The Feather Circus has packed its tents and moved, thank you for all of your loveliness. You can now find me here:Thoughts for BirdsV. xxx
My lungs felt peculiarly full all day, even more so now that it‘s night. It’s the same feeling and the same goosebumps lamps and lights give me in winter once it gets dark. Do you know those shivers?...
The White Feather: two wars in Prague, Pavel (whose heart I inherited), one thousand and forty-five pages come to haunt me.
July was teeth marks on cracked lips, trying to describe the way night smells (like iron but not quite), the wrong colours to paint stars. And cold hands. Whole days scattered like crumbs for birds. ...
Keeping my clouds safe from everywhere.
Thinking a lot about travelling through time. Crumbly shortbread, crumbling letters, very long nights."But havent you always trusted made-up hearts more than real ones?" Here a rather tired s...
Been feeling dreadfully lonely, dewdrops bumping against my knees. I’d almost forgotten about forgetting, how it un-blues your fingertips and blows clouds that rain honey into your lungs. Honey and e...
Never would have thought that clouds could be so heavy.
I wish to build a tree house so badly it hurts my ribs. Only proves that impossibilities pulverise the bones. Slowly slowly, but the dust still makes you cough. Saw a hornet today. A bit worried abou...
Days like treacle, sticky and sweet. Turning pages with berry-stained fingers.
Eyelashes throwing spidery shadows across my cheeks; have turned into a night owl (with violet half-circles under my eyes). Grooming my thoughts like horses, letting them eat sugar cubes from my palm...
Means too much, everything. Every thing.
Thoughts like warm sweaters, or perhaps unwrapping a present. Must not forget.
Spilt cocoa over my book this morning; made me think of waiting in the mudroom between umbrellas and boots in a very short soldier row (because there have always been so few of us). The wind would wh...
Spending every free minute underneath my tree, the two of us get along brilliantly.
What a sad idea it is to be immortal. Rain clouds swallowing you whole. And melting.Always thinking about melting. My own little orbit, like railways. There’ll be no time to live in the woods, wild a...
Wouldn't you like to be brave and see raspberry skies? I think you would.
Been lost in an ocean or two. An underwater graveyard of sorts. Forever waiting for the day we'll catch that grasshopper. No-one noticed I've grown rather pale, but what is there to do? Everything fe...
It rained glass on Friday, perhaps you remember the birds tumbling down the stairs and how a tiny part of me dissolved. Scratching in the dirt is too much of everything, no-one wants blackened palms ...
And paper mountain chains without alpine boots.
Why do you think we whisper when it's dark, when not even the moon illuminates the edge of your jaw? I suppose it is because words whir like fireflies, the right ones glow, and no-one wants to spoil ...
I wish someone had warned me against pickpockets (those who can stick their hands into ribcages), I would have worn my heart around my neck. It would have slept on my bedside table every night. I wis...
"I wish I could hear them land," said Henry. He threw another pebble down into the sea. "But it's nice enough like this. I like to imagine what sort of noise they make. How they sink. You see, I just...
Moss needed to learn how to fight, for everything, for gusts of wind and gold coins, even with burnt fingers and a hole in his lung. He knew he would be alright as long as he didn't taste metal on hi...
Everything breaks my heart.
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