Monday, 30 December 2019


Daniel stopped typing, as he tried to wipe away that tired feeling invading his thoughts and ever-present weary body. Taking a sip of the water, to his side, he stared at the screen in front of him. The words, freely appearing or, should he say, simply falling from his thoughts straight into his fingers. He’d felt better, the days and nights seeming to stretch to the next, with no real end in sight.

Decisions, riffling through his mind, the words seemingly at the tip of his tongue yet so very, very far away. He didn’t enjoy the decisions that he had to face, those life moments where most ran for cover, but he was also hardly a person to run from what had to be done. Flight or flight, with fight becoming the focus of his present life. There was no point in running away from anything, or anyone, despite it often being the honest and easiest choice. To him, at least, he was fighting right now.

The words appeared and he continued to type. One after another, they flew onto the screen making his thoughts into real, realistic, impressions of his mind. If he could make all of the words into action, that might make things easier, but sometimes better written, than actioned or even said amongst a room of people. He wondered whether this was the etiquette of a well-mannered man, or the idiocy of a society silenced by formality and grace. The answer escaped him as, right about now, he’d gladly sit within the middle ground. His earlier years being firmly placed within the white side of life, the right versus wrong, only to slowly descend to the darker side.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Never and, so it be told that, the grey would be where he would stay from this point forward. The hypocrites of life often screamed from the heavens, concerned about  a person’s misdemeanours, whilst committing the same heinous crimes of the vocal nature. The snakes and shakers of life. The vipers and thoughts that crawled within each person’s soul, haunted him. In his world, everything would be fair, just, but that wasn’t being realistic. You had to play the game; the games that people played. The selfish creatures of habit and formality, with his own mind simply exhibiting the exact, same, venomous traits.

His fingers continued to type. Faster, as the seconds escaped his remaining energy. The sun, long forgotten had descended from his sky many hours previous, with the dark being kept at bay by a simple, small, solitary desk lamp. The simple things in his life. A white screen, a clear canvas, a keyboard and not much else.

He escaped. He knew this to be a fact, a truth, a mesmerising moment that he enjoyed. He could be anyone. A lover, a warrior, a peacemaker or even a troublesome envoy. It mattered not as, when the screen switched off, he was back to whatever was out there within his world. He loved both worlds or, at least, tried to do so.

The words continued. The keys clattering as they often did. No secrets hidden within his words. The bold, brash, extravagant truths becoming reality. Each purposely written passage finding an escape into the real world, encased within a form of communication for whoever, whatever, or whomever may have the chance to explore his thoughts.  Normally, he’d proofread the words, the echoes of mistakes being removed to create something closer to his form of perfection while, often, the errors still finding their way into reality. He allowed such moments as, of course, he was far from perfect.

He saved the file, naming the file something sensible in case a future event required his thoughts, to reminisce whatever existed upon the soon to be printed page. He clicked the button and, with the ease of life itself, the page appeared upon the printer. He folded the document, printed upon recycled paper, twice. He’d undertaken this process many, many times, but upon this occasion there was no need for an envelope.

He smiled. Happy. Emotional. The year had been a year of change, of progression and, in a few ways, regression. Two steps forward, one step backwards. He didn’t hold the negative close to him as, being realistic, the altercations and ramifications would only, realistically, make him a better individual overall.

He looked at the paper, sat upon the desk, the light from the small lamp throwing an ethereal glow upon his written, printed thoughts. He’d said what he needed to say. To the world, to the universe, to each individual, to each heart and soul that had crossed his path within the year. It was done. Over with. He could let go, he could now walk away, from the year 2019.  Ever forward, ever onward, the endless march towards whatever, or whomever, decided to be within his world.

Tuesday, 17 December 2019


I admit it. I accept the consequences and liability for all my actions. Proof or no proof, it’s all there in the black, the white and ever so glorious grey. I’m a sinner, that sin, that thing, that I cannot and may never ever and will not, manage to overcome. Place me in chains, chastise and bless my soul, as there’s nothing, me, myself and the eye of the onlooker can change.

Take me to your river, wash away my sins and after that, I’ll just return and do it all again. Ladies and gentlemen, or whatever you’re known as today, you’re free to be whatever you like but I, as I’ve said, have sin written into the very core of my fingertips and ever vibrant lips. It’s exclusively for all, no refunds or replacements.

I’ve been deaf to the proceedings, to all this subjective proof placed at my very feet, but that’s okay as I’m exceedingly aware of my wrong doings. Lock me up, stop the inflection of my days and I’ll embrace a new path. I’ll become a preacher, a man of solace and retrospect, the ablutions of my mental state and wealth of person becoming all that wakens me. Or, be whatever it may, give me a loaded gun and I’ll end the sentence for you all, on this very day.

I can tell that the judge, jury and executioner have all resolved their differences of opinion. No matter which grace filled words I’ve expressed, you’ve seen behind the wealth of behaviour and the hidden layers and masks used to show my repentant desires. I couldn’t help myself, the beauty of another swaying the votes towards the only outcome. I’ve loved, lost, been forgotten and given my very soul before reaching this very moment.

The arbitration failed, the asylum of my mind becoming bankrupt within the world. There’s no longer any chance of a delay for these proceedings, so convict me, shackle my body and throw away the keys.  I kissed the lips of temptation and spoke words of such fever, waiting for the direction of any furore to keep me awake at night. Blame me, shame me, shout your words and stare at me, as long as you’re aware of your options.

I swear to tell the truth, nothing but whatever you’d like to hear, with my affidavit standing for this test of time. I’m a sinner, an adherent of such moments, as this is what I was born to do. You can all sit on your fancy chairs, passing judgement, all based on tails and fails from my presented life. You’ll never know the real me, exposed, open, vulnerable, as that’s for me to know and for you to never find out. I didn’t manufacture myself, as I was moulded, sculptured, by the actions and tribulations of others. The actions and factions being understood, accepted and, eventually adapted to.

This is the moment, that final verdict, where you all look at the floor as a singular person brandishes the verdict. The many following the few. The weak being willed by the strong. It’s take or be taken in this world. It’s hold or be withheld. Forgive me, belittle me, but I’ve done what I’ve done from the very instinct written into my soul. I desire, I need, I wish and I most certainly want. No matter the outcome, even if the deserved punishment is for but one of my fails, I will still be vanquished for even the things that I’ve never even whispered of. Such is the way of the world; such is the cruel twist of fateful reverence.

