(Almost) Three.

I stared at the bathroom cabinet.

Bleary-eyed.

A million memories, a trillion flashbacks.

Today, I poured lotion from a jar into a bottle, in the same spot where I sat and watched him decant his hair-gel into a pot, so many weeks ago. I liked the way he held the spoon..the infinite care in his movements. It warmed me. The tap of the tub on the table, to remove the air bubbles.

I stared at the bathroom cabinet.

Exhausted.

A million memories, a trillion flashbacks.

We clung to each other, then. Like it would never end, and the good times would always roll on. Who knew, our wishes in the night would fly away like birds at dawn? The same one we watched from our window at the end of that first, resplendent year. That goofy seagull.

We clung to each other, then. Like we wished it hadn't ended. With tears, mingled in the dark. Dozing, only to reawaken to sobs and sadness. I cannot forget the pain, though I try. I cannot forget your face, though I try. Wasn't it always going to come to this, somewhere down the line?

I stared at the bathroom cabinet.

Unconvinced.

A million memories, a trillion flashbacks.

It was empty, once you left. There were spaces left behind that your soul still fills. I took that mouthwash down off the bathroom ledge, and smashed it on the floor. In grief and fury I sunk down, and the blue seeped into my skin, just like you had. Indelible.

I stare at your pillow, in the dark. How did you look in your sleep, your cooler form next to mine? I'm already beginning to forget. I don't want to forget. I have to forget. Like dreams, it all slips away with the day, and more in the darkness, so replete. I can almost hear you breathe again, if I try hard enough.

I stared at the bathroom cabinet.

A million memories, a trillion flashbacks.

Alone.

I shut the bathroom cabinet

door and turned

off the

light.

Knots

Once upon a time, there was a planet.
On this planet, there were humans. Ordinary humans, much like you and I today, save for the fact that they differed by one not-so-human feature.

They had knots.

Every person born into this world would sooner or later develop a knot where their bellybutton was. Over time, these knots turned into string, which turned into rope, or twine, or any matter of long, twisted material. Some of the older generations had rope as thick as your wrist. For the most part, people lived with their ropes, trappings and misgivings. They wrapped around their person, they trailed behind and sometimes tripped them up. They were used to whip, to play, to help the bodies they were attached to. Mothers anchored their children, and children wove them together in playground games. Families twined them in solidarity, and others in shows of humanity. Lives were woven around their knots.

Until "The Day".

"The Day" was something everyone went through. It didn't matter if they knew about it, were educated, or oblivious. One could be prepared, ill-prepared, or unprepared. It didn't matter how old one was, but all would feel and discover the change on "The Day", and others around them would notice too. Sometimes "The Day" was one of great celebration. Other times it was heartrending, and not only for the person who experienced it. The feeling differed, from one to another. Some would report pain, others pleasure. But every single person would report some sensation on their hearts..a tugging, a longing. For you see, while they slept, their knots, strings, ropes, wire and twine would twist away, seeking out the end of another..and when they collided, the two souls involved would be bound.

Sometimes, their knots would travel only a short distance before connecting. Other times, they would span half the world, and take half a decade to search for another. Some never found the other end of a knot at all, but their knots would try, until their person's last breath. Knot gatherings too, were great events, where one hoped their knot would find another and join for eternity. Knots touched, hoping for that jolt, that spark that would signify a change in ones being.

When "The Day" happened, everything hereafter would either change or stay the same.

Some would pack their bags and follow their knots to the other soul at the end of theirs. Other ones would continue as they were, knowing there was another soul out there that they were connected to, but attached still to the souls around them. Others still would retreat to the shadows and seek a lone existence, with knots that had frazzled ends...burnt, cut off. Some say it hurt less that way. Knots were not easy. Knots would become tangled, with more than two beings thrust into the fray. Sometimes knots were cut by jealousy, hatred, or after many years of joy. Those who followed their knot would sometimes find happiness tied at the end, though others still would find scissors and a note, with the end tied to a tree. Sometimes, there was no note.

Knots are not easy to undo.

