by Amanda Harlech .

A play...

Think I'm going to write a play called 'The story of sleep' about a woman who disintegrates without it/him and reassembles after one night in Paris when he comes - unasked, no sleeping pill cry, just comes. I can't believe it. I'm sitting at the desk listening to the sparrows in the slice of tree line below my window, a clock ticks, somewhere in the bowels of the Ritz a bath is being run, but otherwise it is a familiar unquiet.

1 comment

  1. kimmi
    13:48 24 Feb 2012
    asleep the snow came flying