Came to Leeds, day out. It’s my old stomping ground, where I came to waste away my uni days.
I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds.
I mean, not constantly. There were weeks I’m sure when I was fine.
But I got ill here, and I didn’t appreciate how ill; a lot of my time in Leeds was barb wire and static and me trying to convince myself it was silk and cool water. Still; time dulls edges and smooths wrinkles, soothes stinging memories. Now Leeds is a city of fond nostalgia, the ghosts of friends I wish I’d kept up with, and lifetime and a half away there’s a thin memory of me; less heavy with regret, although maybe just as wound up with uncertainty. And wilder, so much wilder than the man I am now.
At times, I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds. Continue reading