Dearest Judith,
I know you may not read this letter for fear that I am writing to shower you with bitter accusations. I assure you that I simply could not hold a grudge against you for much longer, as justified as my anger may be.
And I don’t mean a dimness where you press your nose to the page and squint a little. I mean pitch black. It’s funny how when you switch on the light you have to blink a few times and wait for the spots of colour to fade.
Read MoreDef: Sleepwalking is characterised by a series of complex events, walking being the most common among them.
I discovered I was a sleepwalker when I was six years old. I stumbled to the kitchen and started scrubbing the table frantically. I imagine I felt guilty for never cleaning up the strawberry milk I would perpetually spill during my waking hours
Oh saint truth,
Thief of fire,
Did you sin,
Or retire?
You have lied,
Oh my honest,
Truth has died,
False-faced forest
Stress is paralysing, contorted notion I cannot begin to understand. As my childhood and preadolescent years fade, this immense throbbing web of electricity quivers in my chest, always awake, humming it's far-from-pleasant tune.
Read MoreAs my eyes settled on the mummies, I felt as if I were invading their privacy. Did they really want to be stared at by hungry eyes centuries after their death? They all had their human lives, couldn't they be left at peace now that they were no longer breathing?
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