“What is it my dear?"

"Ah, how can we bear it?"

"Bear what?"

"This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?"

"We can be quiet together, and pretend - since it is only the beginning - that we have all the time in the world."

"And every day we shall have less. And then none."

"Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?"

"No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.”

― A.S. Byatt, Possession

(The Time Travelers' Wife, pg 136, Married Life)


[Craig, 33]

"To World Enough and Time"

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love would grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vaults, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball,
And tear our pleasure with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

-- To His Coy Mistress, Andrew Marvell 

(The Time Travelers' Wife, pg 89, Christmas dinner 1991) 

Submarine, the Soundtrack

When my first proper adult relationship fell apart, I was on my way to Paris. It was the summer of 2017, the first week of sunny June. The news caught me off guard. You could say I didnt see it coming. I read the text on the bus as it was pulling into Victoria Station. I dont want to sound dramatic, but I felt all my energy leave me as I got off that bus. I lost my appetite. I survived on tiny portions of dinner while my friends urged me to eat more. In the day time, I nibbled on croissants. Cheese, beautiful cheese; even the smell put me off.  I recovered my appetite gradually over the next few weeks. 

We stayed in a shitty little overpriced hostel close by the Eiffel Tower. One morning I woke up early and couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I lay there for hours crying. This was what I listened to. 

My healing included poetry, mint chocolate chip ice cream, movie nights with friends who refused to leave me alone, that spot in the park by the lake near the red bridge, and throwing out his stuff. 

It's the summer of 2018 now, the tracks dont make me sad anymore. I still think it's beautiful music. But every time I listen I remember the time I cried and cried and thought it wouldn't ever stop. I prayed to be better already.

I am better already. 

[Brian]

The Autumn of 2017

I think you can become so enamoured by someone 
So captivated by their quiet personalities
That you think they're perfect 
That they're the ones 
And you letting go of them 
Rather, they letting go of you
Is the biggest silliest mistake 
And you agonise 
Go through all the breakup albums 
All the tubs of peanut buttercup ice cream 
Mourning your great loss 

But I think 
You couldn't have known someone 
All that well 
If you think they're perfect 

You weren't perfect 
But you were close 
I felt loved every minute I spent with you 

We met in the Autumn of 2017 
At a little bar called Porters 
I thought I might stay for an hour
It was 3 hours when we left 

That kiss
At the station 
It was inconspicious
As if we'd been kissing for years 
Lived in & familiar
That kiss
If I had known 
That was the last time 
I'd never have gotten on the train

I don't think I have a grasp of what it is to love 

Does anyone? 
But I think I fell in love with you

And I haven't stopped loving you once 

It took me so long to write this
Because it took me that long to admit it



[Liam, 24] 

Clever Girl? I Think Perhaps Not

What're you looking for little girl? 
Someone to tell you they love you every other day? 
You enjoy when they pour sugar over you 
Metaphorically & literally
You become enamoured, wide eyed 
Your hand shakes as you put lipstick on

But the baffling thing is 
Why do you put your little heart in the hands of careless boys? 
Don't you know (I know you know) they don't handle with care

You're not going to find half of yourself in someone else - that's bullshit 
You need to be enough for yourself 
Only for yourself 
Before you even think of trading parts of you 
Precious parts of you 
For kisses & late night personal heaters 


[Aron, 25]

The Great Tradition of Advocacy

I was in a rather inconspicuous class, on a rather inconspicuous day, when the Ethics lecturer (a big, burly, ginger haired Family barrister) pulled this up on the slides. 

It turned out to be, at the time, one of the most important inspiring things for me to have read on the first day of Bar School: 


"But no matter how hopeless the cause, however unmeritorrious the client, notwithstanding the antipathy of the judge, irrespective of the risks to his own reputation, and despite the other pressing concerns which may be preying on on the mind of the lawyer, what counsel must do is to follow and defend the great tradition of advocacy..." 

Pannick D, Advocates (1992, p.5) 

Constructive Criticism

I think I've had my heart broken a few too many times 
I cant tell if its making me apathetic
Or if that's just what I want to think 

You can leave 
Free to go
Door's right there
I wont try to stop you
I don't have the energy anyway 
I've spent it all already
Agonising over men 
Who didn't want to stay

All I ask 
Is for an explanation 
A truthful one 
Not the overused 
'I just want to focus on my work' 
Sweetheart, I know that one
I've used it too

Have a real, honest conversation with me 
Sit down, look me in the eyes 
Tell it to my face 
I want to completely experience it 
I want to be completely broken 
As I watch you walk away 
Its the only way I can properly heal


[all of them, really]

I feel an overbearing loneliness

I don't know if its just me

Or everyone at 23 feels this way

I don't know if it's you

Or the culmination of you & everyone before you

I thought of another man while I slept in your arms

I remembered how soundly I slept in his

And I longed for him - I still do

How ungrateful of me 

I knew we'd never work out

So I saw this coming

I wanted to enjoy you while I had you

And I did

But it never gets easier to be alone again

[Patrick, 26]

I don't think I could live knowing I was a disappointment to my parents 

Paris, the Summer of 2017

I lie in bed tonight and Paris comes to mind.

