Eyes wide open

A moment of awful clarity

It should have been seen sooner

No, it was seen sooner

For there were signs

There are always signs

If you know how to read them

Sometimes you just choose not to

If I could stop thinking, I might stop caring

If I stopped caring, I might stop thinking

Not thinking, not caring, might leave me a shell

Preferable still to feeling like hell

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Unspoken promises to a friend

I will make mistakes and upset you.  Please tell me if and when I do.  I really don’t mean to hurt you, but I am careless.  Forgive me.

I will make you question my sanity on a regular basis, as I question yours.

I will bore you to death with my constant rambling, and perhaps even sometimes entertain you with it.

I will forever tease you for your nerd tendencies, but secretly I love you for those.

I will always challenge your negative thoughts and ideas, and if not, I will agree with them depending on my own mood.  Misery might not always like company, but at least I can commiserate and somewhat understand to the best of my ability.

I will sit with you in corners when you don’t want to talk to anyone else, or I will just be quiet if that is what you need.  Although we both know that at times I have a really hard time shutting up.  Still, I will try.

I will defend you to others, even if you are wrong, which you sometimes are, but let’s face it, that in itself is a whole other argument.

I will hold your hand and be strong for you, when you are not.

I will always giggle at your silly jokes at five in the morning, or any time of the day or night.  And if not, I will call you names and laugh anyway, despite how hard I try not to.

I will pull you back if you push me away. If you push me twice, I will stay away if that is truly what you want because I only want you to be happy, whether that is with or without me.

And finally, I will remind myself every single day why you are special to me and hope that you know just how much you are.

Because you are complicated, unique.  You are you.

I want to sleep with you.

I want to sleep with you


When the days have all passed you by
And all that remains
Are the silver strands of hair on your head
And the deep lines on your face
I will be nothing but a distant memory
Only then will you know
The true meaning of regret

No hope

Allowing the walls to break down only leaves a gaping hole for Hope to waltz right on in.

And while Hope is a stunning creature, she has the tongue of a serpent and a hollowness in her eyes.

She hides the truth behind silver tongued lies.

Different Faces

I’ve lost count of how many years I’ve sat in this nook, looking from the window down onto the world below. The movements of the people that come and go are the same, day after day, year after year, just different faces.

There was a little girl, though, with caramel coloured curls. Every day she wore the same red coat, and a matching ribbon in her hair. She would skip along beside her mother on her way to school, down there, along the pavement past the café on the corner, past the bakery, the butcher’s shop and then across the street into the plaza on the other side.

Do you remember? We watched her together and wondered what she would do, and who she would be when she was grown. If she would still sing as she skipped along that same path, not a care in the world.

And she does. She does still skip along the pavement, past the same store fronts, most of which haven’t changed after all of these years. The ribbon in her hair is gone and the hand that she holds is no longer her mother’s, but that belonging to a lover, a friend. The movements are the same, day after day, just different faces.

It’s just me up here now and I have often wondered if you still care about such things. If you’ve ever thought of that girl and who she has become now that she is grown.

I see another little girl now. She skips along the pavement past the café on the corner, the bakery, the butcher’s shop and then across the street into the plaza on the other side. And look at her! She wears a little red coat with a matching ribbon in her hair. The hand that reaches to her to hurry her along as she skips and sings, it’s yours …

And I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass as I watch you both come and go. The movements are the same, both down there and up here in my window. Just different faces.


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