I live in a room where nothing is my own and I define myself by single serving packets of sugar and whatever I can fit in the tiny fridge. My toaster is on the floor, my belongings in my suitcase by the window and everyone that enters reminds me it feels like short stay accomodation.
I feel slightly uncomfortable in my skin right now as I get dressed with my back to the mirror. I look at my clothed reflection and wonder how many more T shirts I think I need before I have a satisfying collection.
My favourite day is Sunday in the beautiful afternoon sun. I kick myself for biting my tounge when I want to say something nice, and kick myself even harder whenI do and I have to keep my hands to myself.
The sun sets and doesnt stream through my window anymore.....the fog blankets the city and keeps me warm; a comfort I yern to experience, safety and a sence of security.