Falling

"The thought of losing so much control over personal happiness is unbearable. That's the burden. Like wings, they have weight, we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens that allow us to fly." 

~ T.J. Thyne

Moment

As the evening drew to its close, we found ourselves at the station where we were to part ways. Of the days' activities themselves I do not recall, though I am sure it was full of meandering bliss.

And now, upon our third outing, -though I must admit I was not consciously aware of being courted at this time- he posed to me a simple, weighted question, as we perched on the edge of society passing.

"How hard would you hit me if I were to kiss you right now?"

I had but a moment to capture him in my minds' eye, I gave the moment pause in adequate reflection, for it could only deserve so much; his delicate balance between solemnity and playfulness. He rocked back ever so slightly on his heels as the question went unanswered, arms at a loss. There was a forced cheer in his voice should he have had to display bravado in the face of rejection. I recognised it thusly. A sign of a decision that did not lay in his hands but one that he wanted for himself.

Having considered our potential dalliance, I then pulled the newspaper I'd earlier tucked under my arm and lightly smacked the top of his head in jest.

"Not too hard", I replied "...but you may kiss me."

For he had been a gentleman to ask. A gentle man to take my hand as we crossed the street not a day before, but not so much a gentleman that he would not brazenly take to staring into my eyes and casting a blush upon my cheeks, and a heat that would spread through my being.

Was it not odd then, that for all that I felt and was flattered by, all of the above came as little surprise? Perchance I expected it all along, or perhaps the moment left me startled like a deer in headlights, with my reactions slowed.

With these words, a most chaste kiss did occur, lasting but a fleeting second, if at all. If I had to compare, it would be to a butterfly wing so gently brushed upon my skin. I caught myself hoping briefly for another, though the moment and its terms were spent.

And then he was gone, past the barriers, and I left to walk home in the cool night air. And I had just turned upon a corner to see, through the glass, his little hop and skip of joy, or perhaps, my tainted mind interjected, of conquest; a simple dare completed. I shook my head to clear it of such fears; remnants of my past surfacing when they ought not to have.

I did not mean to eavesdrop on his joy, and felt briefly like an intruder on his raw emotion. It was not of my culture, not when one is brought up to be stoic and reserved in displaying ones' affection, lest it be interpreted as mocking.

Nevertheless, my heart was warmed, though closer to redemption or disaster, I was unsure. I stood for a while after he'd descended into Londons depths, and brought my fingers to my lips. They did not feel differently, yet they were not the same. Perhaps I was no longer the same.

I walked home in contemplative silence, wondering what, if anything, would happen next between two souls in a country that neither could call home.

I felt the cold quite keenly that night.

Beloved

This is not where I want to be.
I am much too close, and I want to flee,
away from the weight of the memory tree.

The ground swirls about at my feet, like dust. It clings to my bare feet and coalesces. I cannot step lightly. My feet drag through the slush, reluctant.

I don't want to be here. There's too much sound. There's a roaring in my ears. The sound of my heart is faint and and hard and beyond my senses. My mouth and words have all but turned to dust, and my bones creak with wear.

In my hands, the deftest globe. My only source of illumination in this grey, unaltered place. It pulses with memory, and draws me closer to the tree. I want to fight back, but I am lost. My breath falters. The urge to fall to my knees is strong, but I carry on.

Look up. It's astonishing, how close I am. I can feel the branches weighing down above my head. I feel nothing but this mission now. It pulses, and thoughts shift across its' surface. An iridescent bubble of life. I am mesmerised, watching our creation.

With my head bowed, I don't see, but feel the branch pierce through my heart. My struggles cease. I look down. The sphere is spared, though my heart not. It is of no matter, but great consequence.

I lift the globe gently. It faces me now, as you never did. The colour has faded, along with my strength. I stare into the sphere, and slowly, for the last time, I see your face. You stare into my eyes, unreadable. I finally feel the pain.

All around me, I see stars, but they are merely other memories. They all glow. You glow. As I fade, the lights get stronger. I close my eyes. I am consumed.

