I'm DaisyI Have This Strange Feeling That I’m Not Myself Anymore.
Can’t quite get over how fast these past 8 months have gone. Today I handed in my final project for my first year, and I feel like all I’ve done is blink for it to be over. Last week I got a train to Paris to see the Marc Jacobs/ Louis Vuitton exhibition, which as it sounds, was super rad. I then spent the next 24 hours deviating between a mix of fantasy and reality. By the time I was home watching Alan Partridge in my halls, it had sunk in that just hours before I was sat admiring the eiffel tower. There’s a faint whisper of relief regarding the lack of work needing to be done over the summer, but also a sweet nostalgia for all of the good times I’ve had in these halls, and how I’ll be sad to leave them behind. I am however, incredibly excited to move into my house in Wimbledon in July. As of then it’s going to be a pretty full on year with lots of motivation and money needed to push myself closer to where I want to be, but nothing worth having comes easy. And for once, I’m excited to work as hard as I can to get there.
yrlifeisasong asked: miss your face daisykins. drinks soon?
ahh miles, definitely yes! i’ll hit you up when i’m back in the midlands
Anonymous asked: I've followed you for ages and I've just realised I used to love the band you were in with your brother (That's if you are who I think you are) Can't for the life of me remember the name of the band, but didn't you have a song called 'Don't Sell Yourself Short' or something like that?
no way! yeah we did, we were called Kill Monty Kill, aw man being in that band and gigging was such an awesome time, thank you for making my day, anonymous
The Moon Likes Secrets. And Secret Things.
After spending a week on the sofa with a treacherous case of tonsillitis, and then returning back to the South for a week of drinking, deadlines and (Southern American) diners, I am irrevocably worn out. It has however, been a productive week, as my completion of the aforementioned deadline, despite being granted an extension, has allowed me the free time to spend a rainy weekend trailing around Brick Lane market and scoffing chocolate whilst watching The Avengers. Equally, it gave me the time to view and secure an insane house in Wimbledon for next year (8 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, a driveway, garden, conservatory and cellar, since you ask). With the exception of a lack of funds, and zero motivation to find a summer job, it seems that things are, quite conveniently slipping into place.
Our Planet Was Poorly Designed For Happiness.
I wasn’t sure that I could feel a goddamn thing until a year ago, when I lost you forever, and you forced me to realise that nothing is immortal. I miss you so much it makes me feel sick.
I Don’t Know Honey, I’ll Miss You, I Love You.
Reading though volume 1 of ‘Love Letters Of Great Men’ and wishing I was still the girl who you wrote love letters and postcards to. I wish I’d made the right decision to avoid getting tangled up with boys who should’ve stayed as friends and nothing else. I wish that I lived in walking distance of an all night american style diner and that I didn’t vest so much importance in people’s words, and have little regard for their actions. I wish I wasn’t so quick to develop feelings for those who are out of my reach, and that I had enough money to buy Dr Marten shoes and a whole host of American Apparel. But mainly I wish I could skip the responsibility of this summer and not have to grow up.
I Could Be Who You Wanted All The Time.
Hello. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to hurt you. These are just some words on a crumpled piece of paper. Paper burns at 451 degrees fahrenheit and also rips easily when torn, so you shouldn’t feel like this is permanent because very little is. If anything. This is merely the documentation of the words I have swimming around in my head. And as much as my mouth cannot bear to utter them, my mind cannot hide them, and so they traveled from my brain, down through my arms and spilled through the ink in my pen onto this page. I’m never entirely sure what to say in letters, it’s as if I have permanent writers block when certain things are expected of me, and when they’re not, I spit out all kinds of obscenities and stupid anecdotes. I find it interesting, almost exciting, to think of how your eyes are tilting left to right over these words. Or as, how you faintly grip this paper, a million tiny cells in your body are jumping through your arms, your cheeks and your lips, and a million more are dying. It’s alright though. Like that cup of tea you’ll be sipping later, and how there are miniscule conductors in tiny construction hats working to keep that teacup steady in your hand. I want to remind you to never take things too seriously. To take this letter as a reminder that there’s too much going on in this compact world. And know that there will always be good and bad in the universe, but that you are a part of the good and that you are surrounded by it. But maybe to go and seek the hidden wonders of it too, because although mystery is exciting, it is perhaps even more exciting to find out about all the things you never knew existed, and immerse yourself in them. To know that receiving little letters like this are amongst a handful of very minor privileges in life. To know that the person writing this letter is wishing that one day, they’ll get a taste of some mischief, to do something that no one has ever done before, because their life isn’t fulfilled too much either.
*a letter I wrote to someone recently
