Last week, I am on holiday. I lie by the pool, with the sun tickling my head, and I love it, but I feel distant. My mind always wants to be working; whenever I'm ill or away, a part of me wants to be wrapped up in writing because then it feels like I'm doing something.
I read ten books and fall asleep the second my head hits a pillow each night.
The lights creep onto the pool each night and it feels like something I'll remember forever. It's too hot but the sheets make it cooler. I look forward to going home and at the same time, I want to stay.
It's strange but I feel distant sometimes. Sometimes, it feels as if I'm watching myself be happy, rather than being happy.
I read Solitaire by Alice Oseman over and over again and I listen to "Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" by the Smiths and I think about nothing.