Spilt milk
Spilt milk
“All these carbonated soft drinks,” and it naturally ends in disaster. Midnight croquet and spilt lemonade. Selfishness leads me back to him, but his endless chocolate eyes slide over mine. He thinks, with justification, little of me.
***
The remnants of the Ria who shyly attested to Father Charnock, fake flowers in her hair, still wears the gold communion R. Catholic guilt kicks in, and at the end, I feel more of a slut than ever. This semi-fictionalised life on the side.
Tense, cusping conditional and past. Acceptance settles its load with surprising ease, with Althea’s sympathetic ear. ‘On Yorkshire’ your favourite, and as you read in bed one night, along the bottom of the first draft: Of all the unattainable men I have wanted, he is the furthest away.
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose leaves
The way I feel today - 10 July 2004
Just seventeen - 17 March 2004
Roads to freedom - 25 February 2004
Confessions of a failed self-harmer - 25 February 2004
Manchester, united - 25 February 2004