If your voice is the only one
that I am going to hear,
then I want you to scream at me.

Scream in my ears
scream in my face
I want your echo
your noise
your silence




Everything so quiet in the grey morning light
I remind myself that it is 7am on a Saturday morning
I tie the dog to the post in front of the bakery
And buy my croissants
As I’ve always done
As I’ll always do
Two hours have passed
The streets are empty
There is a blue sky somewhere
Downstairs the butcher smokes a cigarette in the courtyard
Like he’s always done
Like he’ll always do
I tell her that everything will be ok
I sit down at this machine and look out the window
At midday I’ll have a glass of red wine before lunch
Like I’ve always done
Like I’ll always do



I have enough dreams to last a thousand nights

the world is not an oyster

the world is music
a meditation
a joke
a whore

the world is in fast-forward
out of focus
out of character
and out of touch

the world is a conga line of hollow platitudes

don’t gather dust with inaction
don’t act without passion

let the moths come to you

and burn burn burn


Before you hang up
Don’t say
“It was nice speaking to you”
Tell them that;
“It was great to hear your voice”

Tell them that;
There are lines etched on the inside of
your heart, that mark the days since you last saw them

Not; “It’s been too long”

Tell them that you refuse to wait
Not that you “Cannot wait”
To see them again

Tell them that you miss their smile, their face, their smell, their hair in the bathroom drain, their dishes in the sink and the way that they begin to irritate you after you have spent too much time together

Don’t just say;
“I miss you”

Instead of;
“Take care of yourself”

Tell them that your world would crumble like a sandcastle in a hurricane if anything was to happen to them

Tell them;
“I love you”

There’s no sweeter way to say that,
And no need to be over dramatic.

10:27 PM


You left before dawn, without a goodbye.
I suppose the packed bags by the door should’ve been plenty of warning.
But waking up alone on these cold October mornings is a special kind of torture.
The apartment was barren, not even a slow dripping tap in the kitchen to keep me company.
You and the dog, gone.
Although your smell had not entirely left, and there was a strand or two of your hair still on the pillow and in the drain of the bath tub.
The coffee was nowhere to be found.
Did you take it?
We have a full can at the beach house so I don’t know why you would’ve taken it with you  (if you did?).
My train is at half nine tomorrow morning, I’ll get a taxi from the station.
I should arrive just in time for us to have lunch on the terrace.
I’ll try and bring some sunshine.
Anyhow, call me when you get this message.
I love you.