Listening to lyrics under lamp light, I bring an arm around the duvet that graciously spoons me. The sheet is smooth, and I know the pillow is there because I feel it underneath my head. The shop, bar and beach are places elsewhere to this. They're different somehow, some kind of blur I've no desire to put my finger on. Time awake is no stranger, no stranger than the gentle lulling of soon. I'm tired of seeing, being seen, thinking and being thought of. What's to come will remind me what I even care about.

#Journal

I remember cutting my first onion thinking

How will I ever get used to this?

My eyes were stinging in pain but today seven years later I can watch the knife pierce the onion's skin with eyes as dry as a bone so I guess I did get used to it

#Journal

I'd like to apologise for being difficult in the meeting today

let's put it down to my inclination for mischief and your pride of age I'll collaborate tomorrow concede and align peter then go home

I need to clean my teeth then fall asleep in my own arms lain across my chest like a sky diver who's peaceful, descending but far from over

#Journal

What do you do in your free time?

I have sex and I take the bins out. How about you?

I can imagine you being very...

Very what?

Very quiet

I'm not a loud person

I can imagine you just sitting there.

Yes, with a mug of green tea and the radiator on.

Don't you get bored?

No, because it feels nice. I don't think it should disconcert you.

#Journal

I love London probably because I don't live there its streets of global collaboration pulse as the centre of everything pieces of all that's human. Now with a sliver of tomorrow there's a fuckton of poverty and baby faced posh boys drinking in pubs time to go

#Journal

I have two headaches, some unread messages and a bottle of water that's three quarters empty. Nose is crinkling thinking.

Whatever

Said my mother. I've pissed her off again.

I have a dog's funeral and I'm not joking

Said the groupchat.

It's pinot grigio

I said last night, in reply.

You don't remember anything

Accused the girl who stole my eight year old heart.

#Journal

Two youths approached me as I locked up my bike. They warned me how easy it was to break locks and that the city centre isn't a safe place to leave your bike. They demonstrated the ability of their feet by dislodging some wheels that were apparently better than mine, due to their suspension. Not one for aggro, I smiled trying to banter, asking them not to steal my bike. I was trying to mix mature poise with youthful cheek. Of course, they could outdo me on the latter: I was undeniably the owner of a midrange commuter bike.

I should have just hopped back on and parked it somewhere else. Pride is a strange thing, I thought as I walked away from my locked bike, almost certain that they would soon pleasure in its demise. I was meeting a girl at the pub, intending to break up with her after a couple of months of seeing each other.

If my bike dies, so be it, I deserve it

I thought as I avoided the pressing subject, and her eyes.

This is horrible

We hugged on the street. It was cold and there was potentially a long walk home.

This girl is hurt because of me

We walked in opposite directions away from each other forever. The good news was I soon found my bike untouched. I felt relief cycling home, on two counts. As I showered before work the following day, I thought about crap like upsell and cross-sell. It was a big day coming up in the office.

True story.

#Journal

Experience 24

Angle Male

Context United Kingdom

Type Romantic

Occupation Poise

Dreams Grass

Fears Conservatories

Blog referred to as Post-teen crap

Navigate Click my hashtags #Clout #Narration #Drivel #Journal

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She said

I like you

What I wanted to reply was

Why?

But what I actually said was

I like you too

#Journal