There’s got to be some reason that we all keep on living

[lizblackdog]

I dreamed I was living in an old block of flats, very like the place in Lansdowne where I first lived alone with John except that the flats were bigger on the inside like puzzle boxes. Mine contained room after room full of heavy, dark Victorian furniture, lit by candles; but I couldn't seem to keep the door locked. I woke up in the morning and there was a strange dog, a Great Dane, playing biteyface with Spike. I went out onto the landing to take the Dane back to where he belonged, and one of my neighbours asked me when John would be coming back.

I clutched the ruff of long hair on Spike's neck. "It's complicated," I said. I knew he wouldn't be back. I went back into the room with the long dining table and tried to burn myself with the candles, but all I could do was put each one out, one by one. The hot wax wouldn't even sting on my skin and in any case it was useless, useless. I thought of the cold anger on his face and knew no amount of pain would persuade him to pity or forgive.

Make it stop, oh, make it stop.