I dare not leave my house without my cloak. A false guise, used to cover my true self. As if a spy in stories of old, I slot seamlessly into the norms of social expectation. A world where we are statistics, mere numbers, toiling away in our 9-5’s. I watch, learn and observe. I work hard in silent observation, ready to act. My secret protected deep in my shell, within the folds of my cloak.

By day I am the concrete cowboy. White shirt, blue suit and brown shoes. The uniform of those sharing my rank. Towering buildings, open-plan workspaces and rivers rich with the flow of single-origin espressos. My hunting ground. We are the bread winners of old. Hunters and gatherers evolved into this. A shining example of humanity.

The Sydney central business district my labour camp, my chosen hovel for the next 40-year grind. Retirement but a stretch goal for the horizon, not so easily attainable, like all those performance conversations (maybe next year Maynard).

By evening I am… well that is when I am something else entirely…

……

The world begins with nothingness. A complete silence. An empty void. Shapeless and still. Colourless and soulless. Peaceful and serene. Beautiful its simplicity. A sphere before the influence of man. A place where time stands still. 

A world suddenly broken by an instantaneous sound. A racket of sound, wonderful yet horrible. The cacophony of noise, like a pair of jumper cables brining life to my battling corolla (just hold on one more year) My morning defibrillator snatches me from my dreams and sends me crashing back to the ground (luckily my mattress is there to catch me). My heart races as I am thrust back into the arms of the ever-demanding world.

Our morning ritual. Told to rise by the electronic disco at our bedside table. Audibly sighing we switch off our phones, snoozing for each precious second (a treasure beyond value). Turning we stare at our partners. Emotion’s flood into our shocked existence.

Suddenly I am filled with fear. I dare note wake our sleeping mate at our side.  Cautiously I move into a seated position and turn the phones snooze off (If she didn’t wake at the first alarm, then we need to protect her dreaming soul).  I turn to make sure the blankets fully cover her. It’s the small things that we do that show we do really care.

We sit on the side of our beds, with feet hanging loosely to the cold floor below. We rub at our eyes, removing any last remnants of sleep and plead for my sight to wake up. Only then we realise that our eyes are working, that the darkness is natural. It’s 6am outside. It’s the middle of winter. Of course, we wake into blackness.

My sigh is only met by the sound of the kettle boiling. The torrent of hot water helps to wake up the rest of my body. I dress in the dark, not daring to disturb her sweet dreams. We both have tough days ahead. I wonder if she even notices the little things.

I am long used to dressing in the dark (it is after all quite hard to get it wrong). I have little else in my wardrobe, my uniform multiplied across the shelves. I avoid the tie, for the 3^rd time this week… Its only Wednesday morning. We are nearly halfway.

……

I sit at work. I don’t quite remember how I got there. Must’ve been another autopilot commute. My mind absently listening to yet another podcast of how others got successful in chasing their dreams. What happened to mine?

I admire my choice of desk for the day (sarcastically obviously). In an open plan office, they are all the same. Plain and devoid of emotion (seems a fitting place for a day’s work). The silver carpet beneath my feet is well worn, only bested by the platinum walls that hold the building up. I look at the windows, hoping to see rays of blue sunshine. I am met with grey clouds.

Maybe that means there will be rain later, that will freshen up the drive, I think.

I forgot about my meeting across town, the umbrella tucked tidily at home is laughing at me (I lost the battle on where it should ‘live’). I get soaked on the walk. The black hairs under my white shirt are visible in my sales pitch. Our clients listened avidly but didn’t make a purchase. Its back to the drawing board. I return to the grey room to sit at my empty desk. I should know better. I have been told a thousand times that the umbrella lives in the closet (not behind the front door as my preference).

An afternoon of Excel. I escape within my numbers. I am exceptional at my analysis. The silence within the office only broken by constant typing. Word processing is the factory of this day, met by the miners of spreadsheets.

The clock is ticking, minutes are slowly passing by. How I would trade an hour here for just a few more minutes at home… Money doesn’t grow on trees.

A final meeting with my boss. He wasn’t happy with the numbers (they are never large enough). The man has grown ever more important after yet another record-breaking year.

It’s always someone’s time to be in the firing line (today proves to be my lucky day). A barrage of artillery is lobbed at me. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words wear down my soul.

My defences hold firm, before I relentlessly surrender and apologise for the mistakes (that I definitely did not make).  Pleased in achieving his goal I get dismissed. He earns double what I earn, but who is the happier? Who feels more hollow inside?

