Poetry

Seventeen

Danced in pretty circles

For those four years of your life,

Over hardwood floors, across dimly lit hallways,

Even in hotel rooms too, sometimes


Our love was rather shining

And brilliant once,

Wasn’t it, my love?

Nothing lasts forever, so I guess

We had to break


Count until it’s over,

– Pause –

One, two, three,

Take a deep breath now,

You will be okay


Step, pivot, flounce, break


Have I skipped over it?

Have I missed it somehow,

Perchance,

I’m continually poised,

Simply waiting to fall apart


Wanting,

I want to feel that buckling,

That  b r e a k i n g  inside my heart

But I fear I’ve lost it

Where have you gone?


Bring me back a beat, a pace

I’ll be happy with that,

Honest,

For I’m moving forward too fast

And it scares me


Teach me how to dance again,

And I will be your cause,

One lifetime love to happen again,

I loved you once, I’m sure


I think I miss you

I know I once loved you

But everything is normal now

It’s much too much to bear


A lifetime love

So sorry to be missed,

But I’ll remember you always,

Remembering our first and

very

last

kiss

Personal

Two Reasons

So, I’m sorry I haven’t been updating this blog very much lately. When I logged in and saw that my last post was from December my chest did a whole frump. Yeah, a frump.

I’m not really sure what that is, but it goes kind of like this:

December explains a lot really. Since December, everything has kinda changed for me. First, I didn’t feel like posting anything because I was having a mini crisis about the world. I read the book The End of Mr Y (which is actually marvelous and completely brilliant) and it changed my perception about a lot of things.

Through reading it and stumbling over a lot of other things in life, everything suddenly got turned upside down and spun around at a disorientating pace. And now I can’t put it back together again. But this version of life is better, and fresher, and more real. I’m probably not making much sense, but my friends had to deal with me a lot telling them about Derrida and the meaning of life between sobbing and finding me in strange places in the dark.

This was pretty much my life throughout most of December.

I remember a good few days where I would just get in my car, drive somewhere with a view of the sea, the cliffs, and cry angry, red, stinging tears because I was just so in despair over life and why we’re all here. I wrote so many scrawled, scribbled out pages into all my notebooks during those times. I was very scared.

An existential crisis, I suppose you could call it.

Another reason why I haven’t posted in a while is because I haven’t been totally sure of myself lately, either and I didn’t want to post anything I would regret, or look back on and think, ‘Why on earth did you write that? You little idiot.’

I don’t want things to come back and bite me in life; but then, I guess, nobody wants that, do they?

I’ve been waiting to get the hang of myself again, to step back into the person that defines herself as ‘me’. A breakup – yes, a breakup – has shaken everything up in my life. If you’ve read any of my previous posts you might get just how in love with this boy I was. Sounds cliche, doesn’t it? But I did truly love him. Weird thing is, I expected it to hurt a lot more. But it didn’t.

I guess the reason why might be this: I still have the best friends I could ever ask for; I live in a wonderful, beautiful place and I have a family who adore each other every single day. Everyone has been so kind to me and supportive I’ve not really had the chance to fall apart.

Love. I’m really starting to question what that word really means. I thought I would hold onto this perfect little romance forever – and a lot of times I genuinely believed it was totally perfect – that I would find little reminders of what we used to be everyday so terribly breaking and unbearable.

But I don’t. I find them comforting. I can speak openly about the relationship that once was (and people find this jarring because they expect me to cry) because there’s no resentment. We’re simply not meant to be together right now, and that’s okay.

We had our time together and it was so beautiful.

People usually end up hating their ex lovers, but I am genuinely so proud of what we had, what we’ve done, and I look back on all of it with amazing memories that are going to last me the whole of forever. And they’re going to get me just the best stories.

This is so important.

As with everything, you always need to know when to leave. Get the timing wrong and it can make your life something it was never meant to be.

All of this (among other things) ultimately ties up my unexplained absence. These are the two main reasons why I haven’t been here lately. But I promise to be here more, and I promise to try and do it well.

Maybe I should get back to writing about cats. This always seems to make me happy.

Personal

Complications

I’ve realised that, as a writer, I love to explore relationships. Romantic relationships. Whether it’s an old married couple who seem to have lost each other along the way in their relationship, or if it’s a young teenage couple, who have nothing better to do than wander the streets in the dark, alone with the stars and streetlamps for company.

Finding what fits and how things have become broken inside the delicate structure of a romantic relationship that doesn’t stand so rigid anymore is what fascinates me.

Suddenly living without my boyfriend as he’s gone off to university has sharpened my senses to real relationships, to people, and to how almost anything can hold potential for a new romance to blossom. Say I hit someone with my car or the postman accidentally delivers a parcel to the wrong address – this could equal romance if it were a fictional world. I’m trying to use this.

Anything can happen in fiction. But what’s probably more jolting is anything can happen in reality too. I want to stay with my boyfriend for as long as I can – forever, if I want to be that publically unashamed in admitting it – but I realise that if I’m not then things will be okay. Because music is here, and writing is here too.

I keep reminding myself that if things don’t turn out perfectly in life, then to remember what David Tennant’s doctor told Agatha Christie in Doctor Who; that living through pain is what makes her such a good writer. This is probably the only thing that’s acting as my safety blanket if things don’t turn out okay.

Writing about love, in all shapes and sizes, seems to be the only thing that matters right now.

I just love the way it feels.