I wake up, stumble to the kitchen in the same old way for a coffee kick, except this time I drink three and then sit on my sofa and stare at things. Its cloudy inside my apartment because the sun rose to grey again, another failure of a spring day. I’ll sit on the floor and curl my hair until its crispy and heavy under hair spray, because good hair is something to focus on. There will be music playing, perhaps Banks because she’s strong or those amazing angry songs by the 1975. Something like that. I’ll dream of summer or the trips I might take soon, even though all I quietly want is to be here at home but Barcelona is boring in a way I can’t explain. Biba and I will go for a fourth coffee somewhere close by, a place I’ve been to a hundred times which is tedious and not lovely in that neighbourhood way. We will take a walk, all the way down Rambla Catalunya, crossing to the other side of the street when we pass where my ex boyfriend works. I won’t even look at the door in fear he might be coming or going or just standing there. I’ll find myself at a makeup counter in a department store or even Sephora, looking at lipsticks and perhaps buying them just so I can leave with a bag in my hand. Or another grey marl t-shirt I don’t need, I might try and initiate a conversation with a man working at the bookstore but will soon realize he is more bored than I am, or perhaps just stoned. I’ll wonder why I only wore a flimsy jacket because I’m cold and I’ll think about what happens when love goes away. I’ll blame myself and then him and then myself again. There will be enormous sunglasses on my face, they look silly under the clouds but my eyes are tiny and tired. Caring takes energy and yet I don’t much care for the lesson learnt because I’ve learnt it before and ultimately, relearning makes me feel like a fool. But here I am walking through lessons already learnt, clutching at what could be next over too many coffees and buying things with Biba for the sake of physically filling my hands. If it weren’t for those lipsticks in too similar shades, my palms would be raised to the sky and I’d be screaming, ‘but wait, WHY?’ And that was my day today, it was my day yesterday, tomorrow will probably be the same, the same as today and yesterday. But hey, it’s just a little grey, I promise I’m okay.