……

Its 6pm. 12 hours of longing later. I can slowly drop my façade. I walk down the street, as cars sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic at my side. I take a long deep breath. Somewhere between the car fumes I am hit by a fresh scent of pollen. The earlier rain had awoken the flowers. The downpour had seasoned the fresh leaves and fallen bark. Spring is on its way.

I bounce a little quicker with each step.

The setting sun to my back is casting long shadows of the city now long behind me. Their shadows tower over my still. A constant reminder of tomorrow’s dues.

The clouds have parted. Majestic rays of colour meet my eyes as I drag them skyward. I am met with beautiful pinks, purples and oranges. A most wonderful greeting on the horizon. They point at my destination. This is where I am heading, towards my definition of perfection (everyone has their own).

With each step my cloak fits a little looser. The musical of the world begins to play. Birds are chirping. Children are playing happily. Screeches and honking of cars dissipates.

I have all but cast off my veil. My home is near. I remember how to smile. My grin reaches from ear to ear. My soul is shining. Finally, it’s time to start living. My day is about to begin.

……

Suit and shirt are immediately replaced by t-shirt and trackies’. This is my true self, comfortable and free. I stare at my partner. Her makeup has washed and faded. It had been a long day. The deep serene green of her eyes now masked by deep bags of dark purple. Wrinkles have appeared where they hadn’t been previously.

She met my gaze with a smile. Her eyes sparkle like diamonds, reflecting the artificial light above. The Invisalign glistened as moisture dances on the tips of her teeth. Her rosy cheeks caught me in a trance (I could pinch them for hours). Time again stood still. I did not dare to blink for fear of breaking the moment. I was standing in true beauty personified.

We embraced after a long day. Tired limbs combined and contorted to form a single entity. We held that pose for what felt like an eternity, taking deep comfort in each other’s arms.

As one tends to do in such moments, my body decided now was an opportune time to release some gas (yes, I farted).

Like children we giggled, like it was the very first time. Exhausted we collapsed onto the couch (of course onto our allocated sides). Her giggle reverberates through my body, lifting the burdening weight off my shoulders.

We spend the evening talking about each other’s day. More out of habit then out of curiosity, we take patient turns listening to the latest rendition of Groundhog Day. Afterall nothing of real importance happens. Each day we get a little older, our mortgages get a little smaller and our waistlines continue to push new boundaries.

I listen casually to the gossip fuelling the fires of their workplace (sometimes I wonder if they’d be less productive without it). As usual I struggle to take meaning out of it. It always sounds the same to me.  It’s all how a new ‘so and so’ were now sleeping together. Two new people seeking some form of creature comforts (we are social beings after all).

We make dinner together (can’t forget our Wednesday ritual). She chops. I fry. We both clean up afterwards. It’s the little things we cherish.

We of course agreed to both cut down our carbs because we are feeling on the heavier side of things (happens about every month or so), and our clothes are feeling a bit too tight for comfort (I suggest hers may have shrunk in the wash).

After dinner and attending to the kitchen we again return to the couch. Here we indulge ourselves with a block of chocolate together on the couch (the best kind of diet). Here we watch the latest new show on tv.

Trying to stay fresh in the romance television market, this new show was selling how people can find love anew under the sea (yes, a dating show set underwater – I am still rolling my eyes). I look at her eyes and see the tears of laughter as she giggles away. “How preposterous” she says aloud, not really at me or to me.  I continue to smile. My cheeks now sore after so many hours of joy (it’s not a worry – they are due another 12 hours rest tomorrow).

Our evening ritual is completed with a shower together. The hot water pores over both of us, and we cuddle within each other’s arms. I get out of the shower early to make room. She needs to shave her legs. It’s the little things we do.

Exhausted we fall asleep next to each other. We have allocated sides now, same as the couch. An untold agreement that neither party dares to break.

It’s been a while now since we started dating. Many moons have passed since we spooned each other to sleep, not daring to let go with fear of falling apart. Most nights we hold each other’s hands as we escape to dreamland together. It’s the little things after all.

……

The double life I live, toiling away at a desk means that I can dance into the moonlight. Simply put it’s your cost-benefit analysis. We work hard in the day to reap the benefits of our labours (and boy she tastes sweet)

I no longer dread the night-time, nor the alarm that jolts me awake. This isn’t the love of fairy tales. There are tough days and steep cliffs (to rise up and fall down). Perhaps this is love in its truest self. The love that we hide behind. The shield to protect us through the toughest of days. That is why each day I put on my cloak and head out into the wilds. It is the little things that make everything worth it.