At My Worst

When love becomes like renovation work - everything seems to be in place, but the plaster crumbles at the first draught. You say, ‘Everything will be fine,’ but you're clinging to the mop of emotions and trying not to drop the bucket of doubts. Here, every verse is like an attempt to patch up the cracks between ‘I'm sorry’ and ‘Let's try again.’

It sounds like a late evening in the kitchen: the lamp is yellow, the tea has gone cold, and the conversation never ends. Too honest not to hurt. And in this honesty there is a strange consolation: if you have shown yourself at your worst and you have not been kicked out, then love has survived to the truth after all.