I’ll stand tall, I’ll hold my head up as high as I can, knowing my own sins and consequences as clear as a sun filled day. Say it, talk, exclaim your preference and let it be known. I read their faces, each and every single one of them, as I’m adept at such measures. I’ve known such emotion that even the most stern person can no longer hide their inner monologue. I’ve heard it all, when it comes to the heart and soul of a person, despite often ignoring my own messages. I smile, a little coy, wicked, naughty smile. I can change. I can become something else but today, on this very day, I think not. I’m a convicted sinner, I’ve been blessed with a gift, a balance within, that allows such gloriously, spontaneous, beautiful and embracing… sin.

Monday, 9 December 2019


Daniel rested into the seat, relaxing, taking in the entire room as his eyes slowly glanced around. Sipping his drink, wondering, realising, that today was going to be an amazing day. He knew that he still had a few issues to work through but, saying that, they didn’t bother him as he was tired of trying to fix everyone else. It was his time, his precious solitary time to work towards something better. He, above all, was a fixer within the world. All through his life, he was presented with moments to find solutions, to resolve whatever appeared within his path. Emotionally, physically, professionally and maybe even spiritually.

He lifted his hand, looking at the skin surrounding his fingers. They’d been through so much, touched, lost, held and let go. Upon each fingertip there were scars, the moments that he’d never forget. The scar of letting someone he loved, in the younger years, vanish without a trace. Taken from him, removed from the country, only to return a married woman. The four years, that followed, of anguish and loss, burned into his very soul and heart.

He’d learned, realised, that love wasn’t something that would last forever, despite still holding onto that dream for far, far too long. Naive, not yet that worldly individual that he thought he was back then, he’d eventually moved on. The four years of loss, never to ever return. Lost, abandoned, forgotten and faded.

Next, he looked at the scar of falling in love with the wrong person, a person that wouldn’t have worked at that time. He was still innocent, fragile, expectant to find that love he’d finally returned for. The fool, the play written with someone else’s words, casting him aside as a side character in another’s life. Another scar, another wound of wonder and hurt.

He smiled, remembering the moments of tears and stupidity which, of course, were all experienced with his blessing. He could have chosen to stand tall, walk away, run from the madness that he allowed into his life, but that life and those moments hid actual problems that he needed to find.

Solutions, ablutions, ready for whenever he would realise what he needed to do. Daniel glanced at a few other scars, smiling, understanding, as each new experience eventually resolved into something good, for the others that moved from his life. He played a part, as his previous thoughts pertained to. He’d have it no other way.

Sitting there, smiling, he placed his hand upon the side of his head, feeling the scar from where the life-giving tube sat, when he was born. Next to death, that two-pound ten baby of premature birth, alone, fighting, holding on to each breath that could have been his very last. He closed his eyes, thanking whatever force kept him alive. Decisions, revisions, the luck of the moment or more, he simply did not know. The rain pours, the rain falls, but through such dreary moments, life is born and the world is refreshed.

He once again sipped on his drink, the smile still staying exactly where it should be. He had many, many scars. The fold of his arms, covered with needle marks. The scars upon his knee, the large scar on his abdomen, were all memories of how he managed to reach this very place. No physical scar remained within his mind, as the real scars were caused by his own idiocy with regards to others. He trusted, his moral code being something from a time long forgotten, despite constantly breaking that code to seek some type of self-deprecation.  He wasn’t anything special, he knew this, he felt the realisation, through the very scars written upon his skin. Each time he held someone, it burned into him, as if he were some type of devil made real.

Now fully relaxed, the thoughts still calmly flowing through his mind, he regulated his breathing to reach a place of perfect calm. No matter the solution, the cause or disadvantageous effect, he’d resolved the final niggles that remained within. He was a blank canvas, a place to explore and to become something new. The problem, the one moment that caused him concern, was the very fact that no matter what he did, no matter how many scars he came to terms with, each other person within his life would still have scars, moments, tribulations, which meant that he’d open himself to new moments of pain, or hurt. His smile grew as he knew, he damn well knew, that if you were afraid of getting hurt, or watching as another etched their name onto your skin, then life simply wouldn’t be living, without gaining scars.

The next question, upon his lips was, of course, how deep that scar would be. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care, as he loved every… single… one of them.

Friday, 29 November 2019


We live within and we’re a part of, a world that holds hate.  I’m not talking about war, famine, poverty or any of the bigger things, as this is about the small stuff. The little words. The solitary moments where a seemingly passive comment is said.

We live within a world that sees people talk about a person being raped, as if that person deserved it for what they’re wearing, what they said, what they drank or the way they danced. It’s unacceptable, especially when we’re taught, from the earliest age, that the word ‘no’, is and always will be, ‘no’.

We live within a world that is now far more open that it has ever been. Socially, electronically, bringing people closer than ever before, with the real and actual world fader further than we could ever imagine. We’re anonymous, even when our picture is there for all to see. We can speak with impunity, with whatever words we choose, with hatred and vile meanings being built upon by a flood of cheering guests. It’s madness, it’s horrendous, when actual valid common sense and understanding is thrown aside for the vicarious passing comments.

We live in a world that’s no better than the world of old. We’ve read stories of how rumours spread, moving faster and faster with fantastical girth, until someone is burned alive for being a witch or a magic maker. Some, but not all, are willingly able to join the hunt for new chapters within their destructive nature. I find, or should I say that I’ve found, that the people doing the hunting, are usually the ones that are guilty of the crime.

We live in a world where passing remarks scold. Words burn, words change people, break them down and crush their spirits. Each and every single thought we think, creates the actual person we are. It seems difficult to find positivity, when surrounded by negativity. We’re alive, breathing magnets attracting to ourselves what we desire. Misery prefers company and the light, that glorious light, only wishes to shine. We can be selfish, we can take until the coffers run rich, but then complain that we simply do not have enough.

We live in a world where the good within us all, is often strangled and manipulated until the infectious hatred runs wild. There are good people, there are magical people and, of course, there are people that light the room when they arrive. Those people, that type of person, is within each and every single one of us.

