Elling writes because she doesn’t sleep so well. At night her brain walks down winding little streets, collecting winding little words, question marks and colours from gutters, windows and alley cats. She draws too, but her art doesn’t always say what she wants and she left her pens at Fluff in 2018.
By Ellen Jenkinson, January 19, 2019
Read time: 2 Mins
His house key left next to the dish.
The fact he tried to leave the cupboard without gaps, so he hung all my clothes from the floor in there. They were all clothes for donation.
That he wrote out “Oh the Places You’ll Go” in it’s entirety in a letter. It was 7 pages.
That he didn’t take my sunglasses with him, the ones he always wore and I always asked him not to. The ones I got mad at him for stretching out even though I never wore them. They were his. I wish he took them.
“If you love me, then let me sleep” that I wrote on the wall above his pillow. Do I take that down now?
He cleaned out the fridge. It was empty except for a bag of carrots he bought. I love carrots.
The stool that had his pile of clothes on it, always, was empty for the first time. I realise now it doesn’t suit the room.
That letter. “I didn’t think I was capable of them”
“Be brave, be confident, say yes, be you.”
Finding all the terrible pyjamas he bought me. The ones with macaroons and bows on them – he’d always sing a song when I wore them “macaroons and bows, macaroons and bows, macaroons and bows.” No one will sing that to me now. God they’re ugly.
“I always have. I always will.”
4 apples will last me 4 days, not 2.
My face mask wouldn’t stick to my face because I was crying too much. That made me cry more. I just wanted fresh skin.
I said “my bed” but it was ours. Our bed. Do I need to buy a new bed?
Ryan Adams – live at
Realising this room, this house, was not big enough for two. Especially when one was 6 foot 3 and the other never really let him in.