Jordan picks me up in an audi, I smile. In my mind, I was meant to come here with someone else. Gone are the days of having a person, I think. Whatever, it still feels nice. To be here and see you. We haven’t hung out in ages.

The restaurant is busy and we sit over carnations and candlelight and I have one of those moments where you are lifted outside your body and see yourself as a fly on the wall type situation: Bel, sitting there. You are sipping tequila. Your legs are longer. Hair is shorter. You have a handbag now. You’re slowly learning how to be you. It’s kind of nice. And actually, you are not alone.

The next day air was grey dappled with warmth in Lyttleton. We sat with homemade pies and pastries on the side of the road, watching families swelling with children and dogs and prams, listening to people in hats and birkenstocks sing sea shanty covers of pop songs. The sun came out, it was warm in sports gear (that I insisted on wearing – ‘when you break up, you get to wear whatever you want’ like a petulant child). I said I was sick of feeling grey, like the sky – all bland and drained. Could you tell? You were empathetic. Then we laughed, that was a bit deepo.

We went and watched a film in a mall and when we came out it was raining. We drove home in comfortable silence and I thought about your childhood in Christchurch compared to my own. Then I thought about my former person growing up here too. And what my life would have been like if I moved there that time I was going to.
I have a weird relationship with this city, I think. It’s kind of sad but at that moment I felt happy.

That night we ate salami on rice crackers and laughed on sunken couches. The music was good. We went to a bar after the gig and I tried to fight someone with words. It was kind of liberating. He was 19 and an idiot. I was sort of angry. It was kind of great. Your friends were funny and cool. One of them liked to touch my back as though we were dating. I was away from home, and decided I didn’t mind. I guess it feels kind of nice to feel like someone has your back when you feel alone. We drank too much wine, I couldn’t finish my breakfast when we went out for brunch the next day. I felt sated. Things seem much simpler when you’re allowed to have lesser expectations of yourself for a while.

The weekend’s over and we’re back here again – the airport and goodbyes. I remember that thing you realise as you get older (and you start learning how to dress), you and your friends will always float in and outside of each other’s lives. I think of that scene in Marie Antoinette where she and her friends are all sitting together in a field as the sun rises and want to be there forever.

And I can’t help but think, the best thing about being away is that you can feel stripped back slightly from the constraints of home, and at times, I think this can be the best thing for you in the world.