iaremyne.

#loveminusone

Aftertaste.

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Token.

I am standing in a line of greens and blues. It’s moving but I know it’s never going to be my turn.   Because although   I am the 3am phone calls, the tear-streaked confessions and angry monologues, the guardian of secrets, the healer of wounds, the wisest of sages, I am merely a placeholder

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Mummy, Daddy, I Want To Be A Writer.

It was during dinner when I broke the news to them. Mummy, Daddy, I want to be a writer. What do you mean? Like a journalist? Copy writer? No, not quite. Is this some hum sup thing, where you wear skimpy clothes and take photos with soap bar and shampoo? No! Of course not. Oh,

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