Little Black Book
Little Black Book
Present Day.
The fog lay wishful along the tops of the jagged skyline, rising like teeth to meet the grey sheets of London’s sky. The city sky is familiar, her jaw wide by half-light, waiting like a March day. Black book I thought, we’re here. When dreams come true it’s like stepping into the imaginary space of a painting yet to be coloured in and once you fill it, somewhere in your body was already there waiting for you. The night had been there telling stories, being awake was simply a means of gathering.
