Friday, 31 December 2010


Lying still, face down on the cold floor, did not seem like a waste of time. I could see under the bed, and obscuring my view, strands of hair covering my eyes. I could imagine reaching out with fingers stretched, grabbing hold of that wretched roll of film, pulling on it, throwing it in the air, and ultimately – burning it down. I want to revel in its smoke, half-crazed, over the edge, and I never want to stop. But your gait caught my eye, so I lie back down and cry.

I wouldn’t say I had a good one, but I knew I had one to be grateful for nonetheless. Because for once, I had the closure I’ve always wanted, but too afraid to face.

For this once, I wasn’t scared looking under the bed.

Thursday, 30 December 2010


For the person who made a drawing on the first page of my orange notebook more than a year ago:

That image will always startle me. Always.
And I'll never tell you why.

Sunday, 12 December 2010


Those things, those intangible things, are seemingly easy to shatter, are they not? The colourless strands, intertwined, woven in the air. The string tied to your little finger, leading God knows where. Your favourite colours, beautifully dispersed over the highway, passed by merely for the sake of it.

But we wouldn’t really know, now would we, until we finally realise that our hand is dripping with blood from the cut on our fingers, or the fragments of glass lay around our naked feet.