Obituary

To the Disc Jockey. You played a Wicked Game.
To The Stupidly Perplexed, oh, You Make Me Smile.
To The Sweet, Really Kind one, Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm.
To The Primary Usurper, Here's To The Night.

Another year.
The first made my heart, and the last will take my beat.

Night

The kind of night where nostalgia leaves you listening to the wind.
I am sleepless, remembering you turning in your chair.
The shock on your face, the instant regret.
I cannot forget, though I try.
It is time..it always is.
It never comes.
But tears,
Always,
Do.

Silence

Hello, old friend.

It is good to see you. You are my oldest memory and my biggest secret. Please don't lose me again.

Are you listening?

There's something that I've been wanting to say. Words have never been enough. The meanings are too few.

Do you hear that?

The sound of pen against paper...fingers flitting across keys and sore thumbs. I'll make it better.

Can you see me?

I am the train, or the light at the end of many tunnels. They twist and turn and hide me well.

Is anyone there?

I feel an echo many times the size of my being. It is emptily full. You feel strange through my skin.

Do you feel that?

It's time, running like sand through our fingers. Caught in our hair and gritty on our tongues.

How many are left?

So many, yet so few. Will you remember us? We leave, one by one, going beyond these high walls.

Where are you now?

Everywhere. I am falling apart and to pieces. Held together in memory and desire, in slow motion.

What happened?

Who knows? I cannot remember. Maybe it has already happened. Maybe I am happening now, or will, one day.

How do you feel?

Alive. Everything pulses with life and aches with decay. My days are stripped from me one by one.

You let this happen?

It is the only thing that can happen. My soles sink deep and the dirt gathers under my fingernails. Keep going.

Why do you do it?

Because I must. How could I not? All these choices; humidity builds in my cells and it is all carved forever on my bones.

Do you have the answer?

No, just many, many questions.

Is it the end?

No. A new beginning.

Will I see you again?

Always.

Are you okay?

Yes.

Goodbye.

Old friend.

Healing

Time is passing us by on its many feet. The days have lengthened, though the moments so important in our lives are spread apart. All this whilst time races swiftly on, waiting for no-one.

I have gained awareness of lifes' paradigm in my dreams, both waking and asleep. The need to love without fear, to live without judgment and eat without care are now overarching themes that fuel the peace slowly settling in my heart.

Upon reflection, time has made great allowances for recovery. Some memories were slowly savoured, whilst those less tasteful were spirited away. Time ran through every emotion. It trickled through our bodies as pain, wound through our minds as sadness and surged through our joyous hearts. So much has been said and done, followed and forgotten. The world still turned, and time trickled past, our personal rivers forged of infinite moments.

The heart is bruised, but not beaten. It beats, albeit slow and now with care. The mind is changed for the fear is gone. The soul is thoughtful in its age, but content. The body is old, but is rediscovering its youth. I can breathe again, hope again and love again.

I am healing.

Parfum

Indelible sadness

The top notes are fleetingly poignant
fragile as first frost
touching bare skin
whereas

The middle undulates in rhythm
to a weary heartbeat
poised precipitously
above

The base so sonorously marked
by the passage of time
patiently anticipating
change.

My signature scent
of sweet, sordid
sorrow.

Grief

Pain is the most individualised thing on earth. It is true that it is the great common bond as well, but that realisation only comes when it is over. To suffer is to be alone. To watch another suffer is to know the barrier that shuts each of us away by himself. Only individuals can suffer. - Edith Hamilton

Grief found me, late last night. Until now, it has only been the odd squall born of a peaceful moment. A sudden tightening of the chest. Sometimes, I dream that I'm thrown against rocks in a tide I can't fight against and so wake up gasping for air. Other times, I wake up and taste the sea I dream of run down my cheeks. Last night, in the dark that was my own, grief found me for a long time.

In that dark, I thought of those I could turn to. The sleeping bodies of my family lay around me, and thoughts of friends filled my head, though none seemed right. This grief is my own, and mine alone to suffer through. Where once a piece of my heart was taken, another piece sat that has now been taken away. I contemplated at length as to what to fill the hole with. Some find solace in god, others in the strength of their family or friends. To fill it with love would only serve to desecrate memories, and to fill it with further pain, unthinkable.

