MistakenMagic
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My stories
Lindsay
I don’t know why, Lindsay, but last night, smoking in the stone cloisters of the quadrangle, I thought of you.
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- 8642 reads
Always Summer
I read John Le Carré below the beams of a converted farmhouse, under the arm of rural France. Light filtered in through the slats of painted wooden shutters,
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- 8959 reads
Reading at the Lowe Library
Here, the sunset hangs like strips of ripened honeycomb, dripping fire onto the sill.
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- 10619 reads
Miles to Go Before I Sleep
Written on a platform at Durham train station, 21/01/11. I don't ever want to feel like this again.
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- 11668 reads
We're All Mad Here
There's a girl at the table to my right, curled up in her chair and retreating into a bottle-green hoody like a snail. She must be at least my age, yet she's clutching a soft toy penguin.
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- 10970 reads