Good Enough to Share

By: Zara Stoneley


Shit happens–isn’t that what you told me Sophie? Some things that you are certain should be a part of your life never materialize. And things you never thought in a million years you’d do just pop up, and before you know it you’ve nodded your head and gone off down a road you never knew existed. Last year was shit and sugar, the sweetest time I never thought I’d have, topped and tailed with stuff I’d just rather forget, and it scares me. Why? Because whatever happens this year can’t match up, can it?

So before you know it twelve months has whizzed by and it’s the start of another bright, new, shiny year full of promise, but the one thing I do know is life just isn’t ever going to be quite the same again.

How the hell am I going to write in this diary every damned day? Nibbling the end of the pen isn’t exactly helping on the inspiration front at all. But diaries aren’t really for boring everyday stuff are they? They’re for revelations, witty repartee, for clever insights and ‘Confucius say’ type declarations of wisdom. Not to record the price of fish and whether I’ve opted for the sensible shoes or killer heels.

It was a typical Sophie thing to give it me as a parting present. She’d pressed it into my hands on New Year’s Eve, just as we’d clambered into bed in a slightly tipsy way, and she’d made me promise, before I’d even unwrapped the damn thing, that I would follow the request inside. And now it is New Year’s Day, and she’s gone–and like the good girl I am, I’m trying to keep my promise.

Bugger. Maybe every day is pushing it, maybe I should just fill up the whole of January right now with one rambling metaphorical outpouring from my jumbled up mind.

So here comes January, my darling Sophie, and it’s got me wondering already. Somehow everything that has happened over the last twelve months to us all wasn’t a surprise to you, was it? It was as though you knew exactly where we were heading. Did you plan it all? It makes me feel slightly less sad about how things have worked out, slightly less sad about you going - if that was what you had in your mind all along. But I’m still going to miss you like hell, even if you can be a bit of a pain in the ass at times.

Yeah Sophie could be a pain. Pushy, opinionated, so full of bubble and life that at times I just wanted to sit on her, shut her up, make her stop and listen. Make her just stop. But she couldn’t, never had. Not until now. Not until she’d finally given herself permission to find some ‘me time’.

I thought I knew you so well Sophie, but now I realize that you managed to shut me right out with your jokes, your hugs and your giving. Yeah, you did a good job of making sure you didn’t let any of us reach that hurt little part of you deep inside. But I still love you, Soph. This year has taught me so much about myself and I think it’s done something for you too. At least I hope so. I hope that you find what you’re looking for out there, and that you’ll come back and tell us it was all worthwhile.

Anyhow, this is my diary and I’ll do my best to do what you wanted me to and fill the bloody thing in. To write it all down so that this time next year we can swap and it’ll be like we never missed a day. My diary, to you and to Charlie, from both of us. Because without Dane there probably won’t be much to tell.

Holly x

I put a strong line straight across under my name, a mix of frustration and hurt that leaves a jagged scar on the page and then I smudge away the splash that isn’t allowed to be a tear from the edge of the page and turned to stare out of the window.

It looks cold outside, icy fresh like it’s supposed to be at this time of the year but seldom is. I rest my elbows on the uneven windowsill and my breath mists up the glass inviting me to trace a pattern, so I do.

I trace our initials on the cold pane like some overgrown kid. H, D and then the C, the C for Charlie that curled around the others, holding them together, and then I add the S. The letter that links and tangles our lives until you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. The letters start to fade, condensation dripping, bleeding them together and I press my forehead over them, close my eyes to block out the frosted trees, the ice-edged leaves, to invite in the people who make up my life.

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