Last Christmas

“All the bright precious things fade so fast and they don’t come back.”

I sometimes wonder if I’m alone internalising a quixotic half world that doesn’t remotely correspond with reality. I feel like a ghost amongst regular human company. An inoffensive fraud concealing an internal monologue no sane person could possibly comprehend. I always think of her at Christmas.

I shouldn’t do really – its silly I know. She made me want to become a better person by doing nothing at all. That’s probably the greatest compliment I can give to anyone. Keeping alight my inner writing fool as the years pass on by.


I think I’d like a daughter if I were ever to have kids. I’d like to spend time with someone I could actually talk to. Someone who could grasp what I have to say.

A beautiful little fool.

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