Indian Summers, Songs, and Various Dead Things

i didn't appreciate your various tantrums/dilemmas/panic attacks any more than you may not have appreciated my constant self-righteousness or my insistence on wearing something fluorescent every other day of the week. it's only been a little over two months, but i've realised i can't stop singing. i sing in my bedroom, i sing as i cook, i sing in the bath, i sing getting dressed and getting undressed and i sing in empty car parks walking home alone very late at night. this perhaps means i'm absolutely over you, but when i saw you the other day, i could barely roll my cigarette my hands were shaking so much.

it's 2 a.m. and there's a dead cat lying in the road.

i'm thinking about glasgow and the indian summer last septemeber where half my friends dyed their hair strange colours and we all listened exclusively to riot grrrl. i know it's been almost a year since i first met you, because last night i stepped out into the garden and the cold bit me in exactly the same way it bit us both last october. it must have been exactly the same temperature or something, because now i can't stop thinking about you or dreaming about you. i'm still singing though.