I want to be twenty-five forever. The unending afternoons and evenings and nights and late nights into three a.m., drinking beer or cider or wine and talking about love, and heartbreak, and nothings and nothings and lauhging and other people and free will and cosmic space and the existence of God, the freedom of women, the constraints of society, the love we have for the theatre. the messy room as the dawn light creeps in through the window, old doc martens tossed sideways on the floor, an unfinished book on the bedside table, medicine forgotten and half taken, a water bottle always empty because wine leaves the mouth dry, the messy sheets, the large t-shirts, a leather handbag that belonged to my grandma forty years ago and couldn't be prettier, theatre and museum tickets scattered around. the music, the music, the endless music, the endless nights, the endless reading, the endless writing, and the endless talking. the energy to begin again and the undying, immortal hope even when the future looks all but bright, the chilhood nostalgia and the crippling fear and the burning youth, screaming to come out, screaming to find expression. the intense love for art, for friends, for people, yearning for love and to be loved and to forgive and to never forget. anything, anything, anything. suddenly there are new people, suddenly new things to get to know, suddenly new interests. suddenly everyone is very very attractive and people are captivating and my brain is getting healthier and there's no clouds above my head as there used to be, and I have a new coffee machine, and it is yellow, and it makes me so incredibly happy that I lived this far to look at it every morning. and every morning might look different, and please don't take this away from me, and please never take my freedom away from me, and don't take my body away from me, my body that can withstand so much and endure so much and bruise and break and heal and cry out. I wanna be twenty-five forever. 

it's been almost three years since I last wrote here.