I have spent much time avoiding myself, avoiding silence and avoiding the peace. I surround myself with friends, family and love to forget the pain. In turn, I forgot for a time that a broken heart's balm is acceptance, and this balm seems to be made when grief has run its course.

It is time, and only time will see me through.

Pleasure

There is an art to the subtle pleasure of pain. The nuances that dance across your skin, so tangible yet ethereal.

The need stirs deep within your very core and with it, want. Want for fingers trailing over flesh. Want for the sting of a whip so deadly sweet. Want for the marks to remain eternally.

You are pinned down, a thrill running right through your core. You wait in anticipation for the exquisite pain, the exquisite pleasure drawn onto your skin. Your mind hangs, poised over a precipice behind closed eyes as it begins...

You drown. Water rips through your lungs like fire, your breath catching in your throat. Tears mingle with the blood of your lips, guiding you through the murky depths of your mind. You fight to submit and surrender, sinking deeper into yourself.
Your struggle ceases, and suddenly all is clear. The pain ebbs as the pleasure flows over you, breaking on and through your skin. For what seems like eternity, you bask in the pain that is now yours to command, yours to enjoy.

...And just as suddenly, it ends.

Slowly, you are brought back to the surface. Buoyed by the ache of art you caress your marked body, your marked soul. The ink flows with blood and tears as one. For now, you please no one but yourself. You rise from your ashes, never the same, but whole again.

Again

When the routine bites hard
and ambitions are low
And the resentment rides high
but emotions won't grow
And we're changing our ways,
taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again

Why is the bedroom so cold
Turned away on your side?
Is my timing that flawed,
our respect run so dry?
Yet there's still this appeal
That we've kept through our lives
Love, love will tear us apart again

Do you cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
Get a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Is it something so good
Just can't function no more?
When love, love will tear us apart again

Freedom

I am free.

Today, I ended it...and the first thing I did, when I quit, was breathe out. Long, slow and luxuriously. That was the breath I'd been holding for the last two years. I ended my relationship with CCTV and I can breathe again.

Look out world, because here it begins. I am learning to love myself, and I am going to take you by storm.

Dreams

Do you remember them?

I do. The ideals of one still naive to the bigger plans, the bigger picture. Fate, karma, all those mysterious forces acting at once to nudge, to shove your helpless self to a path paved with reality.

Those dreams. The lights, the stage, the drama. Now there are lights...stages and drama of a different kind, where ordinary life plays itself out, in its 550,000 hours.

Thus ends the dream. No longer walking on tiptoe out of sheer habit. A body lithe with raw energy now tired and settled, and a dancer once who dances, now, for herself alone.

And so, with reality's path come reality's laws. Oh how the biological clock ticks... The expectation to settle, to settle down, and to dream settled dreams. And settle we have. Settled to a life where our expectations exceed our realities, with potent words thinly veiled, framed in delicate sentencing. How I miss the honeyed glaze from early days.

She asked herself, once, if she still believed in Prince Charming. Her answer stopped in her throat, as though a hand clasped tight around it. How desperately did she want to say yes...

But alas, the clock ticked its tock, and dreams remained dreams forever more.

Stripped

Remember?
stripped bare, peeled back
exposing
my marshmallow middle.

One,
the one in love with
me...
Two,
the one with doights would
wet...
Three,
the one who never did
come...
Four,
the one that was a
chore...
Five,
the one that made us
squirt...
Six,
the one who was so
clean...
Seven,
The one with the tongue
ring...
Eight,
the one who kissed like
magic...
Nine,
the one who broke our
hearts...
Ten,
the one who once stole
mine.

Musique

Je veux écrire sur mes chansons françaises. Ce sont mes préférés. Dites-moi si vous voulez une chanson! Vous pouvez trouver les paroles de chaque morceau en utilisant Google, si je ne l'ai pas montré.

