What was underneath

Went past the shop I always go into and simply did not go in. Not resisted. Did not occur to me. I stood outside for a moment afterwards trying to work out what had happened.

A careful, moving entry.

Something has gone quiet and it took me weeks to be able to name it. There was a running commentary in my head about food — what was in the house, what I would have later, whether I would manage not to — and it has stopped. Thirty years of that, and it has just stopped.

The quiet is not the same as peace. It has left a space, and the space has other things in it that I had been keeping the noise on top of.

Same time next week.