I am on an airplane, listening to music and drifting in and out of sleep. We glide over water and cities and mountain ranges with no sign of life or civilisation as far as the eye can see. Sometimes the mountain peaks look so close that it seems that if I stuck my hand out of the window I would lightly brush them with the tips of my fingers.
I watch the bright blue sky slowly turn to black. My favourite part is, as always, dusk. When the clouds are soft pink and the top of the sky dark blue and a cobalt ribbon runs between the two.
Many years ago my papa bought a flat in his native Cyprus as an investment. It’s been rented for many years but the previous tenants have left it dirty and broken, and we’re here for two weeks to fix it up so me and my love can move in soon.
The first day brings with it constant rain. But even the rain here feels different; cleansing, not oppressive. I see the flat in person for the first time. It needs a lot of work done, but the challenge excites me. It’s a short walk from the beach, a café/restaurant with WiFi from which to work from and there are family everywhere nearby. It feels perfect.
I can see myself living here, and raising a child here. I watch a toddler spot a stray cat and bend down to give it the most gleeful, loving cuddle. I ache for my own, and my eyes fill up hot and quick.
A stray mama cat births her kittens outdoors. She waits and waits by the kitchen door until it is finally left unguarded. Then she slips in, kittens in mouth, and nests a couple of them into a wardrobe, where they’ll be safe and warm.
I see a woman sitting by the beachfront. Her partner lies stretched out on the grass with his head resting on her leg, and their baby lies on his chest. A lump forms in my throat. I try to put having a child out of my mind, but there are families, children, babies everywhere, and the feeling of emptiness, lack and loss only grows and grows.
My period comes with the full moon. I look up at the shining orb in the sky and try to trust that everything will happen when it is meant to. The last two lines from one of my friend Anna’s poems rings through my mind; “I lie on a bed of daydreams, and I wait.”