Bébé Lilly - Allô Papy les paroles et vidéo! Elle est très mignonne! Les autres chansons sont aussi très agréable!

BB Brunes - Dis Moi les paroles

Celine Dion - Pour que tu m'aimes encore les paroles.

Christophe Mae - Belle Demoiselle les paroles

Christophe Willem - Plus Que Tout pas des paroles mais cette chanson parle à mon coeur.

Discobitch - C'est beau la bourgeoisie pas des paroles mais c'est fantastique!

Fanny - Ancrée À Ton Port video avec les paroles. J'adore cette chanson!

Garou - Belle sans les paroles mais c'est très lente.

Gregoire - Toi Plus Moi les paroles.

Jenifer - Si C'est Une Ile les paroles.

Jenifer - Comme Un Hic vidéo avec les paroles!

Julien Dore - Les Limites pas des paroles mais il chante lentement!

Léa Castel - Pressée De Vivre paroles et vidéo!

Lynnsha - Je Veux Que Tu Me Mentes les paroles.

Louisy Joseph - Assis Par Terre pas des paroles mais c'est bien.

Marc Antoine - Tant Besoin De Toi paroles et vidéo!

Marc Antoine - Comme il se Doit paroles et vidéo!.

Martin Solveig - Rejection pas français...mais le chanteur est français!

Mathieu Edward et Sheryfa Luna - Comme Avant paroles et vidéo!

Mathieu Edward - Entre Toi et Moi sans paroles.

MC Solaar - La Belle et le Bad Boy avec les paroles sur le côté en youtube.

Michel Berger - Le Paradis Blanc paroles et vidéo!

Myléne Farmer - J'aime toutes les chansons! Cherchez Youtube ou Google MAINTENANT!

RoBERT et Majandra Delfino - Le Prince Bleu pas des paroles mais le vidéo c'est étonnant!.

Magic System - Zouglou Dance sans les paroles mais j'adore cette chanson aussi.

Pauline - Allo Le Monde paroles et vidéo.

Quentin Mosimann - Cherchez le Garçon pas des paroles mais il est trés mignon ;)

Renan Luce - Les Voisines paroles et vidéo. Le vidéo est drôle, comme un film!

Superbus - Ca Mousse les paroles mais sans vidéo.

Superbus - Butterfly sans paroles mais le vidéo est remarquable!

Superbus - Apprends Moi sans paroles mais le vidéo est bien aussi.

Superbus - Nelly sans vidéo, mais il y a des paroles!

Stanislas - La Belle de Mai sans paroles.

Victoria - Imparfaits sans paroles.

William Baldé - Rayon de Soleil seulement les paroles

Yelle - Je Veux Te Voir paroles et vidéo! et c'est mon favorite!

Zaho - La Roue Tourne paroles et vidéo!

Zaho - C'est Chelou paroles et vidéo!

Zaho - Je Te Promets paroles et vidéo!

Et voila...ce sont mes préférés. J'espère que vous les aimez!

Snapshot

Those moments immortalised in ones mind.

I was sitting in a cafe, nursing that bitter, black blend of beans we so lovingly commit to most mornings. Watched the world go by...expecting nothing. My day would be like all the others, and those who passed by the window would have their days too...some special, most not so special, but a day, nevertheless.

Suddenly, there was a man, on a ladder, reaching up, and up..and that ladder tilted, ever so slowly...slow as the world turned. And then, there was another man. He moved quicker than the slow turn of the world and the steadiness of fate. His hands grasped that ladder and held it still. The man on the ladder looked down, clutching his sharp, sharp implement and smiled..to a man in a suit, who's day would otherwise have not been so special.

That moment was beautiful.

With caffeine in my veins, I made to stand, but then consciously decided to take a few minutes to enjoy the flow of time...

I let time flow. I cared not for deadlines, for rush, for people. I took time to make time, and it was beautiful..for beyond the window, I saw another moment I would otherwise have missed.

