Going to China in two weeks. Excited to get away from my Sydney reality and pretend I’m a full-time lady of leisure who has zero responsibilities. 

The fear of writing has gripped me so hard that it’s almost impossible to write. The more fantastic the work I read, the more paralysed I become — it’s like the creepy devil sitting on that old guy’s shoulder in Cloud Atlas, don’t even tryyyy. I cringe at my own writing. I delete it. And even as I don’t want to write, I think about writing every day.

Moments drag by but time flies on

And some day we’ll see each other

Although it’s going to be odd

When I’m unable to run up 

And kiss your hair and your palms

I don’t think I can stay

Can’t look you in the eyes

And yet I don’t want to walk past

Like strangers who’ve said goodbye

say something because i’m giving up on you