The summer of 2017. Hot and sticky and beautiful. Umpteen buttery croissants in hand, I wandered the streets without a plan. I found myself in bakeries, bookshops, and bars. People watching while munching pretzels (which I discovered I hate).

I had shades on my head and a baguette in my purse and should've been feeling on top of the world. That, however, is not how this story goes.

I woke up that morning in tears. The thought of getting out of my hostel bed made me nauseous. My friends caught the 6am train to Disneyland & I had the day to do with as I pleased. I steeled myself; said I wouldn't waste the sunshine, the city, the food. Told myself a boy shouldn't ruin my holiday. But I couldn't, I physically couldn't.

I cocooned myself in a thin little blanket and cried. Heaving sobs - the kind that made it hard to breathe - and the tears fell relentlessly. My brain understood that this was a process necessary to heal, but all I prayed for was it to stop. I couldn't take it. I wanted to skip to the part where I was whole again, but I couldn't.

The crying and heaving and sobbing were necessary. And when they were over, I dried my eyes, fixed myself up and started my journey around Paris. Cautiously, I didn't wander too far at first - I memorized routes, road names, landmarks. I didn't have an appetite on me, so I never needed to stop for food (The baguette in my purse was for munching when I felt faint).

I stopped at a lovely little cafe and decided to dine al fresco (cake & hot chocolate count as *dining* yes?). Here, I began to write. Several hours I spent, writing (on little bits of napkin), sipping, people watching. What a catharsis it was.

Suddenly, the urge to cry had disappeared.
What? Of course I was still sad. Hurt? Yes. Heartbroken? Yes. But the tears had stopped. I'd never cry for him again. That morning was the last.

That was the healing.

[Brian]

i sit silently 
in your car
through quivering lips 
and restless hands 
and ache to undo you 
from underneath my skin 

[Brian]

"touch me gently 
and i'll unravel before you"

[Brian]

Luke tomorrow
Michael on Saturday 
Josh on Tuesday
and Gareth on Friday 

But all I really want 
is to spend the weekend with you again 

Goddammit

[Brian]

and what i'll miss most 
is when i turn over in your bed
and suddenly feel you
curve your body around mine 
you wrap your arms around me
and grip me so tight 
sometimes 
i feel the air leave my lungs

[Brian]

i stole little glances of him
i couldn't stand too much more than that 

i focused on his eyes 
the same blue eyes i looked up into 
as i lay splayed open in his bed 
with the same intensity i had the first time we met 

my gaze wandered across his face as he spoke 
i stared like i'd never seen him before
because i knew i'd never see him again 

but i barely heard a word he said 
the same voice that could
command me to spread apart like 
a canvas stretched bare on an easel 
begging for paint 
now seemed like white noise in the distance 

my attention now dropped to his lips 
the same lips that feasted on me
in the night time 
and poured honey over me
in the day time 

he took my flesh into his mouth and
bit and sucked and kissed gratefully 
and it was there that i mistook
lust for affection 

i couldn't even look at his hands 
because i knew where they'd been
so often had he wrapped his fingers 
around my hair 
and pulled 
and this was how he drew music out of me 

but surely he sensed
something was wrong 
when he dipped his fingers into me 
looking for honey 
that wouldn't come for him


[Brian, 30] 

I haven't been home in almost a year. 

I haven't seen my family in almost a year. 

And I'm weeping over Christmas songs in June. 

And when the universe has finished exploding all the stars will slow down, like a ball that has been thrown into the air, and they will come to a halt and they will all begin to fall towards the centre of the universe again. And then there will be nothing to stop us seeing all the stars in the world because they will all be moving towards us, gradually faster and faster, and we will know that the world is going to end soon because when we look up into the sky at night there will be no darkness, just the blazing light of billions and billions of stars, all falling. 

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time 

I'd hate to need you,
I only want to want you,
But I find myself yearning to see you this Monday, 
Is it exam stress or something else? 

Lets not be hasty. 
Lets not jump to conclusions, 
I do have a history of making ridiculous decisions under stress, 
And company law is hella stressful. 

I need to think like Rupi Kaur and drown oceans instead. 

I feel my bones creak under the magnitude of my inadequacies. 
Its unpleasant to say the least. 

I'm tried, yet no amount of sleep may satisfy me, 
I'm hungry, but food appears to have lost its taste, 
I am both restless and listless at the same time, 
I crave sunlight & adventure, but refuse to leave my bed until well past noon, 
I fret about my future, but take no steps to alleviate this anxiety.

Basically I'm a fuck-up. 
This poem is crap. 
And everything sucks.


Happy Easter I guess.