I can watch the sunset on my own

Still, I miss you. and Merry Happy. I miss being merry happy. And you. With you.
Let us not forget the rest though. It wasn’t right. We have witnesses to remind us.

I can be alone yeah.



Tattooed in some corner of my brain, my boy with the bruised heart. I don’t linger anymore. I walk in a straight line. I forget. I don’t cry. I don’t try. I stop writing to you when it hurts. I don’t write at all most of the time. But instincts don’t lie. Yes I still do. London bridge, You were my first thought. I couldn’t breathe until you told me you were ok. Life and death I told myself, you care, that’s ok, that’s nothing. It’s not a step back. But in those moments, the truth outs always, are you ok, are you safe, get home quickly, i love you. Because it could have been me, or you. And i needed you to be ok. I needed you to know. For always. If I’m honest, part of me thought, he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t have asked. But for the most part, i just wanted you to be breathing in and out somewhere close. Out of harm’s way.
And yesterday, I was in our restaurant, with someone else, because we don’t do this anymore, because we’re not an us anymore. I saw you walking past, right past me, behind the glass window; and i ached for you. I just did. He had a tattoo. Soon enough I will forget how to spell his name. Because you’re my tattoo. Seems no matter how hard I scrub, the shape of you imprinted on me. I wish. Well, y’know. That I didn’t have to ache for you. That I could just hold you. My boy with the bruised heart.

It started out like this

It started out like this, one homeless guy on a tube somewhere in London, asking for money, she thought it felt familiar, then forgot about it, like all the other good people on this tired train.
Then another one, and a third one again not long enough after.
It started out with the longest winter in the world, a deep set apathy and a profound sorrow with no tears.


It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to


30 years of trying, laying new wallpaper over cracks, then over old wallpaper, and again. 30 years constantly moving forward but somehow never moving on. 15 years of falling in love, and never quite completely out of it. I learnt to speak before I could walk, and then many years later that no one ever really listens, nor are the words ever quite right. I laughed, a lot, hard and cried rivers. I built up a confident personna, I built a nest of love all around me, I thought I was invicible then got beat so heard I thought I would never get up again. But I did slowly, as you do. And now, I’m gonna be 30 in a minute, and I’m sad about a boy, and I’m tired of being alone, but also, I’m feeling kind of straight in my boots, and things could look up soon. So, it’s my birthday, and I’ll cry if I want to, but I hope I won’t. I hope I’ll want to smile and count my blessings instead. 

Toi qui disait que tu m’aimais, comment c’était ?

How was it when you loved me? What did it feel like? Sound like? What colour was it? What did I look like in your pupils? Do you remember kissing me, beinh inside me? Was I different from the ones before me in some way? 

Loving you felt like the brightest light, like morning sun when it warms but doesn’t burn, like that song you sang in my ear. All of the answers to all of the questions. At first. And then, then all at once like being on the edge of a cliff, barefoot, the rocks cutting my feet, naked, the wind whipping my skin. And now still, like bile in my stomach, like a restlessness than can never but cured, a failure that can never be fixed. A gaping hole where our future was supposed to be. 

Ta main

“J’aurais aimé tenir ta main un peu plus longtemps. J’aurais aimé que mon chagrin ne dure qu’un instant.”

I wish I’d held on a little longer, breathed you in a little more. And let you go a little easier.