I was in the shower.

My place of sanctuary. My place of inspiration. My place of choice. His too.

With the warm water carefully finding its way down my body - down the little dip in my back. Past my poor excuse for an arse that he left me with.

Lean back. Head under. The extra hot water, heated in a place I hate in a place I love melting the remnants of yesterday's style. Pride. The interupting horrible noise more familar at 4am and the the panic that the clip board or folder gave me.

Probably only there to give her something to hold on to, as she carefully prized away one of my few securities with just a few words, a garbled misunderstood message and a need to try and help me in any way possible.

Just 5 minutes before, I had turned the shower dial until it said 3. The magic number. The nearest to scalding you can get without actually burning.

"There's stuff everywhere, but you're welcome to come in"

An explosion. A feeling of craving. And then - a smile. Lauren Who Is Not On Twitter. The washing up. That bloody washing I'd been meaning to do for days. San Miguel.

An incredible feeling of calm, and a knowledge that everything was going to be fine.

A lack of time.

The alarm clock had rung. I'd like to make myself believe. That planet earth turns slowly. Keep my door open just a crack. I'm far too tired to fall asleep. I've got misty eyes as they say farewell.

Crazy as it seems, I won't feel as low as I will right now. At least that's what I'm telling everyone. I'll take the pieces and build them skyward.

I hope I'm doing it right.