Monday, October 31
I don’t really think you exist. How could a deity with any compassion whatsoever allow Tom Hanks to happen?
Tuesday, October 25
I feel damp and crumpled, permanently saturated with liquor. Delicate little things come and go. Maybe they’re not good enough, but now that I have them I’d rather jettison them and daydream about an unachievable whilst slipping chocolate down my throat.
Friday, October 7
It comes in and asks for flashy, sparkly things to gobble up. Woe is me, for the sparkles make it all the more hungry, all the more keen to crush up delicate beautiful things in its flabby, dripping maw. It sits there, peering over my shoulder, idly stabbing me with a discarded fork it picked up on its crawlings. I think its ultimate aim is to get me to chew my own head off. It's getting there.
Tuesday, October 4
A cluster of freckles decorate her cheekbones; when she laughs they swing and sway around. With one hand she pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She looks at me, and skin starts to flow into two dimples, counched in her cheeks. Her smile breaks and she thinks, 'you fool'
Monday, October 3
She only loves me for my computer.