Silly Girls

Not quite twenty-four


in Waterloo Station.

Hot tears dropping

into cold pea soup.


Holding a best friend’s hand

on a night bus

chapped fingers snagging

her small, smooth palm.


Wheeling a bike along a pavement

in winter

looking at lights

in other people’s windows;

shops so bright

they hurt tired eyes.


Writing love letters

on Facebook Messenger.

How many pink-heart emojis

does it take to feel



Silly girls,

of course it hurts.



who once were paper

are now growing bones.