I just had a sudden, desperate urge to be back in Bradford.
Back in a place I know at a time I knew it well.
Back in a place and a time when everything was in place. When people I loved were all around me, and I had no concern for what the future held.
Back in a time where I was filled with that total euphoric carefree joy of youth.
Before I knew he was ill, before I really understood what a mess the world was, before folk moved on and moved away, and I began my own journey, carving out my own lines through life.
Back to a time and a place that felt like getting into bed, all the time. In the best way. In the most comfortable way.
Back to a time where I still fitted on my mum’s lap (when was that ever a time…I’m big like my Dad was).
Back to a time where I roamed the rooms that I wore like a second skin, where I imagined whole worlds within them, aided by my furry stuffed friends. (Toys, not taxidermied animals, I’d like to point out…)
Back to a time where I was held, and had to do little holding of others in any kind of meaningful, self-aware way.
Back to a time where, in my memory, nothing was wrong.
Rose-tinted, deluded, painfully nostalgic.