Sunday, 31 July 2011

For a moment there, I thought you were looking at me.
Your eyes caught mine and there was this flash of recognition, as if I could see right into their soulless depths.
But life doesn't run in cliché,
it was simply my mistake
you watched straight through me as if I am a phantom, a shadow of my former self
and then you looked past me, and I realised
it wasn't my eye you were trying to catch, after all.

Saturday, 30 July 2011

Clumber Park

Another night brings more tears to the same pillow. I wake up and there are mascara marks even though I'd removed all traces of make up before sinking into the sea of duvet and mess of warmth and alienation. I am angry and it is not justified. It is my own fault but it is inescapable. 


I imagine I am far away.
I am sat on an embankment. I am idly pulling at the grass shoots beneath my feet. I can smell a pleasant mixture of campfire ash and the after effects of the summer storm - the hazy aroma of flowers mixed faintly with that undescribable rain scent. It is late evening, and it has been a pleasant day. I have seen beautiful sights, but the ones that have stood out most have been the smiles on the faces of the people I’ve met. I always remember the smiles.
I am not as young as I once was. My body is not as swift; nor is my mind, at times. The nostalgia of youth sets a slight sadness in my heart, but I have lived my time. I have done all I was meant to do, and that is enough.
I am not alone. There is no one beside me but there are people in my heart and mind that I keep close to me always, no matter how many oceans I’ve crossed or skies I’ve traversed. They are my life, they are my soul, they are my friends, they are my family. 
I have not seen nearly enough of the world. No human being could ever manage to find every corner of the globe. But I have seen enough to satate my wonderlust; enough to satisfy my thirst for beauty. I have immersed myself in other cultures and opened my heart to new experiences, and new emotions. I have met so many thousands of people, each unforgettable in their own right. I may not always remember the names - some of them I never knew - but the faces stay ingrained with me. And the smiles. Always the smiles.
Tonight I’ll watch the sunset over the valley. It will not be the first time. It may be the last. But as the red encompasses the earth and for that one brief moment, my entire world lights up in varying shades of orange, I will breathe a sigh. I will look back, and know that I have lived. That I am still living. I have not done all I wanted to do, but I have been happy. I have not reached the destination, but only because I never had a destination in mind. And goodness me, I’ve enjoyed the journey.

Thursday, 28 July 2011

Sometimes I struggle to understand when I stopped being enough for everyone. 
I haven't changed. I am the unmoving statue, dressed in silver or gold and only my skirt blows in the wind. But for a blink of the eye now and again you would not know me as animated, as alive. I am fighting against nature to stay unmoved and it is not a fight I'm winning. 
You are the crowds that swarm around me. You are changing by the day. Your emotions heighten and fall and I can taste it all on you; excitement, fear like salt and a sweet sort of vanilla of innocence. I am becoming lost in the wave of your nonchalance. You think you've seen me before so you pass by without a second glance. You keep going. Everyday becomes a different day and you follow a different path and there'll come a day when you don't even pass by me anymore, when you're on a different street entirely. 

I wish you'd just glance back. Because I guess, after all, I have changed. Just minutely, just barely. As you become a different person, the one who no longer needs me as such a prominent force in their life, the one who is consistent with change and cannot make up their mind, I become the very same. 

But if you look close enough, just close enough, you'll see. Even through the layers of silver coating like tin which serves as my armour, I am afflicted. One single tear sits on my cheek and I wonder, with my whole heart, if you'll look back and see it. 

in Malawi, the group as a collective decided the best way to unwind would be to take a boat trip across Lake Malawi, to a beach where we'd have a bbq and volleyball and relax. Twenty one of us waited on the shore and sat in shock as this little motorboat pulled up.
'You want all of us to fit in that?'
We did. We even took on a small child to bail out the water from the big hole in the bottom.
What a memory.

When I was little, everything seemed far simpler.

I'm driving through endless terrain, again. My socks against the dashboard, and every so often they slip; weird plastic against fabric. Little robots illuminated occasionally by the passing headlights in the forest, deafened by the blaring of horns in long streams of endless stationary vehicles.
My ipod is verging too close to the red battery and I'm flicking through song after song, but each registers as the bassline mirrors my heart and the lyrics swim in my mind.
Sometimes I am asleep. Every time my eyes open my mind blurs and my pupils are unfocused and there's a steady stream of messages waiting on my phone (none with your name, of course). The radio is a mix of voices and laughter behind my headphones and I watch idly as my mum motions one hand in fitting with the conversation, and drives with the other.
Sometimes we drive through the night. I've always loved pressing my head to the door and watching headlights blur as they pass, at many miles an hour, again and again. What's your story? Where are you going? Perhaps you're returning to wherever I came from. Maybe we're swapping places, in the grand scheme of things. Little tin homes, shifting and moving and going, forever and ever into the night.
I love driving.

Tuesday, 26 July 2011


Excerpts from a journal I kind of hoped I wouldn't find again, and now feel a remote sense of distance to. Ah, how things change.

