It's sad it's gone, but there will be something else, eventually. I hope you miss me a little, sometimes. That's all I can hope for.

I remember simplicity and AIR and skin and prospects and hope. I remember new places and excitement and happy anxiety and cigarettes and drinking stuff from bottles in paper bags and rain and shine, humidity and never being shit. I remember wanting and wishing and secrets and faery lights and people who were all the same, unchanged by real life. I remember feeling numb and blissful. I remember pretending and hiding and smug smiles and sadness that couldn't be shared. I remember coffee and food and tea and milkshakes and spliff and the cinema and train trips and pie and poetry and parties. I remember gardens and parks and never thinking about danger or getting caught. I remember when being nothing didn't matter because we had each other. I rememeber when we were both lonely.
This is life in technicolour.

A rain drop where a tear should be.

For breakfast I ate half a croissant and a coffee. At lunch I ate half a salmon bagel. I am touching my toes and letting my hair dry on its own. I am listening to songs of songs of songs that play in our hearts.

Today I had toast with homemade raspberry and blueberry jam. It was so lovely.

I have these thick, little tear drops caught between my eyelashes and I am between laughing and crying, so I smile so much to the sky and wait for the rain.

"You must make your own life amongst the living and, whether you meet fair winds or foul, find your own way to harbor in the end."

You made me good until we made me bad.

Mwa ha ha ha. Two can play at this game, my dear. Oh, the wicked cat is back!

It's not like it matters. The streets are chaotic in a quiet, demure way. Like they're waiting to jump out, attack you with every bit of energy the trees are producing. It's strange to feel your mind melt and to watch silently eveyone die like a flower in the midday sun. I don't want to wait anymore. It's not going to happen. The magic wave of joy 'aint gonna happen. I wish I could go back somewhere but everywhere I've been is quiet.

"She loves you. But she can't stand it. Can't stand the love, so she fucked me instead."

I think my blood has become alcohol. My limbs are dizzy and aching.

Sorry, I wish I could be happy, for you.

I am still in bed. I have been making up sad, painful stories so that I have a reason to be sad. They're stories about arrows spearing hearts and people being vicious and heartless and people dying from other people they thought they cared about and really do and wishing they didn't. Everything is a shattered reflection of myself. It's lonely knowing people.

I woke up and it was raining and I stared at the ceiling for a bit.

It's dumb when you don't know what to wear or when you can't imagine anything looking nice or mostly when you just don't care. Sometimes I wish people didn't touch me. I would like to shatter on my own.

Oh Gypsy, where are you? I guess you got tired of weeping behind sunglasses and speaking french when no one else did. I hope you find your home, because you never did fit in anywhere.

And, poof. They're gone. Like a camera flash. It's weird and then it's not, because you get used to something else.

There is dust falling over the people and there faces are wicked with age. I looked at the old man, no longer resembling youth. It got lost somewhere amongst broken bones and sagging skin and insanity. I just wished to god that I was somewhere warm, but it has been grey for a while and I want to know someone who can be the same as me, because for a while I felt okay, but it is so sadly easy to be left behind. Like an old man, who hobbles and smells awful and is no longer appealing to pretty girls and he doesn't know what will make him happy.