And so it came to pass that she found herself. No earlier nor later than 3:55am, alone, with nothing but a half empty jar of nutella and a noisy fan for company. Covered in crumbs, cashmere plains, the rain a murderer preying on the willing victim. Or so she suspected. ‘The stillness of the world never seems more truly transparent than at this hour.’

Whilst the rest sleep she begins to realise with pitiful eyes, the routine of life. You set your own pace with goals and tasks and pre-meditated anticpations of elation. How real is that high? The one you have come to expect- the success? Denying and satisfying, a relentless game to give in to. But you always do. Dedicated to the play. How high will you roll, what boundaries to push next. I suppose it’s like any adrenalin junkie seeking thrills, bigger and better, feta, wetter. The day reduced to a summed up sentence. A self- satisfying rhyme. Artifically evocative.

And what of love? Oh must we take that compassionate, docile route! You know as much as I that this is a monologue; do or die without the guy. But no, wait. Pause. Rest. And let him come. Like an awoken child in a haze of dreams, drifting between imagination and reality. The only certainty we grasp is the sweet warmth of breath.