We live in a world where passing remarks are meant to instil negativity. We’ve all been there. We’ve all heard the comments that push aside our willingness to achieve, improve or progress. It’s easier to indulge in the gossip, as I myself also do the same. I’m not and never will be proud of such a fact, but it’s part of me. It’s ingrained, it’s written upon every single newspaper within the land.

We live in a world where the person that holds your hand can manipulate, deceive and punish your heart. Your best friend can utter vile words that crush your emotion and, yet, we continue. We have such spirit, such vigour, that even the mightiest armies could never destroy our spirit. That is, of course, if we believe. No-one can hurt you. No word or sentences can destroy your spirit. Not one person can take from you which you have grown within, unless you allow them to do so. Your own mind cannot destroy you, as it attempts to trample upon your willingness to succeed.

We live within a world where you can hold your head up high, without recriminations or judgement. Within each of us is the possibility of a balanced judicial sense of right and wrong. Somehow, somewhere, I’d wish that we could all find that sense of balance. It’s not impossible, it’s not beyond any of us. When the world pushes you, when you hear the words spoken about your very name, when the grace of love seems to abandon you, you and I have a choice. We can become the darkness, we can embrace their words and fall, but no matter what happens to any single person, all you need to remember is that you do not give anyone, the world, or your closest enemy, the permission to take from you what you have created.

We live within a world where we can deny permission, to each and every single person, to hurt us.

Saturday, 23 November 2019


Staring out, from behind the broken canopy, Henry remained calm. The perfect calm, overcoming every emotion, every thought, completely and most certainly accepting his fate and circumstance. He’d been trapped in this very spot, for over a day, with no water, food or chance of recovery. The solace that he afforded himself was a simple moment of acceptance. The reassurance embracing his fears, holding his cold body in place, with an oddly serene smile spread across his face.

He lifted his phone into view, the nine percent battery staring at him. No signal, no chance of calling anyone for help, or miraculous last minute save. He knew that this wasn’t the movies, or some television show, with the realism of life staring him in the face. He moved his leg, firmly twisted amongst the metal fragments all around, which didn’t even move a centimetre in any direction.

He smiled, again, damning his luck for the seventieth time. He closed his eyes, wondering what to do, trying to delay the obvious. That last message, the last chance to say what he needed to say before the inevitable took place, sprung to his mind. He’d lost blood, the dehydration not yet fully taking over his sanity, which meant this would probably be his last chance.

He tapped the phone’s screen, gesturing away the home screen, to then press the messaging icon. He wasn’t the most famous person within his circle, but liked, nonetheless. He forced a moderate smile, as the emotion rose within him. Maybe he should have sent more messages, asked more questions, enquired, or even said far more than he did.

He closed the messaging option, deciding to use the audio recorder instead. He pressed the record button and the screen changed. He started to speak, despite not really knowing what to say. He’d never envisioned the moment, where he would have to record his last few words.

Hello, I’m not sure if you’ll ever hear this, but I do hope that someone does.  I’m trapped, hanging over a cliff. Just my luck. Give me ten different ways to go and I’d never pick this. I’m not too sure what to say. What anyone would really like to hear. You’re all living your lives. Hopefully happy. Loved. Making things happen. I’ve always loved the thought of life working out for everyone. For me, not so much. I’ve loved, lost, loved again, then lost once more.

I’m scared. I’m alone. I’ve always felt alone. Surrounded by many, loved by most, the feeling never really leaves. Too scared to take a chance yet not alone enough to balance myself. I’ve been lost for such a long time. Hiding.

I don’t wish for any of you to feel sad, as this is life. Heck, I went whilst on an adventure. What more could any of us want? Yeah, I know, falling asleep holding the hand of the person you love, to leave in your sleep, is the best we can hope for, but that’s far too good for someone like me.

I’ve fought so hard, throughout my life, to do the right thing and I can tell you now… you won’t ever get anywhere if you do. Sure, you’ll stay safe, reliable, honest and even say that you’re a good person, but that’s not life. Who wants safe? You have to take chances.

I wished that I’d listened more. Even if the choice would rip you in two and hurt so much. Even if the sadness inside overwhelms until your mind spins. You have to embrace that decision. You can hold, you can grasp, you can beg and plead, but the choice has been made. It’s been the hardest thing in my life. Lonely. Being lonely. I’m now realising that none of us are meant to be on our own. It binds you, hurts ever part of you, yet to hold onto the fact that we have to be on our own, at times, is the lesson that can only be a beautiful thing.

I see so many unhappy people around me, clinging onto things or people that will never keep them warm. But who cares? We do what we do. We hold despite it all seeming wrong. The world can be a twisted, ugly, picture of art. Create your canvas, throw whatever you can at the design, then accept the imperfect image that you hold ever so close.

My life is done. I will miss you all. I love you all. I even needed you all, despite never asking for a thing. The burden of a person’s heart should be their own, unless they’re willing to find healing. I’m more or less healed. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Despite still feeling numb most of the time.
It’s okay, as that’s the way of the world.

Henry closed his eyes, as he pressed the stop button. Done. Dusted. Over with. He pressed the home indicator, to then open his text messages. He typed a quick message, ‘check the recordings’, and then hovered his finger above the contacts button. He knew what was about to happen, the pause sending his mind crashing. He pressed the button, scrolling down the list, understanding that he had acquaintances, even friends, but not even one close personal confidant that he could call his own. His heart broke, the sadness rising, as he simply typed his own number and then pressed send.

Monday, 18 November 2019


Conner, focusing on the ground just in front him, stopped crying. Briefly, a small reprise, another solitary moment where his emotional stability tried to restrain his grief. He listened to the silence, the glorious seconds of nothing happening within his very world. His lips, shaking ever so slightly, as he felt the tear lines upon his face start to dry.

This was, in every single way, the realism of life that he could not escape. He’d prefer to smile, to hold a hand, but that was no longer possible. It never would be. Not from this point forward. He’d shout at the angels, the stars themselves, even the sun shining through the window, but instead he held onto the silence. He’d heard the news, knew it was coming, but still he curled himself into a ball and cried. The world wasn’t ending as, instead, it actually had ended. He knew that there were life ending moments, seconds, where the very breath within a person’s lungs faltered and even failed. This, instead, was pure, encompassing, emotional loss.

