c is for...

Let's have the real stuff, from the cafetiere.

It still feels luxurious and indulgent even though we never get it right and it's always too strong and dark.

The smell reminds me of my mum in the mornings and of coffee shops when I'm meant to be doing something else. 

It's bitter and sweet and makes your hands shake and your eyes sharpen as it goes down.

I got up early yesterday to clean the house;

so now the weekend is here, i'm sat at the table with him in our pyjamas and I have a tidy home and two days in front of me wide open.

What are you going to go?

There's pots of paints upstairs, a half knitted blanket on the sofa, a bag of bread flour in the cupboard and plants outside that need potting.

I'll have the last dregs from the pot while I decide.

Gemma
xXx

b is for...

Piles and piles and rows and rows.

Old friends that I've known for years that I know by heart, 
and unread stories that still smell good with crisp pages.

Sometimes I wonder what I'd be like if I hadn't read all these stories 
and didn't have all these things in my head.

Gemma
xXx