I wish I had gold hair, it's so deceptive.

I am just sitting here in underwear and my hair is drippping over my collar bones and I feel empty because I don't think things will ever be lovely again.

I once knew this girl. She was so pretty and thin with freckled hands and chocolate hair. She didn't really ever go outside, except in the evening to drink tea and smoke cigarettes. She lived in this old cottage with windows you couldn't see through because they were covered with books. All these boys tried to kiss her, they bought her flowers and boxes of lemon myrtle to rub on her wrists. She loved it all, ever so much.

I just want to fix myself a drink and watch Amelie. I mean, having coffee with sweet boys is fine but I just get so goddamn bored.

You look tired.
I am.
I lay down next her small body, my face mutilated. She knew not to hug me, so she placed her little hand on mine and we wept together. It didn't matter why I was sad, just that I was and that was enough, for the time being.

A packet of cigarettes and some gin in the sun. The perfect afternoon, babycakes.

Those were ironic days.

I am not sure what it is. Welling. There's too much, but without it, it's too little.

Sunbathing on the deck. Coke and whisky and the Velvet Underground.

I had red wine in the rain.