For Sam.

I'm sorry that I can't tell you how I feel.
I'm sorry that these words that you read are the only way I can talk to anyone about anything. 
I know you're there and I know you won't judge me but this is the only way. 


Remember the old days? When we were young and life hadn't tripped us over yet.
Times when we thought everything we knew would last forever, that everything would be as perfect as it was at that moment. 
Now the only memories we have of that time are buried six feet under, a treasure trove at the bottom of your garden.
There will come a time when we are ready to look back on those days and those pieces of history will seem, well, historical. 


For we have made memories beyond the ones we froze in time. 
We have outlasted the cataclysmic storms that found their way into our paths.
We haven't forgotten each other. 


Thank you, Sam, for the inspiration; here's to you, a celebration.

Confusion is nothing new.

Seeing his name flashing on the caller identity made her heart flip over. Hearing his voice, deep and endearing, say ‘hello’ gave her inevitable tingles and put a happy smile on her face. Five minutes into a conversation and she was hooked, to say the least. They’ discuss everything, territory that others dared to venture.  For hours they’d talk, losing track of time in the other’s company. It was all perfect.

Or so she thought.

He’d mentioned them, quite a few times, but she’d come to realize that he’d moved on from his old self and was now looking for a change. Someone new. Someone like her?

I’m in love with someone.

Oh. Who?

You’re going to think I’m a real idiot…

Tell me.

I know she’ll never say yes to me or feel the same way…

Just tell me.

The name that followed was not hers.

And it broke her heart.

To think of the hours they’d passed, the secrets they’d shared and the tears she’d cried over things she could tell only him. He’d talked of love and left devastation in it’s wake.

I need you to help me.

What’s wrong now?

I need to get this off my chest. I don’t care what she says. Tell me what to do.

With a heavy heart,

You have to tell her.

I don’t know what to say. Will you help me?

Almost in tears,

Of course.

Thank you. I knew I could count on you.

She didn’t know exactly he told her or how she had responded but frankly, she didn’t care anymore. Or did she?

He had painted a picture of his perfect girl for her, a long time ago when she did care, and in an instant she’d known who fit the description.

Down-to-earth, cute, funny, someone he could have a conversation with, someone who didn’t have a huge ego, someone who loves food, loves little kids and wasn’t afraid of adventure.

He’d been talking about her.

It broke her to think that, even though she didn’t want to admit it, she still did care. As long as she’d live, she’d think back to those few hours and wonder where she’d gone wrong. She’d wonder why he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. Blinded, blinded by love and feelings gone amiss for someone else who they both knew would never feel the same way about him.

By day, she’d dream of what could have been. By night, she’d pray for the tears that ran down her face and for the knives that stabbed at her heart – she just wanted it to stop.

But she didn’t want to stop feeling that way about him.

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

Closing Time

December brought...mixed emotions. 
Overwhelming happiness.
Crippling despair.


Why? We all have to leave at sometime.
But why does it have to be now?


We all know that at inevitably, all good things come to an end. That doesn't prepare us for the heartache and the numbing void the separation leaves behind. Moving forward is difficult enough without having to be pulled back by what we are forced to leave behind. 

Hope is contagious. Really?

'Letters to God' is just something else. At first, writing to someone who's address and whereabouts are technically impossible to reach - at least in this lifetime - seems like a waste. A waste of ink, paper and possible hours of thought that went into it. But in the end, it's just personal solace that we're seeking. The assumption that He will read our letters and 'reply'. It's just to give us the assurance that someone cares. 

There's something else. The postman. He was just a lost soul looking for redemption yet his answers to the letters are what started the revolution. So, we may be writing to a Higher Power only to find that it is right in our midst, in the people we least expect to find it. It lives among us, in us.

This is a suddenly spiritual feeling, I know, but it really struck me.

I might just try writing a letter to Him. 

Wordplay.

People make mistakes in what they do but the mistakes that hurt the most are the ones that are said. 
Say what you need to say, by all means. Just, think a minute before you do to make sure you actually mean what you say. 
An ambush of lies. Half-truths? 
The worst thing is, it actually sounds like the truth. 
And the truth, though actually a lie, falls tenderly on an unsuspecting ear. 
When the lie is revealed, it is too late.


Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we begin to deceive. 


One can tell the 'truth' was a lie only from it's sting.
You can't take back what you've said, you can't change what the other person felt when you said it. The damage has already been done. 
Next time, make up your mind before you open your mouth. 

Under the Weather.

It's raining. 

Rain is good. 

Not when you're in a tuk, drenched and suffering in rush hour traffic.  

At home, by the window. Mid-day breeze on your face and a good book - Life is good.

Oh, and some Ribena too. 

All We Are

I kept falling over, I kept looking backward, I went broke believing that the simple should be hard.
I wasted, wasted love for you.
In the end the words won't matter because in the end, nothing stays the same and in the end dreams just scatter and fall like rain.


Love is worthless. Temporary bandaging and numbing of pain, maybe, but it leaves you broken when it decides to leave. And this is love, after all, and it works to it's own time so who knows when that'll be? 
Is it worth your tears? Just thinking about what could have been makes you cry. Cry at the happiest movie, cry when your heart should be rejoicing. 
Is it all it's cracked up to be? I personally don't think so.
It's all perfect on the surface. 
But below that, nothing is safe. 


I wanted it, a long time ago
And I thought I did not long ago too.


But I saw too much.
And it scared me.
So, for now, I'm staying clear.


The song is perfect, so real - we trade our heart and soul for moments that pass like *snap*
In the end, everything changes and it was all just a waste.
I only disagree with one thing Matt Nathanson has to say : 
And every day is a start of something beautiful, something real.
That, or it's just a beginning to a new chapter of heartbreak.