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.
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.
The end of a world as we know it.
Oranges pt. 2
It’s not easy coming home.
Speaking about sunshine and the ocean and not speaking about either.
On familiar February's and the different shades of not knowing what happens next.
What I Am Good At
Starting to believe that there is more than one way to, and for, everything.
Here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten.
On the hard edges
A testament to, and for, living far away from everything that feels like smooth-sailing.