On Monday morning, around 5am, I woke up to see the dawn wrap itself around a deserted Hyde Park corner. I’d boarded the coach from Glastonbury at 2.30am - an hour after I’d tightly hugged my friends goodbye and pelted down the hill from the Crow’s Nest bar to try and push down the sadness that I was leaving before them all. Wondering around an empty Victoria in search for a Black cab with its light on felt cinematic - the light was so crisp and new and good, my backpack so heavy on my shoulders. To return home was to return to reality, to the grim horror of the reproductive rights legislation across the way. This week my brain has felt like a gnat in a jar, bumping into the sides of things without ever staying put. These are some of the things it has dwelled on for more than a moment:
© 2024 Alice Vincent
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