A young girl, clutching her bag of chips. No more than fifteen, but a cold, miserable fifteen, with only the warmth of the bag in the grey drizzle that marked this day. At her feet, a one-legged pigeon. This pigeon, resolute...very much another rat of the sky. Black and grey, with no way to tell where the dirt ended and the feathers began.

It sat, at her feet, hunched up against the cold. She'd nudge it, occasionally...for it to fly away, only to come back. She'd scold it, occasionally...only for it to edge closer to her toes.

Finally, she bent down, and held out her chip. The pigeon snapped at it warily...and she smiled. Standing back up, she tipped the bag over the pigeon's head, taking a step back as it fluttered amongst the chips. It ate, and ate, and ate.

All the while, this girl stood, smiling..occasionally breaking chips for this one pigeon with the heel of her boot, and chasing other pigeons away until it had eaten every last piece. She then disappeared...to join the rest of us on this day, like every other day, but not so.

That moment was beautiful.

So now, my day, like every other day, was not so, and I was glad for it...for the world showed me things I wouldn't have seen, had I not made the time to take some time.

Resolute

Mesdames et Messieurs. It is now that time of year in which we practice the inane but necessary practice of determining how to better ourselves through resolutions we probably will not keep.

However, I have compiled a list to honour this arcane tradition. Shall we begin?

1. I'll start with losing a few kilos, I think. That honours a world-over tradition, doesn't it? (This is after I finish all the chocolate and snacks in my drawer. A clean start, you understand).

2. Exercise more. But by more, I mean when I can..and by when I can, I mean probably never. But I'll make the effort, and that's all that counts.

3. Do one thing a day that makes me happy, or makes someone else happy. I think I'll share the chocolate in my drawer. It's a win win situation. I lose weight, you get chocolate.

4. Be nicer to my lover. He deserves to be let out of the cage on more than just Sundays. Perhaps I'll feed him food other than Nandos! No, wait...that's being exceedingly generous. I'll feed him. That'll do, pig, that'll do.

5. Stick to the damn resolutions.

Et vous? Have you vowed to be resolute?

Erlend

Broken
ended deeds
Wither away
Wither away.

I asked
If shadows
Have names
To silence.

Colder
And older
Inside
And out.

Broken
ended deeds
Wither away
Wither away.

Stream

Rideau. It's the music that we choose. Lenny Kravitz says fly away. There she goes again..pulsing through my brain. Blue train. Breathe..want..take..have.

Let it lead you.

Bounce

I've learned some things today.

It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who worries about breathing too loudly when I have headphones on.

It's good to know I can be selfish and not feel bad about it.

It's awesome to sleep 'til I'm satisfied as a Cheshire cat.

It's okay to be scared, and It's okay to fail.

It's alright to feel that lump in your throat for more than just sadness.

It's fun to sing into a hairbrush at the top of your lungs.

It's okay to pretend.

It's wonderful to lie still and just listen to yourself breathe.

It's good to be flattered, and better to accept a compliment.

It's alright to miss home.

It's okay to do things for yourself and nobody else.

It's good to remember the good, the bad and the ugly.

It's easy to forgive, but better to ignore.

It's good to be here, and be me.

Necessity

There are some who walk with us that will never understand that the world is more than black and white; more than you, or I, and more than what is said and done.

There are some that speak of faith, whilst never understanding faith's meaning, and some that will forever need to shout to be heard by both their gods and their demons.

There are those who will speak out of anger, and never admit to their faults, or see what they have created out of illusion. Those who will point out others missteps before overcoming theirs.

There are others still who will learn to live by the virtues of others, forever shadowed by their own reluctance to forgive, and those who will tear down those of virtue stemming from their own jealousy and shame.

There is fault, and there is speaking of them. There are consequences for more than the ones who choose to speak, thus every action is given a choice in the universal order. I may choose to slander by calling it something else..or I may choose to hold my tongue and see the other side of the same coin.

One need not forget in order to forgive, but those who hold on will never move forward to embrace the new; so hung up by the old they be. We can analyse, interpret and interpret again their actions until we bleed dry..but nothing will ever come of it. It could be based on rage..on pain..on jealousy. There is only so much others can do.

