Jessica Eve Watkins

Early May, 2014

Charged up and body dancing in the city I spent last year asleep in. Bristol, I’m not yours, but I’m home again. Most friends are out of town. It’s George and me sat on his living room floor singing Joni and sipping from a wine bottle. Ordering pizza, talking at Kevin Bacon films, singing in the streets. We coil on a sofa at The Canteen and fantasise about moving to France, Berlin, North Carolina, anywhere… Passersby cradle pints like only the British can do. I’m stoked up on snap decision making, destiny altering, even if just in my mind. There’s an open mic down the street and we sing our song for no-one but ourselves. If you want to sing out, sing out…If you want to be free, be free. We’re messy and drunk and accepting glasses of wine from strangers. Can’t face straight, make friends like I’m traveling through, try to set George up with the sound guy. He is like a medicine for me these few days – a chin-lifting force, light-shining comfort brandishing earl grey in his flailing arms, staying up late to align himself with my jet lag, and listen to side two of Crosby, Stills & Nash again. I feel sick to be left alone after twisting myself up into Harper, but I notice the rise within me to be tough. I don’t want anyone taking the reigns. I ask him to build me some shelves, and then retract the request, deciding I’ll learn to build them myself. I am capable of pushing down the walls I’ve put up. It’s 2am now, and I’m wide awake with exhaustion. Can’t play guitar or make noise, and confusion is stitched within me. It’s ok though. I’m riding a moment of change. Another chapter turning, and this time the ball is in my court. Just not sure where I’ll throw it yet. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmGbA6bEBfI


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