Walking away.

The knowledge that they’re gone. And it’s your fault. The understanding that they’re not just gone from you, but happy to leave. To know that your time spent together eventually became the symbol of a springboard, you; the starting blocks of a headlong sprint. Away. As fast as possible. To know your shared memories will be … More Walking away.

Woolf, on writing

  “… there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-a-million words all in alphabetical order. But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind. Look once more at the dictionary. There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems … More Woolf, on writing

Pressure

Sometimes you don’t realize how many feelings you lock away inside until the right stimuli (a song, a few words, a movie scene) comes along and teases them out of you, and sometimes the dam breaks. Sometimes you live with the pressure for so long it just becomes normal. And sometimes when you start crying, you … More Pressure

Before the Anaesthetic, or A Real Fright

By John Betjeman Intolerably sad, profound St. Giles’s bells are ringing round, They bring the slanting summer rain To tap the chestnut boughs again Whose shadowy cave of rainy leaves The gusty belfry-song receives. Intolerably sad and true, Victorian red and jewel blue, The mellow bells are ringing round And charge the evening light with … More Before the Anaesthetic, or A Real Fright