The thoughts started to return, his eyes once again filling with tears, as he held that face within his mind’s view. Time waited for neither man, woman, beast or actions. He’d lost that time, whatever the moments might have been, with neither rhyme or any reason bringing that time again. Another tear slowly, gently, escaped from his heart filled eyes. He’d give anything, even his own life, to simply turn the hands of time back an hour. A day. A year. Maybe even to start again from the very start but that, as he knew, would never happen.

His thoughts taunted him, reminding him of so many words, so many moments, or when and where he could have done so much more. Afraid, the turmoil within neither wishing to torture, of free, his very vacant soul. Lost, falling, whilst firmly pressed against the floor upon which he rested. He knew that he had to stand, once again, at some point. Life would move forward with, or without, his presence being felt.

He heard the words, the many moments of advice that had fallen to the side of whatever he was thinking at the time, over and over again. He was supposed to be wise, a thoughtful person, a faithful individual, with all the inherited family weaknesses. The love he held within his heart, ensured that he could easily be hurt. The honesty within his thoughts, ensured that he could be tricked, and his compassion for others, concluded that he would be used and thrown away many, many times. On the other hand, with such a beautiful smile, he’d been shown that those weaknesses could be the most enduring strengths imaginable.

He knew his weaknesses as they, right at this moment, resounded within his very mind. He’d promised, said the words upon the day when he knew what was coming, which meant that he had to face the world standing tall. Even if broken, even if he had to drag himself from this very room, tears and dust upon his very fingers, he would do so. He would climb, scrape, beg his soul for the very energy needed, whilst bartering pieces of his very heart for the required strength.

He was, at this very second, alone within his very small world. The walls, surrounding him, closing in upon his mind, threatened to remove his very sanity. The tears continued, for another few seconds, before he made the decision to stand. Finally. Pushing aside his thoughts, he lifted his arm from the floor, pressing his hand against the surface to push his upper body upwards. His other hand, now assisting, as he picked himself up. His weary legs, obeying the call to action, stood with him as his eyes winced at the sunlight hitting his view. He coughed a few times, whilst wiping away the tear lines with both hands.

He’d cried enough, for today, for this moment. He knew that there would be time for more tears, to release, to obey his need for anguish and pain. Right now, this second, he had a task to do. He had to accomplish, to succeed, to drag himself through the rest of his life with, or without, a person standing beside him or around him. He would falter, maybe even fail completely, but that would mean re-evaluating whatever path he was upon. No tears, no fear, no pain, no loss or deep inner turmoil, could stop such a thing, such a moment. This was life, his life, the same life and pain that the many feared and felt. This was, until the very day he turned to dust, his chance to make his loved ones proud.

Tuesday, 12 November 2019


He knew exactly what he was doing, every single second, each moment, defined and refined for one purpose alone. In ways, he couldn’t help himself as this was his thing, his vice, his way of appreciating the person and moment that was sat just in front of him. He didn’t have years, months, or even weeks, as each day was the most important day within his current, frail life. He’d live forever, if he could, if the following few hours could be revisited again and again.

He’d laugh, maybe even feel a little stupid, but he absolutely, completely, above most things in life, adored long hair. His friends and colleagues laughed at him, often. His ways of doing things, of seeing the world, feeling ever so alien to them. Maybe he was just that, an alien, of sorts, segregated from the standard way of thinking but, as he knew, that wasn’t really the case. People liked what they liked, adored and appreciated what they wanted, with most simply just continuing the day to day.

It mattered not, his thoughts of other moments, as the current situation required thought and attention. He listened to her, talking, speaking the words that she found within her gloriously beautiful mind. He could listen to her for hours, non-stop, with only a small interjection that proved he was still with her. Listening. Understanding. Appreciating. Everyone deserved to be heard as, with all things, respect was born and nurtured through such moments.

He heard her voice falter, even slow, as his fingers worked their way through her hair. Caressing, moving, adoring the very nature of the warmth escaping from around her. She continued to speak, even though he knew that his soft strong fingers, caressing her head, would relax her in such a way that she’d appreciate. He knew that everyone talked, with most having so much to say, but once we lowered our guard, the real soul of a person could be found and held that bit closer. He wanted her to relax, to feel secured, knowing that he would never, ever, harm or hold anything against her.

Such a simple, small, tender gesture and moment. Her words softened, as he continued to massage her head, his fingers ever so often breaking away to brush her hair into line. This, this place right here, was a place that he wished to visit each of the days permitted by the rising sun. He was, in all intentions, a soft idiotic soul that walked upon the world. He meant no harm, wished only to heal, yet seemed to be vastly miss-understood and manipulated by many. He smiled, knowing that he was far from innocent, despite his heart wishing to remain as such.

He could feel her body release tension, her shoulders lowering that extra few millimetres, as the harsh working week releasing its grip. The music, playing in the background, seemed to melt away as they connected to a level that bridged the gap between them. This place, the obvious trust between two people, becoming a finally realised circumstance.

His fingertips continued to find the rhythm that made sense to his thoughts. Each caress, each second, created with the intention of pleasing her. He’d admit it, to her and no-one else, that this was his very notion of happiness. He adored beauty, in all forms, in all of the glorious ways that the universe displayed them. He could find something beautiful within most people and this, of course, led to his naivety. Although he wished otherwise, he knew that this would never be the case. He pushed aside such thoughts, returning to the present moment, as well as the person sitting in front of him.

She was, in all descriptions of the word, beautiful. Her voice, her conduct, the way she moved, the moments where she tried to remain humble upon hearing his compliments, were all comforting. He knew that every single person had their weak moments, as well as strife, but he could easily look beyond those as he himself had fallen from the highest pillars, as well as the tallest pedestals. He was, in every descriptive measure, the very essence of imperfect. He could, of course, turn the word upon its head and state, transcribe, scream from the tallest building, that being an imperfect creature meant that each person was an individual. The imperfections of life, of words, of actions, made each person beautiful. A work of individualistic art. A masterpiece of flaws. The scars, etched into each section of skin, forming the very wealth of knowledge and understanding.

He, once again, pushed aside his fantastical thinking to, instead, concentrate on what fascinated him far too much. Her gloriously, long, shimmering, flowing hair. He, occasionally, gently caressed her forehead, trying to release tension from as much of her mind as possible. This was a moment of moments, a place that everyone should visit, a singular, solitary, beautiful embrace of comfort.

