He gave me my first moleskin, sometime last year
He asked me to go put it to good use— it’d been a present for him, from his ma’
For three months, maybe two, i wrote nothing in there, i couldnt, i didnt want to misuse it
to put words and sketches that made no sense
Later, much later, i started writing in it. We were together on holiday, in a place where, on a long sunny day, one squeezes their eyes shut and imagines themselves, but never really is there: Costa Brava.
I woke one morning and wrote a letter to my mom, about him, in the moleskin…….
today, it is filled with the most impressive, meaningless, abstract, cryptic still amazing drafts i ever written.
Today, i write in the same Moleskin, another letter to my mom, wondering with her; Why?
Why is that all I’ve done is reward him with pain. only pain…………
Let’s all listen to Flora’s Secret: Enya