draw of breath. The creak of pipes, the wind outside. Even so, I make sure to keep my movements slow and don’t dare speak words into the almost-silence. There is nothing I need to say, anyway. There is a heaviness to my thoughts that leaves them long since sunk. That heaviness rests in me as I lay with all but my head and kneecaps submerged. I let the feeling anchor me for a long while, until the water grows cool and staying becomes more uncomfortable than leaving.

Patterns I had drawn up my arms earlier today remain despite the wetness. Messy, fragmented lines breaking from spiralling designs into half-formed thoughts into long, arching shapes. The ink is jagged like dark cracks across my skin, turning the sharp plainness of myself to a fractured mosaic. I have made myself into a work of art and I just can’t help appreciating it. It is beautiful and graces me kindly. The ink doesn’t run with the water drops as I stand from the bath. I’m glad it hasn’t smudged but avoid touching it just in case. When I step out of the bath and wipe myself dry the ink only slightly fades - still fully visible though more grey than black. It looks more natural this way, I suppose. Blends better with the tones of my skin. I smile and let my sleepwear cover the pictures. It‘s something I can look at more closely tomorrow. For now, I return to my room, hanging my towel on the hook by the door and closing it behind me.

Still damp from the bath, I walk the few paces towards my bed. It is cold from waiting. Before crawling in I pull an extra blanket from the box kept underneath - the temperature outside is already in the negatives, no doubt it will creep through the walls as I sleep. The blanket I choose is blue and weighted, a would-be intentional choice if that was not the only blanket I have left. The others have already found themselves in my bed as winter has progressed. Still, I feel I need the security tonight. The comfort. I sit on my bed, rearrange some pillows, smooth the blankets, and turn the TV on before lying myself down under the pile of insulation. It will play music for me as I rest (the playlist I decided while getting dressed). The soft sound and softer light will keep me from the rawness of night. If only just for tonight. I know the music will be gone when I wake tomorrow, the light of the screen replaced by that which dawns through my curtains. It will be quiet, and I will wake slowly. I will dread the day which waits before me, but I will leave the comfort of my blankets to face it. For now, though, I lay in the low light waiting for sleep to take me away. My head remains blissfully empty. I can’t for the life of me remember why I was ever so stressed.