"the empty bed"

I will wait until they are in bed and then I will go out and I will set the world on fire.

Away from the walls that my hopes are too fat for, I will be the line, the highlighted journey you follow across maps from a bird’s eye view, as I board trains that tunnel and chuckle away into the night. I will run through cities, cities that make me things I’m not, colour me in the same way as dresses and bright shades of lipstick could.
I will find things, some which I looked for and some which I didn’t – places with the uncertain familiarity of the faint orange glow at the end of a cigarette in the dark.
I will find music, I will find laughter and noise and heart. I will find people who belong to it all and we’ll dance, in sweaty, fairy-lit bars that stench of sticky beer and of smoke.
I will walk, I will get lost. I will lose, find, lose, find, and at some point I will learn the way.
My shoes will be muddy, my back will ache. But even then, when my eyes are prickling and through stations I draw closer and closer to what I recognise I won’t have any fear anymore because I’ll have done it, I’ll have been and come back in the blink of an eyelid, in a puff of smoke and I will have won.

When it’s 6am, and I’m oddly enough back between sheets, closing eyes against the uncomfortable pale grey of the early morning sky I’ll still know. And as my worn and achy body goes to sleep, in the bed nobody noticed was vacant, I will for a while believe that I am no insomniac and no depressive but a wanderer.

They’ll never know.

blubbering about music, putting off my biology paper

I’ll tell you in advance this post will be naïve and soppy and stupid. Especially this next sentence:

Music is just so, so good.

I don’t know if it’s that I forget or that I underestimate how it can make me feel, but every so often the way that listening to certain artists and bands can comfort me is just ridiculous. It’s maybe even wrong because it’s a form of comfort that isn’t quite real, even though it’s there. It isn’t the same as a person, not even food or a blanket or something solid to hold on to but what it can do to us is so astounding to me.

And I think today I came to the conclusion that sometimes one of the best things art can do is make you forget yourself. Whether it’s a film about talking dogs or a Jane Austen novel or the sound of Winston Marshall playing the banjo, sometimes I find that something being incredible in whatever way it is and taking up all of my attention can even make me forget who I am or what I look like, to not have to be a person and have my thoughts completely wrapped up in art.

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Excuses time: I’ve kind of had technical problems over the last month, but hopefully normal posting will resume. Since last time;
- I went to a really great concert with my friends and met Noah and the Whale!
- I went skiing with my family in the Three Valleys, which was really nice
- I read a lot of good books and went to Buffalo Grill

Hope all’s well your end.

Lizzie x