There are people who do not care about their personal spaces. They are real, they exist, and I have sat awkwardly in their practical, impersonal bedroom feeling confused and explosive. No pictures or trinkets, books and clothes only where they are supposed to be. Perhaps the only spaces they need are internal. They don’t seem to notice the absence. They freak me out, like people who would contentedly exchange a sumptuous meal for a nutritional pill.

They are my antithesis. I live wholeheartedly in the physical world. I am a godless heathen, but I am also content and easily pleased.

Charlotte Humphery, Oh Comely (24, 2015)

This morning.