From The Start (George Daniel/Matty Healy)

8: brought to u by not to disappear by daughter an absolutely 10/10 album

Matty had gotten better at spending time not just with other people, but with himself too. It was all as a result of getting just that bit more comfortable inside his own head; the thing was that now he did finally feel as if he somewhat belonged. It was always a very odd thing to feel out of place in your own head, of all things, but Matty found that was just how it had been, regardless of complications or particularities.

He'd pulled himself together quite a bit more over the past few weeks, and as much as he had found that he did indeed rely on George quite an awful lot, he found that he could spend the day alone, with George at work, without having his whole world coming caving on him at about twenty past ten.

All in all, he'd gotten more to grips with himself, and gained a certain kind of peace with his mind in the process. He'd managed to start writing again - it was the flow of ideas, of feelings, of emotion, of something meaningful through his veins, that had compelled him to do so. He wouldn't say that the work he'd produced was particularly worthy of much critical acclaim, but he'd hardly go as far as to say so much about the majority of his work. The fact of the matter was that there words on the page: slowing coming together like the pieces of his life and the person he might someday want to be. It had seemed so impossible from afar, but as he'd come closer to it all, upon further inspection, everything did seem to just fit perfectly into place.

The weather grew warmer all too quickly - very much unexpected due to the British climate, but it wasn't something that Matty could really find himself much reason to complain about at all. It was also that, in a weird way, it wasn't just the weather, but the world felt warmer too.

He wondered if it was just his change in perspective - just him growing sappy, just melancholic drivel turning into an almost sickly sweet admiration of the world, and an admiration of how it had shaped itself around him, of how he had found his way back into everything again. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but something had changed - something had switched in his brain, and there was no denying that it was an important kind of something.

Suddenly there was joy to be had in everything, in the sun on his skin, in the world getting warmer, in their shitty little house, with every room too small, and with Allen, with walks in the park, with afternoons spent in the even shittier and even littler back garden, pulling absent mindedly at daisies amongst the grass, with mornings inside, with mornings starting early, with mornings starting late, spent with the familiar tapping of his fingers hitting the keys of his typewriter, with life settling into a whole new era, with everything turning on its head, but seeming so familiar at the same time.

Matty wasn't quite sure what it was, and what it could ever be, because as all change, it was indeed gradual, and only seemed to hold any much weight once you stopped for a moment and found yourself looking back on the person you had used to be, and how you never saw the same reflection in the mirror anymore. He had at first regarded change with resentment, fixing himself and his life to be pointless because there was never anything to say that it was broken, but he just didn't feel like he was that person at all anymore.

He did wonder, eyes set on the window, watching the morning progress into a sunny afternoon, watching the trees sway slightly in the breeze, and feeling the very same breeze on his skin through the open window. Somehow, it was more than just a breeze, and it was more than just a morning turned afternoon, because that was perhaps the first moment that Matty really felt that he belonged.

The first moment that he really could sit in his chair, in his room, in his house, and for it to be his house, and not just the house he was living in. For with the breeze on his skin, the world felt like his world, and not just the world around him, for suddenly him and the world were not two separate entities, closed off from one another, but living as one. It was that first moment, where he felt a part of the room, a part of the world, and not as if he was etched in half heartedly at the last minute.