Oh
I could ask you a million questions
All these words
That can never again be a conversation
Because I don’t talk to strangers

I would still struggle against the reflex
To call you
Love
I can’t
Because love is enough

The only thing that ever closes
Is the door

I found this buried in my archives. I’ve always been partial to paragraphs, but I guess on this one occasion in 2017, fewer words conveyed the feelings better.

It’s been rather hard to find words, if you couldn’t tell from the silence here. I write a fair bit of them on my Instagram, but haven’t really found a way to make them happen here, where I like to think I put my ‘better’ writing. There are all manner of things — good and bad — that I have wanted to write about seriously for a long time now. The question has always been how, or perhaps more accurately, how much. But I think this is going to be the year that I actually start trying again.