When I was ten I read a book of short stories for teenagers. Entitled “Every pot has a lid,” it spoke against pre-marital sex and how you should wait to find your perfect fit, how there was someone meant just for you. It is a notion that deeply resonated with me, to the extent that I believed I had found my lid at fifteen and held on to it anxiously, even despite it clearly not sealing the edges of the so-called pot. In my twenties it took the shape of believing in soul mates, so much so that I once put everything on the line pursuing what I believed was destiny. This lid, here, at all costs, is a very dangerous belief. What I have learnt through many tears and trials is that no lid fits perfectly, what makes a lid and pot fit well and weather life is the will to mould, to expand, to shrink, to move.

And I think it helps if every now and then you look at your lid and think how damn sexy its curves are.

Copyright Hiraeth 2015