Twenty-fifth

Dear July,
I was sick today. Being sick is bad. I was doing such a good job of not crashing down from the high of my holiday but then I was sick and I couldn’t go to work even though I wanted to go to work. At one point I thought “I want an orange” and then immediately thought “no, I want to eat a tangelo with my feet in a stream” and then stomped downstairs to discover all our oranges were wrinkly and old.
My friend’s faces have started to solidify in my memories from the weekend in the way that faces do – you can’t hold onto movements and glances and smiles. Memory can only do one frame at a time. I was reminded again how impossible it is to keep hold of the sound of someone’s laughter. Realising I can’t remember the way my friend’s laugh (not matter how hard I try to) always makes me sad. Maybe I should just demand everyone send me audio files of them laughing. Would that be weird? I think that would be weird. I’ll just continue to be weirdly sad about it instead.
I ate some week old strawberries, in the absence of oranges. They didn’t taste like much.

Alex x

I’m posting a blog for every day in July. Letters to July was inspired by Emily Diana Ruth.

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year