Monday, 30 April 2018


She sat, in near silence, apart from the normal ambience that she’d become accustomed to. That didn't matter, it didn't even feature, in this place. A loud cough, from somewhere behind her, broke that small bit of concentration that she was holding on to. She knew what she wanted to do, could possibly do, but that was before her nerves started to play on her thoughts.

The smoke, being an outside garden next to the Hacienda's Taberna, also didn't really bother her. This was a private area, for Especial guests, to which she was thankful that she’d received an invite those months previous. She’d heard about the music here, the special melody, played by the mysterious man that they’d mentioned over and over again. He was silent, held himself in such a way that demanded attention, from any woman nearby.

Sure, of course, she didn’t believe in such things. There were handsome men, confident men, but hardly anything to bring home or to indulge with for more than a night’s circumstance. She’d seen it all. Heard it all. Played the games, enjoyed the tricks, desired the cravings and sent them all back.

The crowd, all sitting, relaxing, confident in their conversations with each other, began to calm with a few stragglers still at the bar. She heard the laughter, from jokes probably spoken in mild jest, but she wasn't here for any of that. She was here to hear the music and delight in the night’s offerings.

She looked down, checking her toenails, ensuring that the colour still remained. The little things, she knew, meant a lot. Confidence flowed from all corners of her world but, being prepared for as many situations as she could, ensured that extra slice of stability. Judging by the red dress that she wore, tonight, her thoughts were intending to control the eyes of every man in this place. If you had it, share it. She knew that there was nothing wrong with being a woman, beautiful, powerful, instantly demanding the time from her intended interest.

The bell rang, from behind the bar, a door opened and tonight’s entertainment arrived. Apparently, according to her colleagues, the friends in her life, this wasn't entertainment. It was an experience. Something to be remembered, even desired, not forgotten quickly and worthy of a repeat performance. This was why she was here, to enjoy the wine, to feel the music, to have her mind and body played like his glorious guitar. That, according to the whispers, was what she was going to get.

As he approached, walking slowly, the obvious confidence showing through the way he held himself, his eyes looking down. Apparently he, when ready, looked through the crowd and once he found inspiration, started to play. It was a forgone conclusion that he’d pick her tonight. She’d made sure of that. He sat, back sitting straight, on the edge of the chair. His left foot resting on a foot stool, guitar facing 45 degrees into the air. She watched as he shrugged his shoulders  for a short moment, his neck moving from left to right, with his shoulders eventually relaxing.

He looked up, through the crowd, taking in all of the faces in front of him. His eyes seemed so alive, intense, almost piercing through the people as he viewed them. Eventually, as expected, his eyes rested in her exact direction. She could feel her neck start to tingle, the effect of someone looking at her in the way he just did. A very small smile appeared, that you could almost miss, as he looked down at his guitar and started to play.

As the first note played she felt a warmth move over her. Maybe she was accustomed to music that wasn't live, maybe it was the two glasses of wine, or maybe it was the way his hands moved across the guitar. His fingertips moved so fast, effortlessly gliding to where they needed to be, as the Hermosa music played. It was mere seconds, hardly even a minute, when she realised that her friends were right about this man. The music. She’d never experienced this setting before.

As the Musica played, she ignored the smoke, she ignored the people speaking behind her, as her attention was firmly held in front. From nowhere she simply wanted him to look at her again, just as he’d done a few moment earlier, but there was nothing she could do to gather his attention. His eyes were closed, head moving with the music, but that still didn't stop her from wanting more. She recalled her friends, in another conversation, wishing that they were the guitar. Those hands gently, firmly, whatever the moment asked for, playing her Cuerpo with ease. A woman could imagine, a woman could desire, especially in a setting such as this.

She reminded herself to stay calm, to relax, as it was only music. It ‘was’ only music until, right then as she tried to distract herself, he looked over again. This time she met his gaze and held it there, for a few seconds, before his eyes started to take in her entire view. Sure, of course, her dress did display more leg than necessary, but this was the place for such decadence. She wanted to be noticed. It worked. No shame there despite his eyes literally tearing away everything she had on. Or, at least, that’s what his eyes were telling her.

