My Diary: Writing A Letter To Myself Which I Will Never Send

Still clinging to sleep I watched myself walk through my childhood village completely covered with still growing plants.‭ ‬I called up to a window box‭ (‬although I knew our relationship was already doomed‭)‬.‭ ‬After dressing in fresh soil June and I treaded the old market path to town,‭ ‬stopping to eat in a tartan skirt and drink in a woolly top and we then came home via stepping stones made from smiling faces.‭ ‬As June linked arms with an easy chair I had to go to London to hear sounds emanate from a hole in the four dimensional ground and watch pictures circle like old school friends.‭ ‬I came home in a darkness pricked by far away lights,‭ ‬my head slowly merging with the railway carriage glass.‭ ‬The stepping stone faces were by then looking tired.


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