Wednesday, 6 November 2019


Danny picked up the sword, dancing as she did, only to quickly slash the approaching individual. She loved this song. Adored the chorus, the beat, the way the lyrics formed the emotions within her mind. It was, to her, the perfect upbeat rhythm for doing what she loved most of all. She loved to hurt people, really, really hurt them, if they deserved to be hurt.

At an early age her sense of justice, of fair play, seemed to be ingrained within her very soul. Live, or let live, being her general stance of the moments that appeared. Until, that is, someone did something wrong. Her parents used to be wary of her swift justice, even as a small child, whilst also laughing out of ear shot as they, honestly, agreed. You could push most people, again and again, until they eventually pushed back or flailed around. Usually, people just soaked up the nasty side of life, but not her, not Danny.

This latest debacle, the current hack and slash of things, arose from the local bad people doing what they did. The rule, crafted a few years previous, was that they’d leave her alone if, of course, she’d stop killing them. Sure, truthfully it worked for a while, until they hurt someone that she cared for. There was no justice swift enough, no court within the land that would pacify what they’d done, with the trial, decision and comeuppance becoming immediately due.

Here she was, there they were, in front of the person she wanted to have a word with. Once again, her hips swayed, side to side, with the ever-increasing beat matching her own beating heart. The words, embracing her, connecting to her, entrancing the next sword movement. She loved weapons. Large, small, secret or in your very face, they all did what she wanted them to do. Hurt. Give pain. Teach a lesson with no words involved.

She smiled, as another fell away to her side. She, thankfully, couldn’t hear their agony filled screams, due to the expensive over ear headphones cancelling the external ambience. She raised her arm, hand in the arm, moving side to side with the vibrant music pumping in her ears. This, to her, was so much fun. Ideally, she’d prefer to be dancing in her bedroom, or front room, or any room, with this place being the second prize in a raffle of locations. It didn’t matter, as she was having fun either way.

She was the daughter of a long-forgotten family of stoic thinkers, the reasonable few, that strangely thought about how to inflict pain upon a person that deserved such things. Growing up, it proved useful, whilst also learning self-control. She’d had her wings clipped, a few times, by her Father as well as Mother, which taught her control as well as respect. The balance, of all things, within all situations, filling her thoughts with a defined and unique perspective of the world. She could see the corners, the rooms filled with lies, the expressions that lacked detail, as well as the hidden motives behind most souls.

It mattered not, as the long blade once again cut the truth into another individual. She wasn’t damaging them that much, only a little, just enough to remove them from the game being played. The song neared its end, as she stood in front of him, the transgressor, the perpetrator of the physical deed that hurt her friend. She swung the sword around and around, the professional at play, the perfect balance of the sword being used to her advantage. The silence appeared, as she slid the headphones away from her ears, to rest around her neck. He sat there, defiant, reliant on his status to protect him, knowing the implications of what he’d done.

She smiled, as her head ever so slightly moved to the left as her thoughts rampaged through her mind. She didn’t wish to remove the head from a snake that could be replaced by an even bigger snake, but punishment for actions had to take place and, right now, her mind was concocting so many beautiful, dreamy, playful ways to teach him a lesson.  She leaned forward, her face inches away from his, as she felt his fear start to rise, “Now… let’s talk about that Halloween payback!”

Saturday, 2 November 2019


There’s a mystery, within this very world of ours. It’s neither a rhyme but maybe a reason, or even a small amount of treason, if you’d see the thoughts I’m thinking. There’s a mystery that I really, really wish to solve and maybe, just maybe, it’ll take every ounce of emotion that I can find.

There was a single, solitary day, when the weather outside literally roared its disapproval for all things. Heavy rain, vicious winds, the blackest storms and more. We were all hiding, within our places of rest, whilst I and others were simply being who we were. From nowhere you arrived, from the darkness outside, with but a view of your smile changing my thoughts forever.

Okay, stop, I know, I’m heading towards a place where you’d shake your head and start to laugh. Let me have these words, this moment, as this is part of who and whom I am. It’s that mystery, that holds my gaze. It’s the thoughts of how you are, that keep me interested. Riddle me a poem, or rhyme me a reason, and I’ll keep on looking in your direction.

There’s a certain order to all things, the statistical variances being that thin line between everyone, all of us, then you. You’re that variance, the even number out of all the people trying to be odd. You’re fitting in, without even trying. You’re holding my hand, even when you’re standing across the room. You’re whispering in my ear, the rudest most absurd thoughts, with the smallest of smiles in the corner of my eye.

I’m on that edge of forever, standing upon the precipice of life, wishing to only jump if that’s what you desire. Tell me a story and I’ll be captivated by those small little things you do. The way your lip curls, the phrases you use, all that individuality wrapped up within a soul of ages. This is what it’s all about. Staying young of mind, making each other laugh, kiss, smile and simply, easily, just being with each other.

This is life, our lives, the daily outcome being just as mysterious as the next. We live with boredom, we seldom feel excited or enthused with fire, but that’s why we’re here. We’re so caught within specified boundaries, constrained, confined, but ever so willing to become more.

The freedom we perceive is seldom as such. The walls and lines, all around, provide bonds and often removes balance from our lives. It’s us against them, it’s the left against the right, or whatever seems fitting within this weekly filled news. None of that matters, as that’s not a mystery at all. It’s you and I, embracing the world together for as long as we possibly can.

I’m never going to ground a spirit as free as yours. You’re meant to fly, to scramble, to find the highest mountain top and fly. Spreading your wings as far as the eye can see before you soar around the moon. I know that my words are fantastical, but that’s the adventure you bring out from my weary eyes. I’ve seen so much, heard as much, with the silence you bring being the most effortless magic I’ve ever found.

This lifetime, the place we’re heading, is made so much more when we’re taking each other along for the ride. To me, to my heart, soul and lips, you’re that mystery that I’ve always wished for. I never want to figure you out, as that, to my lightened heart, would simply never do. I need that mystery

Sunday, 27 October 2019


Placing the lipstick against her ever so slightly raw lips, she pressed and moved its delicate shade. Slowly, surely, with the skill of a thousand impressions made upon the softest tarpaulin, she finished inscribing the colour. Done. Over with. Finished for the day.

