adelaide, south australia. all words are from my own heart.
[background image taken at the murray mouth, south australia.]
the ordinariness of wednesday.
it’s turning around.
with each second, and each breath.
i find her again.
i won’t be sleeping anytime soon. my eyes aren’t tired. my mind is wired. too many thoughts are racing to let me rest just yet.
please come soon.]
it came out of nowhere and now it’s nothing again, not that it was anything, but still - it was something nonetheless. something i’d kinda missed, i guess, when i think about it at least.
i’ll just convince myself some more.
i wish i could say it was numb that i felt, that i feel. but we all know that’s a lie. i feel too much, about everything. i know that’s my problem. i just don’t know why. or how to fix it. fix me. it isn’t about anything but how i feel, now.
please leave soon.]
sometimes, when i lay awake in bed, i’ll write, until the words, like a lullaby, push and pull against the melody of my memory to rock me so gently to sleep.
staining my closed eyes with thoughts of dreaming, it keeps its distance. for a little while. but it doesn’t take long - once the words stop crawling and the day stops spinning and my body releases my heart from its anxious pounding, from its relentless grip - rest becomes me.
time to dream. time to sleep. time to lose hours so freely. time like no other, no track or measure. just time, peace, perfect pace.
keep the nightmares away. catch my sweet thoughts, let them last into day.
pleasant dreams and sweet ones.
one day i’ll be dreaming in french. my thoughts so wholly contained, so wonderfully occupied [by words i don’t know just yet].
we’ll fall in love in french, under the eiffel tower and a blanket of stars. dizziness and loveliness wrapped in the smell of cut grass and croissants. wrapped in serenity. wrapped in whispers, dopey smiles and the silver glow of the moon.
and when i forget to try, those words will fill my mind, they’ll fill my heart, and so easily they’ll flow. you’ll see.
one day when i’m dreaming in french, i’ll be dreaming of you.
"nothing can steal happiness, peace away from you: if anyone does make you angry, you are the loser; if someone can allow you to lose peace, you are the loser."
unique and perfect me.
there’s nothing more, it’s now and it’s me. and every cell of my being exists so perfectly for the moments of my life to have fallen, settled and gathered, like this.
i am that
that i am.
a part of the universe. within the waves and floods, the hurricanes and wildfires of its strong and beating heart. me.
there is no one else. no one but me. and all the moments, the feelings, the dreams and the regrets. well, they come, they go, and they leave only smoke trails in my life. now. now is all there is. it’s me, it’s the power i never knew i held.
it’s every perfect fragment of the smallest slice of time.
as it will be
take my heart and cross it with your own.
let me down.
take my memories and dot them with your scent.
find your way to me.
take your fingers and run them through my hair, mean it how i feel it. hold my cheek so gently in your hand, and stare into my eyes. with longing, terrifying, silent explosions of tenderness, hopefulness, joyousness. with love.
you’ll find my life in yours and yours in mine. my blood in your veins. your skin on my skin. my tears will fall from your eyes. your sweat will bead on my skin.
to the squeeze and the rhythm of the other.
in yin and in yang, you will be me, and i will be you.
wrap me in your words, follow me as i fall.
it’s okay, cloud nine will catch us.
up all night
i can talk myself into [and out of] almost anything. in an instant, over time, anywhere, with ease.
it’s bad. it’s good.
what it is.
what it so desperately needs
feed my soul.
my skin, my cells, my blood, muscles and bones - my body - feels happy, full, strong. but like a starving bluebird in an ornate cage, i ache. i hunger. for everything i don’t have. for everything i need to survive, to flourish, to dream. to be me [my spirit, my life, my soul - the energy of my being].
a waterfall of flavour, a torrent of craving. it will never be enough.
as steady as the rainfall
the susurrus of rain on the roof stirs me so gently from sleep, this morning.
and peaceful, i wake, smiling at the muted light surrounding the gap between the blind and the window frame, i adjust to the day. easily. and i pull the covers up to my neck, stretching my legs to the end of the bed, squeezing and relaxing into happiness, under the sheets. i wake, i rise, i smile.
sunday morning, the day is mine.
you know, you do.
it was like it always existed, but never showed up til then. til now.
there’s an alchemist that lives in my heart. he injects my veins with love, with light, with energy, spirit, passion, hunger for belonging, and longing for it all. i watch as the elixir evaporates into tiny particles of loveliness. like sundays in a summer dress; autumn leaves that float too gently through the rippling breeze; dew gathering momentum as it slides into itself down blades of grass; then the smell of spring - of tulips, a hillside, the warming sun on dampened pavement.
the seasons of my heart, making good what has never been bad, just empty. til then, til now. i watch it fall like the leaves of the elm trees that line the street below my house.