Waiting

I've been going through lost photos. This was London, 24 September 2003, with a little dash of digital sky colour. It's been raining incessantly. Nothing changes, and time twitches away. The Pope is dead.

5 more weeks to exams, and I've barely started studying for all 10 subjects. I'm worried but I know I'll pass. Unable to work at home, I come to school almost every day, relishing for the last time these distracted readings, hourly breaks and welcome trips to the canteen.

I think of what Yen wrote: "The days merge ineluctably into each other - and this is an effort to distinguish and preserve some part of them. Call it writing practice and don't ask what the practice is for."