I am currently savouring happiness like squirrels savour their acorns.
Although they may only be a countable amount of moments when I feel wholly content; the first bite into this euphoria feels, without a doubt, worth all the time, effort and pain that it took to get there.
I’m writing this because I don’t want to forget that I have found myself smiling…
Against even the most lethal odds.
I am not me.
As nobody is them.
I am every minute you kept me waiting by my window for your arrival. I am those moments of anticipation that add up to hours. But I am also the disappointment when there was nothing left to hold on to and no longer anything to wait for.
I am my teacher’s faith. I am the time he told me I was going to get the highest grade in my moments of despair. The confidence, the doubt and the marks were not -in fact- mine.
I am every telling off that has cursed my ears and crowded my mind. I am every ‘No Smoking’ sign and every slander of ‘slut’ which, in turn, keeps the world from touching my lips.
I am all the novels, all the films and quotations that fill my shelves but none of it is truly mine.
I am a jumbled compilation of everything that I have witnessed and believed so if I call myself ‘myself‘-
I’d be lying.
Swallowing a pill doesn’t
Give me a father.
I could inhale all the pills in the world
But a little girl would still be without
Those stubbled hugs and a hand to hold.
I can talk a lot.
I can fill a silent room with words
-if you want-
Talk of all the times that hurt to remember
But those memories wont unstick.
Shoot me with electricity and
Shock my body like a criminal
On death row-
Charged with not letting go.
Tell me I’m just ill.
Tell me I’ll get better
Because maybe I will.
I apologise for the -slightly- gloomy tone of this post! Maybe one day I shall command my creative juices to be more cheery but until then, it looks like I’ll be needing permanent tissues stapled to my cheeks!
Before setting off to Iceland last summer, my team and I received a rather lengthy list of items that were ‘necessary’ for our trek.
This itinerary included many seemingly plausible items such as socks, boots and a head torch.
However, what the clever people behind this itinerary seemed to forget was; Iceland, in the Summer, has 24 hours of sunlight.
So… not exactly the sort of place where you’d need to drag around an artificial light!
Yet, in the heat of excitement I purchased everything on the list from painfully pink fleeces to Indiana Jones-styled hats and indeed a useless head torch.
Useless, that is, until I gave the neglected item a different purpose.
Now reading in bed at night doesn’t find me awkwardly positioned in order to somehow gather enough of the room’s light to be able to see, rather, I have become my own source!
I just hope my future spouse doesn’t mind sharing a bed with a weirdo.
(And yes, I know that this post’s title was extremely questionable! But it obviously worked pretty well in grabbing your attention ey? 😉 )
When being let-down becomes almost inevitable it’s easy to believe that you expect too much from the world and the people in it. My life, if it were a novel, never quite fits the cover. Some chapters never end and others don’t get the chance to start.
Maybe I should come with a warning.
I realise that it is not some newly discovered phenomenon that people change.
But, as I look at old friends I find myself no longer seeing the person that I’d known for years, instead; a stranger.
It wasn’t death that murdered you. Perhaps it was society, public pressures or time.
Do you even think of me any more?
I miss you.