She stepped from the bathroom, picking up her skirt that was thrown across the hallway in that moment of rushing, beating, heated foreplay. Looking quickly to her right, she caught sight of him, lying there, on top of the covers. She adored his body, that cheeky round backside of his, as well as the rest of him. She smiled, nestling herself into the skirt. The blouse, clean, white, hanging from the doorknob, waited for her attention as she reached behind. The bra snapped together, as she jostled her cleavage into place. Nearly done, slowly moving forward, as she stood in the doorway collecting her blouse.

Once again, with wide eyed wonder, she looked across his body as the blouse flowed over her. Each button, receiving individual attention, in order to not look at them again. Flicking back her hair, removing any strands from under the blouse, she continued to work her hands through her hair as the seconds moved.

She walked into the room, bending over, to kiss his cheek. He lifted himself, ever so slightly, as his lips found hers. She kissed him, holding his lips against hers for an extra few seconds, ensuring that he understood that he meant more to her than he, ideally, should. He pressed his lips to hers, his pleasure and smile being felt by the fleeting emotional moment.

Moving away, she whispered to his ear, words of returning and for him to be okay. She turned, to walk from the room. Done. Over. Gone. For now. The moment sedated for another few days. A few moments later his door shut, as she walked towards her car. Her friends, her beautiful friends, did not agree with the way she lived her life. The thoughts and their words resounded within her mind, as she reminded herself of how unhappy they were. Settling for less, for the moment of a lifetime’s similarity, the fire long gone from within each of them.

She’d been taught to deny her requirements, to obey, to fit in, to elude the trappings of having what she wanted. She’d tried the standard life, the usual method of living, which simply did not work for her. The family, the kids, the defined and refined statutory way of existing. She’d had the children, desired the partner, but realistically realised that finding such a person would take time, patience and annoyance.

Opening the car door, she hesitated, looking back towards the house. He was, possibly, good for her. He knew which buttons to press, physically, including the words to use when required, with his body fitting hers as if they were meant for more. She shook her head, pushing away the notion of leading a normal life. She’d been there, done more of that that she’d liked or allowed, with her own destiny being firmly under control.

They’d said that he was onto a good thing, getting the best of her time, seeing all of the smiles, the laughter and, of course, having her body upon him in the most illustrious ways. Her friends seemed to be unhappy for her, despite her smile growing after each visit. She felt alive. She felt her heart burning within her chest, the type of burning that didn’t include anguish, disappointment, worthlessness or anger. They’d said, over and over again, that he was using her, taking her for his own seductive needs.

As the car started, the engine purring to life, she closed her eyes as the thoughts of the last few hours flowed over her imagination. They simply didn’t understand, her friends and family, as she knew with every fibre of her core, that she wasn’t the one being used.

Wednesday, 23 October 2019


The figure eight. Never ending, circular, binding a person to a set path that repeats again and again. He’d told her, said to her, brandished his words with earnest certainty, to which she pushed aside and gladly ignored. He’d warned her, chastised her obvious thoughts, but that was a worthless exercise.

Lying there, wrapped within his soft sheets of pure fabric, she felt comforted, cushioned, held so tightly by the fake assumptions she’d created within her mind. She’d hold onto anything, everything, if he’d let her, but that wasn’t for her to decide and she damn well knew it to be true. She’d tasted him, felt him pressed against her, above, below, behind or on her knees, it mattered not. She simply wished for more.

This was a drug, to her, and he knew it. If someone asked her to walk amongst a nest of vipers, she’d decline the salacious offer and envelop herself, once again, within her boredom. This was the very reason why she found him so very, very tempestuous. He walked into the room and the very air seemed to stop. She’d heard a few stories, over the years, of old wives’ tales concerning such men. They existed to tempt, to take, to quench their own inner demons of greed, debauchery and wanton neglect.

If they were true, to be taken as fact, at least this person wished to warn her. Amongst the deep kisses, the heavenly wishes, he wished to warn her.  Within the moments where she felt her body lose all control as he moved himself within, again and again until she could hardly speak, he wanted to warn her. From all the sordid seconds, where he’d used her lips to satisfy all the lengths he could fathom, he truly tried to warn her.

He’d growled, bruised, bitten and held nearly every inch of her body. If he were the sum of all her life’s sins, then he’d have consumed her very soul and washed away every deed contained within. He wasn’t evil, apart from the way he looked, whilst sitting across from her at his small table. Even the way he drank his cup of tea, as he looked into her eyes, made her think that she was the actual drink. He’d finish whatever he was doing, standing there with absolutely no shame or reservation, presenting himself in all his glory. He knew what he was, what he portrayed within the darkness of her waking nights.

He’d once sat with her, the fleeting moments of conversation becoming forgotten memories, after he did his thing. He’d talk, for a few moments, asking about her day. She’d speak the words, he’d listen, but never return anything. He was a mystery, a moment that she knew may never, ever last. It wasn’t enough and that, as he’d tried to state, would be all she’d ever have. She’d proclaim that he was using her, just taking what he wanted and then opening the door for her to leave, but in truth, if she were to be honest, she wanted him to use her again and again if it were to be like this. It hurt. She’d long for him, during the calm days, waiting for the rampantly vagarious nights.

She wanted more, much more, but she was afraid that what she did have, would be taken away. She didn’t want normal. She didn’t want to live the same life every single day, despite the calm and collective nature of things. She wanted a lover, a person to truly find her buttons, all of the switches within, and to then press them until her lips literally trembled. But this was nothing more, nothing less, than that figure of his. Never ending, circular, binding a person to a set path that repeated. He’d told her, said to her, brandished his words with earnest certainty, to which she pushed aside. He’d warned her, chastised her obvious thoughts, but that was a worthless exercise. She was, would always be, that 8.

Monday, 21 October 2019


Danny raised her hand, perplexed by the moment, as she finally realised that she was different. Alive. A being that existed and thought just like everyone else. But, as the thought bombarded her growing mind, she knew that she wasn’t quite the same as all the others. None of them were the same, in the exact meaning of such words. She had imperfections. Knew them. Thought them. Lived them upon each of her waking days.

She looked at the lines spread across the palm of her hand. Lifelines, crossroads, the individualism plain for all to see. She moved her fingers, watching as the lines folded slightly, compressing, as her fingers formed a tight fist. She was alive, living, a spectacle of two people’s emotional moment and purpose. Lowering her hand, she moved her face closer to the mirror, as her reflection becoming the all-encompassing view. She, according to friends, had a good face, a pleasing face, a face that would surely accomplish moments within her life. She’d heard all the words, digested their meaning, with most of them simply falling away to ash within her thoughts.

