my name is irene.
i like to make up little
haikus in my head.
soft shoes, latin, knitting, walks, apples, art galleries, hugs.
trois coleurs.
when you buy a new notebook it's the best feeling. you write and write, using cartridge after cartridge of ink (or, discarding biro after biro). after a few days, your inspiration runs out. re-reading all that you've written, it looks nonsensical. you tear it out, and burn it or discard it. then the notebook lies, incomplete and unused, on a shelf. you regret this, and go to the stationer's for a new one.