A "congratulations" in a sea of murmured "so sorry"s.
I couldn't even properly respond. It had been two years of dressing in black, two years filled with quite a lot of looking back and so very little looking forward.
The sentiment had actually been hinted at before, by others who could stand to gain from it. But this seemed genuine.
"I love the idea of you," a man once said to me. The idea, the idea, the projections and not the muck of me. And I do it too, with someone new, and I blush because I can't help myself.
And I can't help but wonder, what if? What if that change in perspective is just the thing I need: a sturdy enough little ship, bravely pressing onward.
