Image from Amazon

An Ode to Fleabag

She came onto my screen

A flurry of limbs and awkward sex

A navy coated, red lipped nymph.

The sister, the best friend.

The lost

         The broken

The f r a g m e n t e d

We are all her

And

I really want to steal a gold headless statue someday.


Lungs

Hearts smashed into walls

A flurry of glitter spread across the floor

Stardust suspended in mid air as you drift around us

Not drift, 

                     float. 

An ethereal renaissance fairy witch

You spin like the plates you sing of

Before they are smashed above heads

And then, stillness.

Like the rusty red lungs you cling to

Amidst chiffon and flower petals.


Golden

Definition; bright, metallic or lustrous

Like the mane of Serena Van Der Woodsen in the 2008 drama Gossip Girl

Or the light that emulates off the songbird Florence Welch.

Like glittery champagne bubbles, suspended in pearlescent glass

That a golden curled friend pours 

As the sun creates ethereal silhouettes

And diamond jewels on the water’s surface.

When we are golden, all is right.

We are shining.

I want that forever. 


Sophie is an aspiring essayist from Auckland, New Zealand. When she isn’t writing, she can be found reading multiple books at once or re-watching Fleabag for the umpteenth time. She also writes the blog, Nana Wintour.