As the music continued, rising in intensity, falling into her mind’s abyss, he finished the few songs and placed the guitar to the side, carefully, ensuring the stand held it in place. She wanted him to talk to her, to look at her that way again but, instead, he returned to where he had arrived from. For a second, she felt sadness envelop her thoughts but, as she was accustomed, she quickly moved those thoughts aside and reminded herself that this man, this guitar player, had basically desired her. Tonight was about her. Tonight she was the guitar, the beautifully orchestrated masterpiece of feeling and desire.

Maybe it really was the wine. Maybe it really was the music. But maybe, just maybe, she’d return here in one week and listen to that Spanish guitar again.

Monday, 23 April 2018


Holding her head, with her hands, she looked at the floor as the tear fell. Time slowed to an indescribable pace, as it fell, with another following quickly after. It hurt. It had always hurt. But, as she knew, now was not the time for such tears and sorrow. “Just for a few seconds,” she whispered to no-one in particular, allowing herself the solitary solace of letting it all go.

She’d lived a lifetime, possibly two if she believed her regression therapist, of loneliness and couldn't, even wouldn't, believe that it could happen over and over again. It wasn't due to being this, or that, as apparently, she had the looks, the stuff that the boys wanted, so why on earth did she often end up here, alone, crying in a corner, barely able to speak or contemplate the same situation. Repeat, repeat, the re-occurring circular drama and strife.

Her hands dropped away and she leaned back against the cold wall, looking at the ceiling, then out of the small window to her side. Being honest with herself, truly honest, she’d played it safe this time and yet it still didn't work. He wasn't exciting, he wasn't a dish of delight or even made her laugh. Options seemed thin, possibly due to her lifestyle and circumstance, so she’d decided to try safe, for awhile, normal, boring, yet even that failed.

She could feel her eyes, puffy, make-up probably running down her face, despite buying the expensive stuff that could withstand such things, but just like some men, the description often lies. Thinking of the past, the passed moments of her life, she’d reached a place where it was now or never, that ticking clock, that everyone often reminded her of, those nagging conformists that never, ever, stopped nagging. She wouldn't listen anyway, no matter how many times she was supposed to do this, or that, with him or her.

Her lip curled, just a little, reminding herself of what she’d given to her ‘ex’, the man that, twenty minutes previous, had declared his never-ending devotion and love. Life changed so fast, she knew this, with one second stretching to minutes, while years sometimes ending within that very same second. It had happened to her numerous times, to her friends, to her Brothers, to her very own parents. She knew that she was living in a time of serene ignorance. The throw away society to which, of course, she wanted no part of. She didn't ask for a warranty with her man, as all she wanted was for him to work with her, until the day they both broke and left this world.

Rubbing her eyes, removing the tears from the bottom of her face, she started to resolve the conflict inside of herself. This is what she did, often. It didn't matter, it wouldn't matter, as she knew that they were both healthy. He would now evaporate from her life, she would move on, start again, but maybe it was time for a new adventure. She closed her eyes, listening, slowing her breathing, to catch the sound of her own heart beating. It always reminded her of what she had, what she was given to enter this world. Her heart beating warmed her, embraced her, kept her warm when all others remained cold.

A smile appeared across her lips. It was that time, again, to rely on her own imagination. Every negative, sorrow filled moment, could be rationalised. Within reason. She’d cried, she’d let some of it go, with the remaining tears kept to remind her that she was worth so much more. She wasn't going to wallow in the never-ending solitude as, instead, she’d embrace this chance to realise that she was the only person that she needed for company.

She’d walked into a room filled with people, in the past, feeling so very lonely. She’d escaped from the few dates that quickly descended into a horrendous soul crushing escapade. She’d survived crying late into the night and now, today, she’d rise from this moment as well. Nothing, no-one, would ever, never ever, make her feel alone. That was an impossibility as she had her own heart, she had her own company, her own imagination and, above all, she had a beautiful soul.

