There are too many things right now. But, now I am eighteen, and it has passed & become & little made of it. Thankyou very much everyone! I was spinning walking out of college, floating on nothing very much & everything, and it turned beautiful. There is nothing as sublimely, silkenly sunnily perfect as a train ride dripping in sun & through these waste-land marsh-lands. And although it is January, the sky is blue & lit up and the carriage is empty. Eyelashes filter sunlight and you are a bobbing cigarette. And things are beautiful, because it was sinking & was rescued - because I sat outside with my gingerbread latte and my virginia woolf, seeing so many people drift past, pretend glimpses into their lives and surreptitious furtive glances are all they allow themselves, to look outside their lives. And they sold flowers and chesnuts & it completely swamped and swarmed over me. I stood amongst two flitting flippant photographers, darting up and down and crouching over the jubilee bridge, dipping and shooting at big ben & the eye & the sun dying or disappearing or setting the strand palace hotel ablaze. And it glimmered and dimmed as I got closer, and slipped away under and behind those other buildings, illuminating something for someone elsewhere. And I sunk, luxuriously sunk into these flowing, drifting buzzing stream of consciousness & personality & it was so very easy to exist, or not to. But the dying blue sky and old buildings, trees and gaudy pubs named after dickens or someoneorother and the accents & conversations climbing and curling into the sky and complete beauty and mass humanity and anonymity and individuality all collided right then. And I'm so glad they all came. And for that time I spent with you.

Feeling: submerged & disappearing (in a nice way)
Listening to: cass chasing her tail, flying all over the place - her tongue scratching
Pretending: [HOPING] that we do talk, that we do "sort something out"

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