I can't admit it out loud. Technically, I dislike you for what you've done. But my heart still aches for you. It's so weird to write your name like that, knowing you're not listening. I miss what we had. To be fair, maybe it's that that I miss more than you yourself, but you were such a big part of me that the two go hand in hand. The last few days I've just been pining for it, which is pathetic. [I rattle off a memory] Even then, I was in a dark place, but I wasn't alone. 
It's almost midnight again. How many nights have I sat up until midnight talking to you? You usually get the message though, this one I'll never send. [Can you taste the irony?]

Why can I not stop pushing everyone I know away? 

I rarely write in here when things are okay, so maybe you never really see that side of me - then again, maybe that's because things don't seem to be so awesome recently. He's right, I do complain too much, but I figure, my journal, my head, tough luck. 

Back to my refuge. Back to the little dark place I've been keeping for myself. 
I want to tell you so much has changed but in reality it's just some sort of vicious cycle. I keep ending up in this place, this mindset, over again. I look up in the mirror and I dislike what I see. My hair is a mess - too long, untameable. My eyes are sad. There's no reason. I had a good day [which I explain]. I was cheerful until the moment I stepped off the bus. What is wrong? My appetite has disappeared again. 

Isn't it weird how this is my journal - my innermost thoughts, and yet I still keep secrets from it? There are some things I cannot admit out loud, not even to myself. 

Thankfully, I haven't had such a need for that journal recently.
Reading through it makes me sad. I don't realise, when I'm fine, how I felt, but it's there.
A lot of the pages are ripped out.
Just because I never wanted to see them again.
These are just a couple of parts that didn't involve people, or secrets, or too much emotion.
Maybe this is a little too personal. Maybe it'll get deleted.

Saturday, 23 July 2011

Keep smiling gorgeous. 
It'll be okay. 
Purely physical, you were (are) the rush of blood to my head. 
The pounding in my chest like I've run that bloody mile minus the three and a half laps of that bloody track. 
The pulse in my thumb sometimes when I've jammed it or perhaps split it and it sounds just like when I press my fingertips against your chest. 
My head is spinning but that's daft. 
You cannot analyse this feeling. 
You say it's just a weakness that we're only human but how else would we reach this heightened sense of longing and why else would I be staring so very intently at you? 
Blood, sweat and tears and heat and heart. 
Which is which and who is who is beyond me. 

all natural sun flares. say thank you to my film lens.

today's playlist.

iris - the googoo dolls
the A team - ed sheeran
fast car - kina grannis
not ever coming home - hellogoodbye
heartbreak warfare - john mayer
i forgive you - every avenue
the blowers daughter - damien rice
like we used to - a rocket to the moon
writings on the wall - plan b
burn - alkaline trio
learning how to shout - air traffic
i'm no superman - the violet burning
stand still, look pretty - the wreckers
pictures of you - the last goodnight
always attract - youmeatsix
children of the night - the blackout

this makes it seem like i'm sad

the days when I'm without you.

one. it is of course a reflection of what is in my mind that I find you in the movies I watch, the books I read, the places I visit, your name and face and hair and smile and hell, you were even in my coffee today I swear.

two. it would be quite nice to jump in a blizzard; i feel like it might be a little less cold in there.

three. you know when you said you weren't going anywhere and yes you only meant in terms of my paranoia whilst i turned around to do something else but what the hell were you thinking, could that have been more misleading?

four. two cats sat on a wall together were all snuggled up and looking at me with their evil seductive cat eyes saying ha, we are in love and we are only cats and yes it might be shallow because he smells good and I have soft fur but look this is happiness and yours is not.

five. you are still there somewhere. you are still sitting just like me at a computer screen but the difference is you don't care is that what makes me feel like this, your nonchalance because i'd quite like to slap you

six. i am hurt.

seven. sweet nothings and love and kisses and weren't we just perfect yes, i think so. perfect, love and happiness and those hundreds of thousands that sit on top of ice cream looking all innocent and bleeding their colour into your vanillaness.

eight. today people offered to take me out and i said no thanks, my pyjamas are calling I think they miss me.

nine. pleasegetbettersoonpleasepleasepleasewhycan'tyoujustdisappearstupidfeelinginmyhead

ten. i had a journal and now it's more of a fire hazard because half the pages are ripped out and my nails are all bloody but the other half i keep holding next to the fire thinking i could innocently slip this in there and the pretty book would be ruined and warped but maybe it would burn my feelings with it, goodbye feelings.

eleven. Come Back Here, Young Man, You'd Better Pick Up This Mess You Left Behind, are you listening to me I SAID Right Now.

twelve. I hate loving you I love hating you. I miss you.

Friday, 22 July 2011

These photos go with the words of the previous post. 
One of my best friends is leaving the county. She'll be in the same country but a couple of hours and a not very affordable train journey away (ah for the days when I can drive...)
I'll miss her, a lot.