25
Sometimes I think I get so
sad I can only write bad poetry: a
prime example of a good student who
only knows how to mess up. It's like
we can't escape what could have been: a prime
example of forbidden romance and
New York and jazz playing in the background. You
used to say you always pictured us in France, but I'd
never let go of Wales and the white house and the
fresh daffodils. The smell of clean cotton and
fish stew and
empty bottles of beer making a home out of the
coffee table. A prime example of a
professor and his student who finally realised what she did
wrong. I think
I would have finally been better at housework, but all
this anxiety has now left me tired and
wondering.
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