The negative, the harsh words, seemed to linger far longer than any positive connotations. She lived within a cruel infrastructure of small minds. The rampant devastation caused by a group, a person, a moment and more. Frail young minds, fighting to be seen, whilst desiring to fit in. The compromise, seldom actually working when faced with wicked minds and cruel emoticons. You simply could not be an individual, yet fit in, unless you sat upon the top echelon of status. The sadness, she knew that they probably felt sitting high upon their pedestals, seldom helped her own anguish settle.

She looked at her eyebrows, normal, standard, the actual hair upon her brows not yet replaced by any unnatural substance. Her lips, still their normal size, with only her ears being pierced. She’d smile, if it were not for the imperfections staring her in her own eyes. The purity of childhood, slowly erasing itself from her own thoughts, subsumed into the walking ways of her life. She looked down at the sink, wondering what she should change, of even if she should change.

No answer appeared, no solace arrived, despite the hours and days witnessing the people around her doing what they did.  The maze of life arising from nowhere, the confusion of not quite knowing which direction to point her thoughts and views, ever so slightly confusing her every thought. She’d heard the word anxiety, but this was different. Suffocating. It wasn’t boredom, it wasn’t a free-falling expression, as this was absolute, crushing, panic as to what she was. What she’d become, where she’d head in her life.

Her parents often looked at her, with their wide-eyed love and expression. They offered advice which, to her emotions, just seemed far too practical to such a person that wanted to cry one moment, evaporate the next, with screaming being the bubbling emotion just under her own skin. They’d stated, time and time again, that life would become harder once she ventured out, but not knowing what, or who, you were to become, stifled any logic that they seemed to constantly throw her way. Be this, be that, or be the other. Yet, when they’d stopped talking, all she needed was a hug and to know that it would all be alright. Maybe, possibly. Realism, understanding, no sugar coating was what she’d appreciate or, even, just some silence to allow her thoughts to think.

With a hand holding either side of the sink, she felt the confusion, anger, panic and solitude rise within her. She’d scream, at the top of her lungs, if the house wasn’t empty. The room full of people, despite her deep longing loneliness, never seemed to help. Instead, grasping her inner thoughts, she started to breath. Controlling her inner monologue, she held herself together.

She would be whatever she would be. She’d think whatever she would think. This, above all, was her life and thankfully, she would listen, she would integrate their suggestions and words into her thoughts. On the other hand, she knew that she’d probably never do anything they said as, above all, as she’d just thought, this was her life and hers to control. She’d allow her emotions freedom of expression. She’d permit the others to raise their harsh words upon her delicate ears. She’d understand, that when the lights turned off at the end of each day, all of them, every single person on this world, had their own torturing thoughts. Just like her, their imperfections were open for all to see, no matter how much they tried to hide, fit in, or submissive themselves. Without imperfections, the world would be a very, very boring place and, if she were honest, the very word itself held the wrong connotation. Imperfections were, realistically, the things that made them perfect. Each and every single person upon this world.

Thursday, 17 October 2019


The chain, dangling as it did, nearly reached the floor. Heavy, thoroughly constructed to hold more than the current weight, as the small sized wrecking ball dragged along the ground. This item, the implement of a mind in turmoil, would be used for one specific task and one task only. Destruction, devastation, destroying anything that managed to get within the chain’s thrown distance.

He dragged the ball, effortlessly, behind him, with a certain length of chain wrapped around his arm. His arms alone, if needed, could strangle a man to death with ease and yet, he still chose this item above all others. He neared the house that he once called home, that majestic place that held him within the warmth of his lover’s embrace, all those years previous. His heart started to pound, as his sight caught hold of his destination. He loved this place, adored the moments, yet needed to do this for his very sanity.

The entire world, gone to hell, yet his one thought remained here. There was no sanctuary, no solace or serene embraces left alive for him to hold onto. The world had seen fit to remove them all, one by one, despite his vivid demonstrations and efforts to hold them close. He’d heard all of the words, explored them, with his sanity starting to edge away from him as the months vanished. He was once sane, understanding, yet the world simply wished for him to change. Violence, the vulgarity of the male nature, finally releasing itself to the moment. He’d had enough. He’d heard and witnessed enough.

He'd known no words, of slander or pain, until the torture they’d chosen to throw his way. He tried to help, to assist, to understand, yet the others only wished to inflict drama and pain. No more. No less. This was his moment to finally let go of his bonds upon this frightening world. He would destroy, he would relinquish the bonds that restrained the animal within. Today, upon this day of days, he would be all he was meant to be. An animal. The majestic tolerances, finally erased and evaporated, by the saline words rubbed into the open wounds surrounding his heart.

The house, upon him, was now in front of his very eyes. He glanced at the windows, with the glass strewn across the ground. Broken, discarded, each shard reminding him of each chance to help and never hinder, thrown away as if it were nothing. He had protected himself but, unfortunately, it was often far, far too late. The moment, gone, the damage, done, with hope rising after the very understanding burned itself into his subconscious. He was, for no better word be found, knowingly broken. After all of the effort to resolve, to fix, he’d felt the cracks start to form and his energy wane. Sick, tired, no longer wishing to share his thoughts, he’d turned to the physical strength of life, instead of the mental. He would break and he would suffer, but by the very grace of his fists, he would survive and no longer be thrown aside.

He grasped the chain, his mighty arms flexing, the tight motion moving as he lifted the thick iron ball with its chain. With one small motion the ball flew into the air, spinning around and around above his head until, when ready, he directed the swing towards the house in front of him. The chain moved through his fingertips, allowing the ball to travel further from his frame. With a smash, it struck the house. Shards flew, the side of a window frame snapped, and a small hole appeared.

Slowly, with focused force, he pulled the chain until the ball returned to his side. Again. Once more. Over and over again, he threw the ball towards the house, until a human sized hole appeared along the brickwork. From his side pocket, he produced a small amount of explosive charge. After this day, he knew, that he would never be haunted by the years of words and moments. He would finally, easily, walk away from the mess and torrid disturbed lashings.