So, we learn to live by forgiving those who speak without thinking, and those who can't see past their own thoughts for the bigger picture; to consider thoughts, opinions and feelings not of their own. We learn to master our moods..the delicate balancing act one performs to be a better person; having a heart free from hatred

And thus, we survive..as a race, as a planet, for all these many reasons. The shades of grey between right and wrong, our opinions and theirs, and most of all, the bonds that we hold dear between ourselves.

The choice of whether to hold ones tongue, or hold ones anger is based on pride..and we all know that pride is every great man's downfall. So we forgive, and we forget..

If only for the bonds we hold dear, and the bonds we choose to break.

Snap.

I need a break.
I need to break something.

Mirage

There's something about train stations..

It's larger than all of us. Something I can only touch upon, but is open and felt every heart. The combination of sounds..smells..and even sights turn into a beautiful painting, of which we are part of.

Its the smell of engine oil..slick and powerful. There's power behind that smell that makes you heady..makes you breathe harder and deeper.

There's the train itself when it pulls into the station..A mirage appearing in mist..headlights cutting swathes through the darkness of night. A powerful beast straining to slow..

Those sounds of the train itself..groaning to a stop, squealing against the tracks and the doors creaking open to let those who travel within it spill upon the pavements in euphoria.

The passengers bring with them a myriad of emotions, for stations are where lovers meet and lovers part. A place of inspiration poets have long known, and writers cherished.

Finally, we have the station itself. Its heavy dome with heavy beams..light that pools between columns, lending to the intricate mosaics on patterned floor. It is in this light that people emerge..bright, where dust motes dance and travelers seek warmth for stiff legs and stiff bones.

It is this warmth, too, that emanates from those waiting with open arms..and it is this warmth which makes the journey worthwhile.

Inspired

She Followed

They spun and hung in the twisted air
She reached to grab and take
They flew away far from her grasp
And fell upon the beating lake

The waves they pulsed up from the deep
Causing such a stir
She put her ear down to the earth
And felt her own heart purr

The music seethed between her legs
Allaying all her fears
She sunk into its deep embrace
And was lost amongst the tears

They speak of her, yet to this day
The girl who walked away
She was but chasing music notes
When dancing with the fey.

Thank you for the inspiration.

Stream

Theres smoke rising from the crematorium and I wonder who is being burnt.

I see..smoke..rising..and there is someones soul floating away with it. Up, somewhere.

Take me with you.

I wouldn't mind riding that smoky wave..not being able to feel it, or taste it. The taste of smoke is guttural..like gunpowder on your tongue. Your smell and taste combine to produce chalkiness on your tongue.

Like Mary Poppins' stairway to heaven.

And I see myself in my reflection. There are tears on my reflection. Raindrops on the reflection's face. Where did the tears go, and did they dry up on the solid me? I have to breathe.

Open the window. Must breathe. And I bite my lip so hard I bleed. Gasp. And the reflection is gone. Shattered and warped and gone with its false tears.

Too many pills.. Too much vodka.. Theres no reason to still feel. I'll fail. And the heater flicks on and off. And There are tears on the solid me. And, how odd. My breath is short and gasping. And my eyes..they don't see..and my lips taste blood..

You can taste it. But you cannot feel it. The pills work. The alcohol works.

They were all yellow..

I dreamed about my Volvo. It was a bicycle..I rode in the rain. With my sat nav on the handlebars. I could go underwater. but only in the dark. And it was numb and cold in the water. It flooded at night..and I rode on, on my Volvo. In the dark, wet cold.

I fell off my Volvo and my sat nav broke..I woke up in a pool of sweat and tears.

Poor Volvo.

The colours have gone now. Everything is a shade of grey..my eyes burn from the salt and the pain and I blink, again and again. Still grey. Blink, again and again.

There is more pain. In the heart. It is science. Bits in the mind related to physical pain activate from the heart. The heartbroken. The ache is real.

There's salt on my face. I don't like it. It dries hard. My face cracks. Crunchy skin. Grey, in the dark.

