Why don't you loosen the reins?
A gentle tug to prompt purpley, sunburnt, sooty shackles to the ground.
Why don't you lower the bar?
Before it slices your head clean off.
Social media is awash with colour and rage. Opening the app releases a tangle of feisty, hashtag-stuffed webs. Everybody's mouths are wide like venus fly traps, everybody's tongues are wagging more than usual.
Like feeling around in the dark, trying not to step on toes, fingers in eyes, teeth glinting, words warbling. Ignored and then repeated - if still ignored then give it up.
The sun throws me off scent. It's a major distraction that colours my skin red and my head cloudy, prompts paracetamol ingestion, stopes me from working. I can't write when the sun's out.
Beer-soaked bellies tend to bash my chair as they rumble past, making me jolt, drink spilling, temper flaring. Gazing at my caramel concoction, a tooth-fairy blend of Coke and sickly-sweet, candy-cane Malibu.
Driving around Florida was perhaps the happiest I've been. This was back in June when responsibilities were low and expectations were high - when the orange-clad Disney-donning streets always led us to Chick-fil-a or Moe's at the height of hunger.
Last month, nobody could stop talking about the Finnish concept of Kalsarikännit, “the feeling when you are going to get drunk home alone in your underwear – with no intention of going out.” It summed up lockdown perfectly, all the while showcasing the beauty of the Finnish language and making Friday evenings getting peacefully sozzled… Continue reading 6 interesting foreign phrases to describe your lockdown life
To myself, I do not give you permission to message him.
No matter how twinkly Thursday night's sky is or how uplifting Friday's morning is, you're not to reach out. You're not to slide into his DMs with a flirty quip about how your peach is the same size and does he still live in Notting Hill or has he gone home home.
You used to make me feel like I couldn’t dress myself.
Like every piece of clothing lurking in my wardrobe wasn’t fit for purpose.
The world stands mighty still, like a door swinging off its hinges, bust open like a weeping sore - bare, ready to heal.