Coming home is a strange thing when you’ve been doing it for years. The key fits in my hand, fits in the lock, just right. The turn is so natural it feels like a finely practiced art. I’d know the sound of the door opening anywhere. The key of it is the opening note ofContinueContinue reading “Coming. Going. – a letter to you”
Tag Archives: memory
Can’t go back, only on.
Life is a funny thing, I think. I’m so lucky – I have friends in so many places, tucked down side streets and behind brown front doors looking out on to parks or high roads or dimly lit pub gardens. New friends around every corner just waiting to be made, old ones at pub tablesContinueContinue reading “Can’t go back, only on.”
Homecoming
My bedroom was covered in a layer of dust when I got back. My mum has been in, changed the sheets, given it the cursory tidy round every so often, but the endless piles of books scattered absolutely everywhere had a light film over them. Evidence of my absence for the last two years. It’sContinueContinue reading “Homecoming”
Car Radio.
How is taste formed, do you reckon? I’m not sure how the music I like hangs together, really. Whether it’s knitted together from strands of genres that interweave, or how even the music I like is connected across the gulfs of genre and generation and sound. An ex-boyfriend once told me that all the musicContinueContinue reading “Car Radio.”
Torrential Rain, The Midnight Library, and me.
CW: mentions of suicide. Just letting you know in case you don’t feel like reading something that heavy right now. To let you know, though, this post is hopeful and full of joy and a lust for life. Much like The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, about which, sort of, this post is written. Yesterday,ContinueContinue reading “Torrential Rain, The Midnight Library, and me.”
Monday Windows
I am supposed to be working, but I’m not. Please don’t tell me boss. If you’re my boss, hi there – I’ll get that stuff done really soon I promise. On my desk is a mug full of daffodils (It’s a very big mug), two more enormous mugs, one with the dregs of a homeContinueContinue reading “Monday Windows”
Near window 27
I really don’t know clouds at all In my mind, this year was gonna be a white table cloth spread with breakfast for one. Eggs and avo on toast and freshly brewed coffee steaming, sunlight streaming through open windows juiliette balconetted with views of a small place. The trees outside would hush themselves in gentleContinueContinue reading “Near window 27”
Near window 26
Chicken Goujons I watched blue crush last Monday because I was hungover as a dog and I didn’t want to do anything but watch a film I’d seen a thousand times before. It got me thinking: my favourite kind of hangover movie is the « girl is good at a sport and becomes pro »ContinueContinue reading “Near window 26”
Near Window 25
To all of you, wherever you are, Sometimes I think life was immeasurably easier when we all lived together in that grotty house in South London. When I remember that house I forget how foetid it was, and how the mould encroached upon our personal space, and how we were all a huge house ofContinueContinue reading “Near Window 25”
Near window 24
Ghost flies I am standing on the stairs to the attic with my left foot above my right foot and my left fingers touching the raised pattern of the wallpaper in the dark. I am waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and it smells like mothballs and misery and misheard arguments inContinueContinue reading “Near window 24”
Goose FM 