I didn’t take home my exercise book when I was six because my story got a “C”. Instead, I threw the book into the deep gutter that ran along the side of the road between Central Primary School and my house.
Aged and battered like the cracked bowls the Japanese fill with gold. After the bowls are put back together with seams of molten metal, they are more precious, more durable, more prized.
There wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t any screaming, arguing or name-calling, just a slow disintegration — like roses in a vase becoming dry and discoloured; their petals dropping to the floor.
On my left wrist, scratched into my skin is a red heart with angels wings. It reminds me of my birthday three years ago when Shelley and I sat under the needle at The Illustrated Man and got our tattoos. It was the last birthday I spent with my husband.
It wasn’t until we moved this weekend that I realised that I needed to get away. It feels like I’ve cut the cord to my old life and now I am free. Free to start afresh where there are no memories of my old life, in my old suburb.
Next weekend, my boyfriend and I will move to a beach house on a hill on Sydney’s northern beaches. From the lounge, kitchen and bedroom we will have views over the park, past the trees and out to the Pacific.
One single kiss and now Kristen Stewart is branded a cheat, her reputation tarnished forever. I know how she feels. It all started with a kiss for me as well …
Four months and one day after I met Duckfish we moved in together. It wasn’t my idea. In fact, I was fiercely defending my decision to stay in the tiny one bedroom flat that was all my own.