The long draught comes to a full stop. Birds fly left and right with her arrival, and the soft, fragile essence of winter finally comes full circle. Through Miriam I have reconciled with a part of my past and all its transgressions, despite the discomfort and the lingering ball of hatred swelling inside me still alight. Miriam has gladly imparted to me the gift of hope. The hope that something good comes for every ten bads that runs me over to the wall. She now finds herself with me, and occupying her time this day with her first proper day of work, and on Boxing day at that, two days after she had lost her handbag in Holborn station on the way home from mother's.
I find myself worrying too much at the thought of her mind in stitches. This is not a very good way to start our relationship. Fretting over such matters now would only serve to fuel an unhealthy amount of longingness, of dependence, and of obsession. She does not need my constant meddling and pestering, and I need to slap myself stupid to remind myself every single time I do something as stupid.