I just spent a week in Paris. Slightly irritatingly, I have been far more inspired to paint than to write. I'm going to spend a while making marks on paper and reminding myself what a chore brushes can sometimes be- I think I've become too lazy and lethargic to devote myself to something big, but I might do a few small ones just to get this out of my system. I don't think I appreciated just how lucky I was to have time set aside for doing this at school!
Oh, and I kissed Oscar Wilde's grave!
I did write a few things while I was away, but I'm not very keen on them. I only wrote one poem, the others are essays and don't belong here. I think I will post the poem anyway, abuse it as you see fit.
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