i know it sounds so disgustingly romantic but i can’t seem to recall how i grew up so fast. suddenly i’m sat at a table in costa with a soya latte scrolling through my calendar. i’m seventeen in two weeks and i’m trying to understand the photoelectric effect, reciting the rules of alkane nomenclature and calculating the tax i should get refunded. i sit through lessons that drain the life out of me just for the attendance marks and the hope that my teacher writes a reference that gets me into university. i’m hauling textbooks around that i’m expected to memorise cover to cover.
but then comes days like yesterday when i’m reminded of my youth.
we raced down the path through the park, my legs stiff from the cold. the snow was getting heavier and the sun was setting through the clouds and my cheeks were freezing but i was undeniably happy. i caught my breath watching the snowflakes set on the grass. good memories were made here. endless summer days in my yellow dress, ice cream in hand and laughing with my friends. strange how it’s unrecognisable now; the daffodils still hiding and the bare, still trees. it was stunning and silent and absolutely beautiful.
i don’t know why i still get surprised whenever the tide changes. things that meant the world to me three weeks ago are no longer a part of my life and i have finally realised that maybe it’s for the best. i have so much hope in me. my best friend and i spent a night laughing and dreaming and planning and i am so excited for everything that lies ahead. there are so many places to see and people to meet and days to begin and end and songs to be played and seconds to tick on. i want to be a civil engineer. these weird and wonderful times inspire me and i am dangerously excited to fall headfirst into them.
you know who you are. i hope you are okay. maybe you too have decided to finally let go. i hope we can still talk like old friends and that you’ll grow up to be the person you want to be. i saw your dad this weekend; he seems well and i hope you can make him proud. unfortunately i still know a bit too much about you and i don’t think i’ll ever forget any of it. i’m not sure if you could say the same but i will always be here.
love always x
please notice – christian akridge, the good side – troye sivan, paradise – george ezra, bluebird – alexis ffrench
frankly, it’s a mess. i feel like i’m stuck in one of those cheap fairground rides where the walls spin and the music melts the door handles and the cotton candy air stuffs your lungs. is there any point of me trying to describe this to you? maybe i just miss the click of keyboard keys and/or a sense of gratification. or maybe i’m just angsty and needy and will read this back in a couple
years days and cringe.
there are a lot of crossroads and variables and possibilities and as thankful as i am for the freedom, i’m overwhelmed by the choice. things aren’t always what they seem, especially when you still haven’t taken off that pair of rose-coloured glasses (isn’t it time yet?).
you smell like tea.
I know you know
I love your hugs by
the way you melt
– a marshmallow in
a blue button down.
two sugars, right?
I’ll fix you up, love,
as long as you just
stay a while.
sunlight peeks through half-open blinds, painting stripes across crumpled white bedsheets and there’s a mug of tea, that, in this short moment, is the perfect temperature. it’s always wonderful when you discover new music that seems to flow so seamlessly from your speakers right into your veins (the soft hum of violin chords and piano keys). there are no clouds in the sky. you breathe in. you feel weightless. there is a subtle glow of – what is this? hope? anyway Something is in the corner of the room, filling it with light that seems to permeate walls and thought and skin. it fills all the empty spaces. it blurs the edges and suddenly everything is smooth. soft, still, like water.
you sip your tea.
art is strange in that it’s ultimately indefinable. there are endless genres and sub-genres that co-exist and interdepend on one another which is why it is so interesting to me. ‘being an artist’ initially brings up ideas of paint palettes splattered by primary colours but it’s funny how shallowly inaccurate that is. there are dancers and poets and speakers and beatboxers and gardeners and baristas and saxophonists and hairdressers and engineers….. etc etc etc. to me, art is whatever splutters out of your raw heart, no matter what form it takes.
my art has been leaning toward the more visual recently. colour and shape and composition seem to strike a chord that writing no longer does. that’s okay though; I’ve learned that these things always change so it’s best to make use of them while you can. here’s a graphic that I designed today. I’m still trying to figure out the significance behind the word itself but I like how it ended up. makes me feel happy.all the love x
you know that weird feeling you get when you finally realise something? the puzzle pieces in your brain finally click and you step back a little, astonished by the fact you’ve only just noticed the elephant standing in the corner. sometimes it’s slow, creeping up behind you, shadowing your footsteps until it fills your headspace. in other times, you feel like you just stumbled off a cliff and find yourself diving headfirst into this new strange world.
epiphanies are strange: those little eurekas that accumulate and stack up neatly in a drawer. for me, this past month has been full of them.
- no matter how much I refuse to ignore it, I do have a caffeine addiction.
- people are just people like trees are just trees and despite the irresistibility of romanticism, sometimes you have to step back and forget about the poetry.
- those passing mundane conversations with strangers will brighten both your days.
- there are times when you need to bite the bullet and times you need to run far away.
- don’t worry; they don’t have a clue either.
- cleaning your room is never as bad as you think it is. get on with it.
- people change.
- I know a staggering amount of song lyrics. that is a good thing. losing my voice and dancing and laughing at parties with people I barely know is one of the best feelings ever.
- I buy too many things.
- regret is a terrible thing. even in the worst situations, find the silver lining. if all else fails, stop dwelling on it.
all the love x
maybe she tastes like summer
and she is the dress you see swish
slipping away in your sun drenched dreams
and cherry lipstick blueberry eyes
she’ll tip your world downside up and
leave you spinning; she tastes like
daisies and syrupy sunlight and you
wonder how she manages to quench you yet
somehow leave an immutable feeling of
dehydration and infatuation are deadliest in the summer
hellooooooo I wrote something again.
i want airports with ‘arrival’ signs in every language, the sound of luggage wheels and the tuneless buzz of people.
i want the sky; i want to see all its different faces, colours, textures.
i want bumpy bus rides between the collarbones of ageless mountains and flurrying forests; a three hundred and sixty degree spectacle.
i want to feel sand between my toes; the almost silent swish of blue waves and calm sea.
i want to lie in a field of flowers with a tartan blanket and a friend.
i want late nights with a different kind of air in my lungs, different blood in my veins.
i want to be cold, fingers frozen while hiking through snow. i want to be hot, aching for the beach in a sunny place. i want to be everywhere in between. push me to the limits.
i want to be everywhere and see everything. i want to go without thinking of the endless variables that i would have to. one day, i will.
all the love x
this isn’t a poem.
this is me letting the tap run,
letting the red ink drip so
sweetly from my
this isn’t a poem.
this is me counting
all the times you made me smile
(they last me until the next time
i get to see your face again).
this isn’t a poem.
this is me romanticising
every atom of your body
my dear, your whole being
is a work of art.
this isn’t a poem.
this is my heart.
hello, i am sorry for not posting much recently. i think i’m too ingrained in life and that definitely isn’t a bad thing. don’t get me wrong; i will never stop writing.
all the love x