Wednesday 13 April 2011

one hundred and twenty

The hair on the back of my head is the length of my thumbnail; it is newly cut and for the next few days i will run my fingers through it absentmindedly, enjoying the soft scuff of it against my skin (like a brush you use to clean your nails or polish shoes).

My fingernails are painted black. I once thought nail varnish too girly, but now I like the surprise of oddly coloured fingertips. I have no patience waiting for it to dry, though, and end up with it smudged and rippled.

I am meant to be packing to go to Paris. I am slightly intimidated by the idea of the city. And i imagined my first visit would be with someone else.

No comments:

Post a Comment