Read on Twitter
One like = one thing I love.
I did this before ages ago on my old account. The tweets are gone. I might love new things now. Or I might word the other things differently and magically transform them.
Or I might get two likes now and just put & #39;having my hair stroked& #39; and & #39;frost& #39;.
Or I might get two likes now and just put & #39;having my hair stroked& #39; and & #39;frost& #39;.
Badly cut paper dolls.
The expected-yet-still-a-shock jolt as your head bangs back on the rim of the waltzers.
The feel of a lemon that& #39;s been in a sunspot: warm, dippled but oil smooth.
Touching random stones in very old walls when I walk past, imagining the other people throughout history who might have done the same.
(Current times mean I really miss touching things as it happens).
(Current times mean I really miss touching things as it happens).
Cake crumbs at the bottom of a lunch box at the end of the day.
Putting salt on both seeded sides of a halved tomato.
Icing sugar on top of cakes to make it look like snow.
Glass jars. Everything about them. The smoothness. The shape. The way things look the same yet different from every angle when inside them. The way they hold things in an extremely secure way, yet are not private in any way. The way you can look through them to the other side.
People trying to eat spaghetti.
The fabric buttons in the seats of old arm chairs, the more threadbare the better. A sheen of previous use, and touch.
