I wonder whether she’s praying, or meditating, and whether she’s prone to impatience, but the 01:01 train arrives before I work it out. It takes four minutes to depart; four minutes to expose the translucent creature perched in her place. 

I am forced to remember it back again. The Sellotape-tear of flesh.

Coming off antidepressants has been comparable to ‘coming off’ Mum, which I have been doing concurrently.

I was caught like a fishhook / in the soft dab of my lower lip.

An ode to past relationships and the ghostly apparitions of memories that are ever present as time goes on.

To me, art is no longer about memories, but narratives.