Would it provide a stable job that could provide for me and my children?
Would it be lean, dark and handsome?
Would we go for intimate drinks in Soho?
What’s the best way to maintain its sleek and glossy exterior?
I imagined introducing it to my parents and showing it off to my friends. Would it be a big presence- the centre of attention?
Is meeting over the internet the best way to find the perfect match?
I swelled with pride at the prospect to be seen with it. Would we take spontaneous trips to Ad Land?
I planned on how to ‘accidentally’ take it everywhere with me.
The prospect of spending long nights with it was exhilarating.
Then as I grew up into Term Three, I realised this wasn’t the case.
It’s heavy, loaded with emotional baggage.
It drags me down. Cutting through my clothes and giving me back pain.
It intrudes on nights out, separating me and my friends so that we shout to hear what each other are saying.
I can’t take it anywhere- it gets stuck in doors and bashes against ankles.
People eye it up with suspicious expressions- what is she hiding in there?
Bouncers particularly look at it with alarm- searching it forcefully.
Sometimes, I hate to admit, I pretend we aren’t together. As punishment, the empty pages stare coldly at me.
I thought it was special but amongst the others, it looks the same.
Instead of exclamations, it is often met with confusion as I stumble to explain itself.
But now, despite these revelations and perhaps because of all the flaws – my portfolio is mine.