What's (really) on your mind?

A punnet of strawberries and a mess of tangled limbs

Why do sad songs always play when I'm standing in the middle of a crowded aisle in Coles?
I can't cry and walk at the same time.

Always choosing the wrong one

I need to pee.

You're a fucking coward.

Where will I be 2 years from now?


You've much to lose.

Either I dig sex, or I dig you naked. I kind of hope it isn't the latter.


Where there's no struggle, there's no strength.

the wrong things for the right reasons (a)

You slip your hand in my pocket to pull out my dreams. They're written in miniscule script on post-it notes, folded into tiny squares and tucked away. I carry them with me so I never forget, I carry them with me to keep them safe. Dreams are fragile unless they're nurtured and protected. They barely exist, vague whisps of thoughts we're sometimes too afraid to even admit to ourselves. Locked in the tightest embrace with all those unspoken desires.

Volumes of unspoken desires. Not only mine, but those of my lovers, the beloved pieces of my heart. The people whose fate I have tangled into my own. The dreams they told me in confidence and the fears they held for their future selves, a collection of quiet hope and pessimistic cynicism.

There's a small jewellery box on my nightstand, where before I fall asleep, I place my minute post-it notes. I count them out one by one, like I have since the day I became a woman. The day my childish, scattered ideas came to close. It was forceful and abrupt.  Those things that I had been raised to achieve I did so willingly. I was grown, directed and nurtured, a smart sapling with potential. My parents were scared when they realised the change that had come over me. They shirked into the corner, spoke in hushed tones and told me, firmly, to sit still. To behave. To be vigilant. In the years that followed I broke every rule and created my own.

When you stepped into my life, it became a part of our joint ritual. I would transfer my dreams from pocket to table, as you removed your watch and rounded spectacles with the beautiful precision that comes with a repeated action. Do you understand what I mean? It's in the way people do ordinary tasks, without added flare or too much thought. The way a concert pianist would play a basic scale. An exquisite naturalness that rids you of any pretence, second nature that's most indicative of our truest nature.

I think that's why we love young children so much, before the thought or planning of a premeditated action ruins it's purity. Babies smile, laugh, gurgle, cry, grip because they are natural reflexes, basal exclamations. We learn our faults.  I guess that was what ultimately left us naked. You, no longer bound by time and the confines of the world around you, and me, freed of the weight of my volumes of desires, my hoard of unspoken things.

Now, suddenly you reach into my pocket without my knowledge, without any warning at all. I, oblivious, continue to stare out the window into the world I've built up. You pickpocket! You horrible, terrible, wonderful thief!

Definitive freedom

It's been a long break, almost 6 months in fact. And truly, I never meant to return. But then, break has more than one meaning.

For example:
1. To break something apart- implying it cannot be healed.
2. To take a break, a rest, a brief pause before resuming
3. To break a record- to surpass something, to outdo what has been done

Now that the English lesson is over, let's talk.

How have you been? How much taller did you grow in these months we've been apart? What have I missed? I must have missed so much. I might have missed something significant.

Is your life intact? Your home, your heart, your hope?

I would have apologised for my disappearance, but I'm not that sorry, and there's nothing worse than a false apology (except maybe a false allegation).

I guess it's the closest I've come to a long vacation. It was odd, reading through these old posts and trying to understand what I had been trying to say. How introspective! How diary-like. Maybe these long, rambling entries helped me to understand myself more than I had realised. Or maybe I'm a pretentious, overly-philosophical wank with too many first world problems to recognise that life is mostly grand. But not really, I look upon the lady of my past with affection and a loooooong list of recommendations I wish someone could have told me back then.

(By the way, I started a tumblr account, it wasn't the same). What followed from February the 8th was a series of days. Days that I have attached significance to became less significant. It's a curious affliction I have, attaching importance to the strangest of things in an effort to create my narrative, to find the peak, the hero's arc in my own story. But why peak so soon?! Enjoy the CLIMB!

'Whatever', you say. It's like when your teachers told you that Senior School would be the best time in your life and you didn't believe them. They were right though, weren't they? The climb is awesome. The not-knowing is awesome. It only starts to suck, and hurt, and get confusing when you think you've reached your destination.

 I'm a child, with a lot of time left to learn myself and the world around me. Before you go on, accept one thing. Everything changes. A constant state of divine chaos.

I am rooted but I flow.

I made a concrete decision tonight. I actually made two. The evidence of one is in my wallet (no it's not a condom or a piece of paper that says 'you are beautiful' or anything else quite so predictable),  the second is that I shall write. Properly.