Overall, no matter how many tears fell to the floor, no matter how she felt about herself, she would never, ever, truly, be alone.


There were times when I simply didn't know what to do, which way to turn, but, as always, there was a safe recourse. A rescue. A place and a face that I knew that I could call home, a haven of safety, a person that always had the right answer. For that, I thank you.

There were moments where I’d managed to stumble into another mess, a place of destruction, with tears amongst the fears springing forward into everything that I am. I knew that I had to rescue myself but, as above, I realised that I always had you to lean upon. For that, I thank you.

There were seconds when I could hardly stand, where the tears begged to be let loose but I forbid those seconds. I had to be strong, just as you’d been, had been, through my life. You made me understand that I could be a rock, within this world, moving for no force or reason. For that, I thank you.

There were months where I went without saying hello, the months that I now regret but I won’t worry, as you were still there when I did appear, or call, as that’s the kind of person you were. That ever forgiving vessel of love and warmth. For that, I thank you.

There were years that seemed to vanish at the speed of light, with your smile still managing to appear, through any of your own hidden tears, never wishing to bring harm or worry to my own life. Through a brick wall, or even one word, you always knew when something was wrong. No matter how hard I tried, you, always, knew. For that, I thank you.

For every little thing, for all of the mighty moments, you brought life into the world and here I still am. For the times, the moments, the many seconds and the small months, there won’t be a year that I won’t, ever, Thank You.

Thank you, Mum.

Tuesday, 3 April 2018


There was a time, a long moment ago, when we spoke such words that even the oceans trembled at the mere thought of how we felt. Short, long, misconstructed or just blurted with free abundance, we just spoke until the day turned to night.

We shared, we gave everything away, with free ease, the stories melding one into another. If we closed our eyes we could live each other’s lives.  I could feel your footsteps, hear that heart of yours, taste the fear within the wishes that you’d always hoped would come true.

We wrote letters to each other, despite being able to see each other on any particular day. We just wanted to communicate, to share, to get each other. Each new word forming a cascading avalanche of expression. You opened my eyes and I, with you, opened all of the doors closed between us. We, you, with I, knew where we were going.

Then, on that one night, you told me your deepest, darkest, forbidden secrets and I, unlike others, didn't push you away or create a small wall destined to grow into something horrendous. I held you closer, I helped make us feel safer in this dark world of our own making. For the smallest second, the brief minute or two, we actually stopped talking and just… listened to the silence.

It was glorious, a stupor of indescribable splendour beyond all belief and our time. From whence it came we did not know and probably didn't care. We blessed each other, we cast aside our former sins and created new ones.

We watched as the world changed, becoming something different, fleeting connections becoming the norm, the standard, the level to which we must all attain and conform. We knew everything about each other, with moments of wonder still revealing themselves at random moments. The laughter, that laughter, was contagious.

As that world changed, we stayed the same, static and strong, a formidable team accomplishing deeds far outside the standard. We simply were. We didn't hold our heads high as we preferred to keep them level, stable, never believing that we were ever destined to somehow be any better than anyone else. Realistic, pragmatic, the rational two among the many.

The days moved forward, into the marriage of life, the connection of two with seldom a crossed word. Respect, after all, was the defining statement from the start and we understood. We knew this. After we left the building, the church on the day, you told me your dreams had arrived, the same said dreams from your youth, the dreams filled with a white dress and kisses.

This was what I needed, this was what we all wanted, the stability from within. If it not be found with another then we find it within ourselves but, when you've decided to spend years finding that stability, we both knew that a holding hand could be found from another.

We held hands, we held on with might, all the strength in the world never able to cut the bond we forged from within a thousand words, a hundred wishes and a billion kisses. It was, as said, glorious. All because we spoke to each other, defined ourselves with honesty and dignity, before jumping into the mess called life. All we had to do was talk to each other. All we had to do was be honest. We both knew that being honest could solve everything and anything.

All we had to do… was talk.


The photo, above, was kindly sent across by Rachel who owns her own Photography company. We're talking photos that make you smile!  Have a look if you have a moment and I'm sure to include a few more over the coming months.