On new neighbourhood rites.
On not writing
The problem with writing is I do not know if words are the very things I would most like to keep out.
There are things I'm hoping to find when the dust settles, and I tick them off like a grocery list I made when I still believed there could be a way to fill this house with light. Oranges, for the way I felt when busses took me to places I couldn't name, purified water for... Continue Reading →
Nothing like a horse
If there was anything else to drink, we would happily forget how the rain is made and never again believe in the colour blue.
On the world and now and all the things that have happened and still may.
The end of a world as we know it.
As good a time as any to write the way I knew I would one day come back to, and start from.
Oranges pt. 2
It’s not easy coming home.
Speaking about sunshine and the ocean and not speaking about either.
The goodbyes keep on coming.