Somethings (9. July. 2018, instagram) I finally finished this; a year after Mags gifted it to me. Maybe that's fitting. A year. And six. I don't like writing long captions on here anymore but whatever. As with most things I write, it's mostly for myself anyway. My mind's been full of unnamed Somethings. June does that to me. I always listen to books, to what they have to say. I'm always patient. Not with this one. Unfair, I know. But the Somethings always just wanted to rip away from me, project themselves all over the pages of this. I was so impatient. This was supposed to be a book review, but it became something else. I was supposed to have dinner. We were supposed to have ice cream. It was a Thursday. It was a Monday. No one tells you how it comes, what leaving looks like. I went to the bathroom. The other time I left a bookstore. Suddenly is the only adverb. There and not. Didion describes it in her book, running through time, reviewing, replaying,