Near window 22

This post is feeling taylor swift

I miss the stars. I don’t see them in Paris I just see smog clouds and sometimes the moon but I miss seeing the big wide strip of the Milky Way over head.

Not that I’ve ever actually see the Milky Way , but sometimes when I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets I think I can.

When I was little and I couldn’t sleep I used to do that so that I’d see stars. I would pick one of the blinking lights of colour and imagine myself rushing towards it. I imagined that once I reached it that would be the dream I’d have. Sometimes I fell asleep before I got there and sometimes I’d imagine a dream for myself instead of going to sleep. I haven’t done it in years but maybe I will tonight.

I miss sitting en terrasse in the sun with a beer sending tiny showers of fizz out of the cup like it can’t obtain its happiness at being poured and I can’t contain my happiness at being there to drink it.

I miss looking at a friend over a picnic table in some scuzzy London pub garden hardly holding the summer revellers in their revelry. 6 whatever-we’re-drinkings in, and suddenly deciding that we’re going out out.

I miss putting lippy on on the tube because I didn’t pack anything else and it’ll have to do.

I miss reclining on some slip in Buttes-Chaumont pretending to read a book but really just being there and being outside.

I miss my village pub.

I miss taylor’s sandwiches.

I even miss fucking l’attirail

Just want some free potatoes.

Instead I’ve got two windows and some new hand soap.

2 Replies to “Near window 22”

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