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Thursday, December 29th, 2005
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2:40 pm
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there is a feeling in the air around new year that i love. Some sort of electricity floating around in the form of memories, hopes, anticipation. last year you left and i spent days on the beach with my friends. wrapped up in scalves and hats; missing you. my fingers could not bend and my cheeks were scarlet, wet with cold. but there was this freedom in everything i did. then we drank malibu and stayed up until 4am talking about life in the most amazing house; curled up by the fire and i realised that maybe, just maybe there could be a life without you.and this year the fire is blazing and i have fallen in love again (and this time, it is different. i never realised love wasn't meant to make you feel insecure) and so much has happened this year. i can't remember exactly when it was that i stopped getting butterflies in my stomach when i saw someone that looked vaguely like you in town. or when i stopped expecting you to phone.
but i do remember
that i worked so hard that year. but that winter i looked forward to arriving at 8.30am to the smell of freshly baked bread, scones and cakes. i looked forward to cranberry juice and fruit and my half an hour lunch because that is how i kept sane. that in the height of summer i cycled to that festival and we drank chai in the tiny tea tent after your band played and i missed them by accident. i do remember how cold it got that night and how you wrapped your arm around me.
and then somehow the time passed and i grew closer to my friends under the lurid turquoise skies of spain and africa. i came back, we met for coffee and have been together since because it's easy like that.
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| Saturday, December 24th, 2005
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3:20 pm
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Watching Michael Palin in Morocco/Africa makes me feel restless and eager to pack up all my stuff, hop on a plane and then a ferry and step into the wasteland and sweltering heat that is the borders of Morocco. I am suddenly craving bustling streets, narrow dusty roads and ladies with crinkled faces selling cigarettes and wailing as they weave through the market place. That overwhelming, all-powerful smell of leather that creeps up your nostrils at every opporunity; seeps through your skin until you become immune. (I have decided that I need to find a job. I need money to save for these things. First on the list is Paris; some time in easter? I am enamoured with the photographs, but I am desperate to see this city in the flesh.)
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redmeatheart's journal