she was a ghost
until she met him,
now they're both
just demons

notes from travelling:

• i got to a place in the country where everyone calls everyone 'love'.
• her fluffy pink gloves were unneccessary. she looked like she was missing the rest of a pig costume.
• longing to be beautiful; curled up small under train window, night scenes passing; ruffled, flushed cheeks, wearing a soft knitted hat.
• sufjan stevens/strawberry chocolate/ham, greve, mustard
• gloves continued: ridiculous affectation, impractical for both eating jelly babies and untangling i-pod.
• it just seems so sad in this light. like rushing to complete yr homework when in fact you left school twenty two years ago.
• i think they're sisters. it's like little women with chunky knits and styrofoam coffee cups.
• all the way from sheffield to darlington it felt and sounded like the train was derailing. it put me in mind of italian air travel.

i'm all over the place.

i can't eat my eggs and my hand looks like a pink cushion.
my real cat sulks in the shed and i have lost the ability to type without hitting two keys at once.
my white gladioli are looking funereal and i'm covered in scratches.
i can't remember the poet's name again, i don't want to go to the post office and i can't stop googling useless things.

most of all i miss the kitten nesting in my hair.

curiously, this morning,
i awoke with pink eyes and a strong desire
to say goodbye to you.