A story about 3am

(If you’re looking for the 3am poems they’re over there.) Here’s Tracey Emin (2006, Feb 10), My Life in a Column.

And there, a row of gas-workers’ cottages, surrounded by nothing but wasteland. He stood outside one of the houses, and as she cycled up with a smile on her face, he said: “You’re not coming in. I didn’t ask you to follow me.” She looked down sadly and replied: “So I’m supposed to cycle all the way back then?” “OK,” he said, but with absolutely no humour, “you can stay the night. But whatever happens, you are not going to be my girlfriend.” As she closed the door behind her, she smiled, and said: “Sure. But I bet you anything, before the night is out, you will say I’m your girlfriend.”

Read on…

“Cheer up love, it might never happen”

“It’s like when you have a broken heart. I always think of it as a piece of paper. It can only be folded eight times. Each fold is like the heart closing in on itself – and one more fold after the eight and it will spring open. The thing is, you never know when the origami master will come along. Oh, you have to laugh. The pseudo-philosophy we give ourselves to try and stay sane.

“Cheer up love, it might never happen. Tell me about it.”

– Tracey Emin (2005, 9 Sept), My Life in a Column, The Independent.