My great uncle who wasn’t actually my great uncle died and I hadn’t seen him for a really really really long time but I remember going to his house in Cricklewood and finding out I didn’t like gazpacho when I was about seven and I still don’t. He had a life-size velvet pig that he bought from Liberty’s and the shiniest bald patch I’d ever seen in my life.
I find this really weirdly moving.
All the while you heat the plates and serve a little wine
And wear a hat and make them laugh
And forget that there is nobody in the room anymore
Metaphors I regret, 2008-2014
pigeon takin’ a walk by its garden
how it learned to garden, i do not know
In the past forty-eight hours I’ve cut off all my hair and realised I want to be a librarian.
Who knew etc
"The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling. She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She spent whole hours at the piano-forte, alternately singing and crying; her voice often totally suspended by her tears. In books, too, as well as in music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain of giving. She read nothing but what they had been used to read together."