Humidity covers the many layers of you with dew, for you thrive like a succulent in the wet.

I expand and contract in accordance with the seasons. Sometimes, such as humid times, I expand, while in colder times I contract.

You thrive while I contract today. It’s your heaven and my hell.

Then, as if the sky knows who I am, the clouds break and the cool rain falls on to our skin.


A crisp lightness fills the spaces and brings a glimpse of spring to the winter day. I have nothing but you and my pain, which sets my mind racing.

A flimsy love between two independent souls, both longing for the rain to wash their sadness clean; two souls haunted by fear of failure, of not being the favoured child, of living with selves harder on themselves than any other person.

If money was not required in this capitalistic hell, we would be free to be ourselves.

I’m on the train now going to ruin my life again, but I have you through the ages; you and me against the world, ready to live once again.