Can you see that scent over the horizon? Scorched across the back of your tongue, like that first tequila of the night, what a time to be alive. I feel it, ebbing along my eyelids. REM'd flickering across the sparkly dust that dreams are made of, That shadow of light. Ahhh, There it is, inhaled.… Continue reading That time, this place.
You know... Dear reader. I used to read these long analyses in university, on seasons shouting over vast distances about change. Ideas that bring grief and love, happiness and warmth, and I think. I think, I kind of get it now. I get the need to equate emotions and change with something physical, something constant.… Continue reading Seasons
Learning to be alone
I think I'm alive when I'm alone. I guess, I could say I'm learning as I go. Although I'm not really sure if I know what alone actually is. I think I might know, but I can't really be sure. I think we know what alone is, don't we? Isn't loneliness easier to find with… Continue reading Learning to be alone
Patience & Timing
Isn't it sad to think of the fate of the sun. An endless cycle of patience as it awaits to greet the moon. Constantly running parallel to an existence so close yet never within reach. I think timing is like that. We plan and plan, we wait with unending patience hoping for that invitation, that… Continue reading Patience & Timing
A thought came to me the other day, of how each person we see and meet gives off a distinct perception of themselves and how the more people we meet over time the more these instances of similarity seem to grow. I think it’s not even their looks or appearance in any way it’s more… Continue reading Echoes
Creased against my mind your breath furrows my thoughts, gently easing my opaque wanderings with your soft brush. Strewn across my existence you have lavished my memories with coloured seams, ebbing away into muddied water. Cordierite bubbles, buoyant in their exuberance, fierce, yet, lonely. A back drop of starry air, glistening in importance and frivolity. Gasping,… Continue reading Something pretty
It is my time.
Jumbled, distracted and devoid of feeling She's soft like the wood I feel everyday, crushed, between the palm of the rocking chair my mind locks me in It taunts me now, promising peace, a transition from young to old But it is to early. It is not my time. I rock back and forth, Whose… Continue reading It is my time.