I Am Not Up To This. I

I'm Just Not Prepared To Be Treated Like This Anymore.' 'treated Like What?' She Sighed, And It Was A Moment Before She Spoke. 'like You Always Want To Be Somewhere Else, With Someone Else.

You Feel A Little Bit Lost Right Now About What To Do With Your Life, A Bit Rudderless And Oarless And Aimless But That's Okay That's Alright Because We're All Meant To Be Like That At Twenty-four.

It's The Face Itself That I Love, Not That Face At Twenty-eight Or Thirty-four Or Forty-three. It's That Face.

If She Does Have A Failing, And It's Obviously Only A Tiny One, It's That She Doesn't Seem Particularly Curious About Other People, Or Me, Anyway.

The True Writer, The Born Writer, Will Scribble Words On Scraps Of Litter, The Back Of A Bus Tickets, On The Wall Of A Cell.