Day 79: Stones

I'm struggling to write at the moment. All my words look revolting and gross. The sentences tumble out disjointed, banal. Or else don't come at all.

I'm hunkered down in my room with Fran. We've been watching the 100, daft formulaic TV. We want noise, commotion, colour, we want plot twists and betrayals and melodrama. We want tropes we understand. Our brains stimulated, but not overworked. Surprises, but only ones that are expected.

Gentle morning earlier with Fran's sister and her partner, seeing their new flat, holding their rabbit, soft as cloud, feeling the skull curving underneath. And then to a cafe for breakfast and coffee, the sun filtering through the tall windows, the wooden tables painted pastel green.

Walking to town through the sleepy streets of Nether Edge, the stone houses bathed in sunlight, the pavements shaded by old gnarled trees.

Falafel wraps with homemade tzatziki for tea, then television loud enough to drown out bad thinking. Fran is having a very hard time, though it is not my place to say.

So we sit watching dumb shows and we eat black cherries from the packet and we spit the stones and stalks onto a dirty plate. We pull down the blinds, we turn up the volume, and we lie back in our little den.

The night passes.