When it rains I often walk home and think of you. My boss offered me a ride the other night and I turned it down because I like the rhythm of the walk, the stop-go of the traffic lights, the time to think in between steps and songs. And because it's also a time where no one can stop and ask for things if I don’t want to give them (don't call me and ask me to send that email from my phone on the side of the road, I'm busy selecting a song to go home with).

I like walking because it gives me time to overthink things. Because when I’m home there is my housemate to laugh and watch Game of Thrones with. A perpetually half-made bed. Dinners to cook. Friends to message. Words to write. Lists to write. But when I'm walking, there is none of that. I am free.

When it's dark (which most of the time it is by the time I’ve left the office) I like to think of you and wonder what you're doing - whether you're in the middle of a junction in line for a six pack of after work sushi or buying tuna and rice to eat while watching the latest Vice documentary. Last week I watched one about Robyn and I never knew she was so pixie-like or that she started out as a generic pop star and was then like fuck that I don’t want to be known for the way I wear a halter neck and just left and started her own thing. What a woman.

When I think of you I also think of me in your mind, what this looks like and is it really real? And if you are turning these thoughts over in your mind - are you wondering what I'm doing too? Has she finished that book she kept talking about and is she still piling up work alongside her to keep her up at night and away from other things? Is she still stirring the soups on the stove and pouring them gently into containers for the week like a 70-year-old 24-year-old? Yes, yes I am.

I've found new music I think you’d like - tunes to make you jive into work on a Tuesday and forget you’re there momentarily. When I walk I think of things that would make you laugh - like the lady in the line for coffee the other day who was talking about her sheet thread count and holding up the line with her tiny, annoying dog. And I laughed to myself because the guys at the counter were the hippest people I’ve met this side of the city and called me 'baby’ when they handed me my cup.

When it rains I walk home and often think of you. I keep getting offered a lift but I like to walk; the rhythm of it, the space. The time to think things, turn them over and then overthink some more. And even if you don’t think back, even if you're far away with your nose pointed north, at least we both return home with our faces dripped clean from the day, only the remnants of each other's thoughts from now or times before ringing like left over band music in our ears.