What has happened to the good? Where is the fidelity and sanctuary of love?
Everyone used to be so good, and simple and all the bad we did was innocent and with reason.
How can lovers cheat on their beloved?
And even if my heart could bear it, why would I?

Love is unfathomable, complete madness and illusion, and yet it makes the bravest of men.
I'd walk into the gates of Hell if my love was there, for when your lover calls your heart follows. I would feel fear, naturally, but in the name of love it doesn't matter.
Those who say emotions make you weak are wrong, my darlings.

If my black knight were on the other side of the chess board, I'd sacrifice myself for him without question.
It would be more logical to save my Queen, but I couldn't, because I love him.

Do you suppose that other rabbits judge Peter Rabbit for having floppy ears and curly whiskers?
Perhaps at the time it was unfortunate, but it made him remembered.

Love is a curious thing I suppose, for it turns perfections from one thing to another. The curly haired boy with porcelain skin and dirty knees and eyes like the sea that we sail on, becomes the boy with big gentle hands, and dark eyes and dark skin and a dark heart who always smells of cocoa.

Does that make love fickle, or all the more magical?

I would say magical, because the world is constantly in flux, and so we are too.

I thought I ought to paint my castle yellow, so that someone would find us, because we are lost.

Spinning silk.

I saw a moth fall into a crystal glass of milk, blinded by light. He tried to flutter but failed. The dust from his wings swirled around him and he was gone.


Another moth flew in, I tried to rescue her to dry her in the sun, it wasn’t too late. But she threw herself off my fingertips again and again, I gave up trying when I realised she had to be with him.

The hot breath from the beast’s mouth curled into the frozen air, light glinted off his great fangs and fresh blood dripped from its mouth onto the white snow.


He looked up into its merciless black eyes, pushed up his spectacles and said “I’m sure we can sort this out amicably.”

We are mystified by the things around us, and we want to capture them to keep them forever.


The magical vibrations of water, how it runs lightly under your fingertips with the calm flow of rivers, yet mighty waves would sweep you away in ire, carrying your body into the sea.

The dancing colours of red, orange, yellow, white and blue. The speed it takes to run through flames without getting burned, before the fire catches you, how can man make such a creature that would bite its master?

The darkness that never existed, the darkness of not knowing, what things could lurk in dark places? Strange monsters, and furred beasts. If darkness is lack of light, must we have darkness inside us? You can’t catch darkness, but it can catch you, surrounding you in its smoke and how it runs only from light.

The same light that draws our eyes and lifts our heads higher, light that could blind us in its brightness and burn us in its warmth. This light in the north will dance across the night’s sky reflected in icicles and polar bear eyes.

The moving entities of other creatures all around us, how strongly we crave their touch, we wish to envelop them and possess them. To catch a bird and keep its song in a cage, to command a hound’s loyalty and to keep the love of a boy.

They could crush us, and we could crush them. We play with them, because we’re in love with danger and that which we don’t understand.

Little lonely polar bear wanders around what is left of the icy kingdom. Hunger clings to him, and he finds the greater beasts fighting brutally among themselves, the young ones huddle together finding comfort in warm white fur, licking lips with blue tongues, snowflakes on their eyelashes as they weep for winter.

In cold morning air we walked to the park to fly our kite. It was always cold when we flew it, and the air stung our eyes, and jabbed at us under duffle coats. A slight mist hung over the grass, and our kite lit up the grey skies with blue, green, yellow and red and a secret smile lit up our faces. I tied it to a bench that said, ‘For Arthur and Rose. We barely knew them, but they sat here and they only needed each other.’ And I hoped we would grow old together like them.

Under the duvet cover propped up by the chair and dressing table, he whispered while he held up the torch,

“You won’t need a parachute if you’ve got me.”


“That isn’t the problem, my love. It seems people are trying to put holes in my parachute, and I’m bad at sewing.”