03/06/2026
The Insider
I told my sadness to take a holiday; it bought a return ticket and insisted on bringing souvenirs. It arrived anyway, as if it had always had a key to my front door. Some mornings it sat at the kitchen table, stirring my tea with a long, patient finger, asking for the small things back: the appetite for toast, the ability to laugh at adverts, the knack for remembering names....
I told my sadness to take a holiday; it bought a return ticket and insisted on bringing souvenirs. It arrived anyway, as if it had always had a key to my front door. Some mornings it sat at the kit…