Wednesday, 24 February 2010

The rain, so light and warm, yet heavy enough to push creators into sand, before burning away. The walk through the dunes, through campus. Dark cloud replaced with patches of long evening sun, hidden by falling dusk. The surrounding woods. Music from across the courtyard. Music from the room which we shared, Feist. The light in the kitchen, unshaded, attracting insects, bringing the smell of cut grass on their wings. A poster on the Jade wall. The click of a kettle rising to boil. A taxi ride. A cool night-wind channelled by the linear street. A hospital. The spring rain. Fresh, clean.

Days filled with coffee and magazines, cocktails and shopping. A suitcase filled with designer clothes. High-street,low-end boutiques. A cashmere jumper. Mcdonalds. Foam gathering in the fountain. The old city, the castle. Two litre, cinema Cola. A shop which sold steroids out back. Vitamin supplements, three days grace from the gym. Abandoned warehouses. Steel works looming across the bay. An apple striped shirt. Sand on our feet, your back. The view of home across out stretched sea. Long nights. Your taste, your touch. A photograph, memories. The night fires. Grey Goose. A train journey. The riverside. A hospital.


Tim in the City of Angles said...

I'm happy with my life, until I read your posts. Then, I'm so sorry that I missed you; the richness as well as the brat. Maybe next time, eh?

abristolnovella said...

I trust you mean richness as in, depth. Cos there ain't no money here any more haha

Tim in the City of Angles said...

That's okay, Toughie. I have enough money for both of us... not that you'll ever take me up on it.

Oh well. In another life.