nettle wine

Piano, […] I am filled with the sound / of my lover’s breathing and only you can bring it out of me.

A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That’s all any room is.

Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.

I reach out in love, my hands are guns, my good intentions are completely lethal.

There’s something to be said for writing in the morning. At other points in the day you’re a bit more defensive.

She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago. It differentiated her from others.

A lot of people lacked that gift: knowing when to fuck off. People love talking, and I have never been a huge talker. I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don’t reach my lips. ‘She looks nice today,’ I’d think, but somehow it wouldn’t occur to me to say it out loud.

What you see and hear depends a great deal on where you are standing.