I will not be flesh.
I will carry my iPod with me more, and listen to Bach’s Cantatas, stodgy Italian opera, Klaus Nomi and The Lion King soundtrack while I wait for a bus or walk down Archway Road.
I will stop going vampire hunting in the wood at night. I will stop looking for trouble.
I will think of sunsets, and the glow they give you over silhouetted rooftops like an embrace, like being in love. Again.
I will smile more in slow motion when something moves me to joy.
I will not pretend I don’t cry at things that make you cry in films.
I will eat more chocolate and pretend the spots I get mean that I’m 17 once more and have the chance to do it all again, right this time.
I will buy a jasmine plant. And I will probably talk to it when it’s midnight, and a full moon draws out its best blossoms in pale silent flirtation.
I will sip good wine more, and not glug it to get drunk.
I will appreciate my friends more, for however long the universe permits me to have them.
I will plan the songs I want played at my funeral in case I don’t get the chance.
I will fall in love again and not pretend I don’t want it. I will fall in love again. Spectacularly, sharing chocolate on a balcony in a foreign city by an orange glow that makes the buildings about us black, and sip the world and wine alike in jasmine-scented sighs, waiting for the night’s first cool sip of the moon.
I will come alive again.

i didnt go to sleep when i should. i stayed up to watch the fabulous baker boys - it was quite good. i liked tthe ending. never trust a happy ending,. it’s not real, not part of life. you’re just wathcing someone else’s sully dream. abandoned. ugh. broken. there is no purpose to this. i’m just giving my fingrs something to do while their arms just lie here in the dark, staling banquets to be bitten by my mystery assassin in the night. alone. i shjudder to think what all this is doing to my grammatical reputation. write though me . write fast. there is pasta on the hob, old tobacco down the drain, and i sit here curdling thoughts to a thick that when the milk’s drunk quick go insane

Blood or rose petals.