Everything comes to an end, except my love for Jimmy Barnes.
I practice self-care, or attempt to, in Hamburg. On the train from Bremen I tear up, thinking about home and how much I longed for it, thinking of Grandad and how I would never see him again. I dumped my luggage in the hotel room and took my phone into the lobby, calling my girlfriend who was awake at midnight in Victoria, Australia. I cried when I heard her voice.
When o when shall I be kissed?! I must be patient, lie on my back in bed, hands clutching a bouquet of flowers to my chest, and remain incredibly still for the rest of the year. Wait for my prince/ss charming to wake me with a kiss.
Growing up in a supermarket is strange. Many rites of passage are faced within those brick walls and dimly-lit interior – love, death, a sweet sixteen, rejection, abuse, somehow finding yourself in the mix of all that.
I was dangling outside your window when you found me, fingers digging into the brick for dear life.
Lou’s blue lace underwear have been hanging on the line since Friday. It’s rained twice since then and the soaked panties look sad and heavy, the one lonely article of clothing abandoned outside.
Did I look at you, catch your eye, and did we blush and quickly glance away, shy and sweet and only sixteen?