I’m a bit worried as I feel as though my heart is locked away in a small box. Like a tiny one of those old packing chests they used to use in house moves. I’m crying but the tears ain’t reaching anymore. They feel meaningless.

It started at the funeral place yesterday afternoon. The room overlooked the London Road. While we discussed coffins, in a strangely quiet, cream coloured haven of sorts, and I watched the number 8, 9, 400, U1, 280, X90 and Oxford Tube buses drive past.