18th February, 2024 blue sky too blue, like someone turned the saturation up just for fun, yellow walls shouting hello, bridge ahead with “JAMAL 22” scribbled like a secret only some people understand, 10FOOT warning like it matters to me, girl with pink hair walks past, headphones in, whole world in her head probably, bins spilling thoughts, graffiti screaming TAOWT in colours that don’t apologise, everything buzzing but quiet, like the street’s holding its breath, like maybe I’m the only one who hears it—this little corner that doesn’t ask questions, just exists.
27th May, 2025 Round Head climbed onto my back like it was a cliff face, claws out not to hurt but to hold, stretching like a tiger frozen mid-pounce, orange fur glowing under that red moon that made everything feel surreal, cartoonish almost — he didn’t meow, just looked past me like he was deciding something, like the world below wasn’t quite ready for him — I stayed still, felt the soft weight of him and the pull of the moment, this quiet absurd theatre of us, shadow on the balcony, city somewhere below, holding on for balance or love, maybe both.
24th February, 2025 night inside Wetherspoons, neon flicker from the fruit machines, pub half-lit and humming low, I was nursing a pint I didn’t really want when I saw them — couple by the window, backs to the noise, heads dipped close like the rest of the room didn’t exist, his hand found hers under the table, slow and careful like it meant something, like it was the first time or maybe the last, her face tilted toward him, soft in the dim light, pint glasses in front of them catching reflections like stained glass, and for a second everything else felt far away.
3rd February, 2025 these strawberries were massive, absurd really, like they’d been grown in cartoon soil or under moonlight — I called her over, told her to hold them in her hand so I could take a picture, laughed when they dwarfed her palm, like some kind of joke from nature, bright red against her skin, blue-green leaves curling weirdly, kitchen tiles sharp and cold under our bare feet, late morning light slipping across the counter, she asked if I wanted to eat them but I just stared, thinking how strange it is that something so small can suddenly feel enormous.
19th May, 2025 flowers again, but these ones don’t smell like anything, just sit there in the glass vase with red hearts like they’re watching me, pink petals loose and dreamy, purple ones like little explosions, I almost knocked them over reaching for the kettle, sunlight slicing across the table like a knife, I thought about calling someone, didn’t, just sat down and stared instead, wondering if this city grows these kinds of flowers or if someone just imagined them and they started growing anyway
