February

February began with my hair still smelling faintly of last night’s perfume and Yuri stealing the warm side of the bed as if thirteen years together had somehow granted him territorial rights. #

I woke up with my face half buried in the pillow and one of Yuri’s arms where my blanket should have been, which is apparently how February wanted to introduce itself. I stayed there longer than necessary because Sunday mornings have become one of those small luxuries I protect without ever announcing that I am protecting them. No alarm, no bicycle waiting downstairs, no need to make my face presentable for anybody, just the pale light coming through the curtains and the sound of Amsterdam already existing below us. Eventually Yuri opened one eye and said, «Coffee.» Not a request, not an offer, simply the name of the substance required for human life. I made it because I was already awake enough to lose the argument. I wore his old T-shirt, enormous socks and my hair tied on top of my head in a shape that should never appear in photographs. There is something very intimate about being loved by somebody who has seen every possible version of your face and still hands you coffee without comment. We ate late. I called Mom while standing near the window and she told me something ordinary enough that I have already forgotten half of it, but I remember the sound of her voice and the way she said my name. Dad called later from Genova and asked practical things, because Dad can turn affection into questions about bicycles, work and whether I am dressing warmly enough without ever admitting that is what he is doing. I told him I own coats. He seemed unconvinced. The afternoon disappeared between laundry, the computer, a little cleaning and music. I updated something on the site and ended up reading a post from years ago, then another, then closed the archive before nineteen-year-old Alice could embarrass thirty-year-old Alice any further. She was so certain about things. God. I want to hug her and disconnect her internet connection at the same time. Tea at five, exactly four biscuits, because apparently some rituals survive international relocation, adulthood and common sense. Tonight Yuri is beside me on the sofa, not talking, and I can hear the little clicking of whatever he is doing with the remote. February has begun without spectacle. I like it already.

Remember me, Eclipse.