Paris. Shadows. Red. Heels. Glossy faces. Wine. Apricots. Hand drawn. Lipstick as paint. Umbrellas. Roman marble. Mixtapes. Thin jumpers. Too-bright eyeshadow. Disposable cameras. Glassy roads. Slate skies. Diamond oceans.
Late April. Mid-autumn, and summer has well and truly faded. Now I catch buses in twilight and walk home in the dark. Street-lights glimmer on the damp pavement and thick, slate clouds are pressed into the sky. I eat breakfast on the kitchen bench and watch the rain become puddles in the driveway.
Hazy afternoons. I daydream about apricots, Paris and glossy faces from the confines of sheets and a dressing gown. I walk down the street in bare feet recording voice memos and poetry. There’s little light in the evenings and the cicadas are loud, but I make these few hours my own.
What am I thinking about?
What am I gravitating towards? Inspired by?
I’m safe and settled in my temporary home. 8 weeks to go. I’ll write soon.