My foot's fallen asleep. My back is shattered. My mind is numb. My hair is wet. My head hurts.

I am unhappy, like you said. I only write when I'm sad. Yes, you said.

Everyone is right except me.

Dream

I had a dream in which I died.

I don't know what to make of it. Part of me was in shock when I awoke..the other part of me had already accepted it. So now I know what it feels like to die twice in one lifetime, which is more than most people can claim.

It (the dream) got me thinking. If I did die, nobody would know.. at least, not for a few days.
My house-mates would assume I was out. My family would not know for days. In fact, that is what makes me sad. That they would be the last to know.

It reminds me of my mission in life..I am marked beyond my power and understanding in order to save those who need saving. I do not claim to be a savior, or a martyr, but I have made a difference and will continue to do so.

Loneliness. One can be surrounded by people and yet still be alone. I have felt this many days in a row. I blame myself. So do they..but really, we are not alone when we learn to reach out.

I am guilty. Guilty of pushing away those who get close. I fear, and always will. So do they. But the first steps are always scary, and we ought not to be afraid.

A wise book once told me that there is no place in the world for those who are nice. We are selfish creatures. We do not always need, but will take freely what is given away.

I am nice. I have been nice. I am tired of being nice. So are they. We should learn from this that what we are, we are. It is hard to change a heart, and one goes through pain and suffering to surfeit what is actually a gift.

We are forgiven for being nice..forgiven for being cruel, because we do not know otherwise. We ought to forgive them for not knowing the sadness within, for they do not understand and do not see. Do not forget this.

Do not forget..and when you learn this, teach me how to remember, too.

Missing

I know you...I walked with you once upon a dream..
I know you...

I miss home today. I miss familiarity...if not so much the warmth.

Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine

I'm missing something...but for the life of me, I cannot tell what. Maybe its the simplicity of life as it should be. I feel like life has gotten cluttered.

But writing that did not get the lump out of my throat..so it must be something else. Maybe I'm just alone. Like everyone else in the world...wanting to be heard.

I had a lovely bath tonight. It was ruined by accusation. I suppose I hate being accused of things I didn't do. Pity..I was going to sleep so sweetly...and now I can't/won't. I hate ungratefulness, if it can be said as such.

I need a hug.

Attitude

There are many, many things stirring inside me today; namely anger, disappointment and sadness.

My anger stems from lack of understanding. In which righteousness seems to prevail in its most ludicrous ways. Why do we compete to be the one 'in the right'? Why? Is it not a pointless, futile exercise? Would it not be so much easier to back down for once, and just admit being 'in the wrong'. So why do we fight, then? Why do we butt heads for no reasons, and cause immense pain, which leads to more fighting, and more misunderstanding. I do not understand, and I am angry.

My disappointment stems from lack of similarity. Everyone is told to be who they want to be, and they will strive, strive, and strive to be what they want to be..and yet, we are punished for not conforming to norms. We are punished for being different, if punished is the right word.. Similarity is all fair and good, but why are we so accepting of people's individuality only to criticize their shortcomings and differences? You do not understand, and I am disappointed.

My sadness stems from deep inside. From all the little things that hurt my heart, and from the beast that takes them willingly. This beast slumbers, inside me now. Once upon a time it would have roared, demanded, wanted and taken, but after so long a time of being unfulfilled, it sleeps. It tries to sleep, in pain, and worn down with pain, because that is all there is left to feed it. I want to understand, and I am sad.

Maybe the glass is really half full. I admire the fact that some people have the audacity to believe they can make it through life's ups and downs simply by being ignorant..after all, ignorance is bliss, is it not? But is it right, is it right for one to be ignorant, and to have their keeper watch over them when life's lemons are thrown?

Is it wrong to be right...or is it simply not right to be wrong? What do we gain except anger, disappointment and pain. We gain no strength from these mistakes, yet show no weaknesses. Our cracks in deep foundations go unnoticed, like the slumbering beast which, who knows, may never wake.

So pour what you will in that glass, and if it cracks, or we stay to sip, lets hope we don't numb more than we should.