The timer set, he threw the item into the house and turned to walk away. For a second, he hesitated, turning his head back towards the house. The moments. The experiences. He smiled, despite his mind being the way it was, as he knew that there would always be moments other than pain. His head lowered, as his eyes removed their focus from the house. His tortured mind, wishing to think, to return to solace and understanding, pushed his idiotic heart aside as he continued to walk away.

There would be no return to this time. What once was, would never be again. He accepted that. Would have once nurtured the moments, if it were not for society’s way of blaming everyone for anything and everything. This was why he was here. This was the very reason for his way of thinking, if he’d call this moment thinking. The house, behind him, exploded into more pieces than he could ever count and, at that very moment, that second, the wrecking ball metaphorically released him from the very chains that had held him in place for the longest, most torturous time. He was, finally, free.

Friday, 11 October 2019


I’ve been here, since the dawn of your time. Walking amongst you, breathing the same air as each one of you. Tainted by your imaginations, your machinations, I’ve smiled and cried at such events within this time. Now, upon this day, I’m struggling as I can see my future.

I’ve witnessed the birth of a thousand sparks, the death of a million memories, as well as the moments that scared and scarred my very skin. I’ve seen all of it, everything, every dream, every shattered embrace and more.

I’m now within a place that I thought I’d never reach. The dissolution of an entire race, coming to an end, to awaken towards a new environment and emotion. You’re changing, becoming something different; be the moment good, or even a hesitant bad, it shall come to pass.

Within moments, the second that I could interject another wavelength of thought, I’ve gestured the will to change the path for all of you. Destiny, on the other hand, cannot be denied. Whom, or who am I, to state any objection? If a man, woman, or whatever you seek to call yourself upon this very day, seeks oblivion through whatever source imaginable, then so shall the moment commence.

My interjections, notwithstanding, shall never be entered into any conversation, past, present or future. My role, my entwined conscience, is to watch. You shall vanish, fading into the very energy you once arrived from within. The two, can become the three, no matter the consequence, situation or selfishness. Life continues, as shall I, as your smile vanishes and your very warm touch crumbles to nothing.

You are, above all, vacantly obsessed with wealth, fortune and the looks and views from another. Trapped, within a storm of your own making, never to be free until you open your fist that’s filled with gasping pain. Self-worth, the indulgence of your pride, being the un-doing of all accomplishments.

Hold each other, embrace your fragilities, and hold the hand of a person that needs to be held. The accomplishments that could be achieved are near limitless, if only, for a moment, you’d all work together to become something more. Rise, stand, open your hearts to each other and embrace the very notion that you are all connected. Each one of you. The dilution of travel, the gender of becoming nothing more than one.

I hear each of you breathing, expelling your very emotions over everything you touch and inhabit. Like a disease, you could all cure so many ailments if it were not for the divide. Segregated by lines, colours, ideologies and other facilitated understandings. Two arms, two legs, one heart, a mind of thought and lips of emotion. This and this alone, is the only understanding that each of you require.

Nothing more, everything less, the understanding of life and how transient it is. Believe, in yourself, understand the others around you, appreciate and never demotivate. You can all be so beautiful. There will always be differences, which should only be held close. This makes each and every single one of you unique, as well as wondrous to the imagination. You strive to be accepted, which leads each of you to comply, to be segregated, to be manipulated by the items and thoughts we reap.

For me, for each of you, strive, grow, become, resist the temptation and stand tall with every single person around you. I need you to change. I have seen such beauty within, around and upon me. I’ve felt your tears touch my skin a trillion times, the silent, painful, breaking of a person amplified over so many seconds, over so many moments and hours. It breaks me, hurts me, with my own anguish becoming nothing more than the sadness I can no longer tolerate or accept.

I do not wish to hurt any of you, as you are my children. Born from me, the very air I create giving you the life needed to exist within your own small spaces. Widen your view, open your ears and hearts, engage the power that has been suppressed from the teachings of other and strive to understand. I am your planet and I am in pain. Listen to me, before the very day, you’re removed from me forever. I will die, one day, from sun fire or the frozen emotion of space. Until then, each of you, all of you, can find another path, to save my very life.

Tuesday, 8 October 2019


The cold clambering frost tried, as much as it could, to move into her blanket but it was no use. Her heart, still beating, managing to survive most of life’s harsh words, kept on pumping the way that it wished to move. Each beat, powerful, defiant, no longer willing to withstand the bitter and cruel world outside.

She’d withstood, endured all the damned idiotic pain within her world. Empowering, lasting, embracing her pain and often suffering emotions. She held the blanket closer to her body, feeling the warmth and grace of its tender inflections. This was her safe zone, her place, her mood for the moment that ensured her safety. Words, above all, often knew a way of working their way through any and all defences.

She’d heard all of them. Many of them. The put downs, the reasons, the fault to which she often unknowingly took the blame. She was this, maybe that, as her mind and emotions simply agreed to make the words stop. No matter the bruises, the verbal or physical, she knew that the images and respirations would endure. She carried on. She always would.

Sipping the small cup of hot chocolate, closing her eyes as the warmth entered her body, she reflected upon her life, her world, her emotions and more. This place, this moment, was one of those seldom found explanatory, exploratory, escapes and sanctuaries. She smiled, as her eyes opened to the world in front of the window. The icescape world, the beauty of white, the purity and refresh of the land, calmed her. Although she didn’t adore the cold, she surely embraced a scene such as this.

Her self-confidence, ever so slightly shattered, with the various words and deeds becoming her norm. Reprogrammed, re-purposed, to ensure another’s emotional vacancy remain intact, she’d learned to finally say, ‘no’. She’d pushed away the moments of pain, to deny his pleasure inflicted upon her with harsh abundance. He was skilled, acquainted with the verse of words that escaped his mind, with his heart probably being left alone from a young and tender age. The spoilt spoiled person, wreaking havoc upon another.

Each time she’d tried, she was set to fail with his type of support behind her. She felt her own self-doubt infect, reaping away her energy to succeed within her life, unable to find that simple little belief that she needed. She’d watch others thrive or, even, smile as they did the simplest life tasks with ease. The self-doubt turned inwards, focused her thoughts into the cold, chastising melodramatic drama of angst and tears. She was, to her own eyes, worthless.

The cold followed her, calming her inner demons, until the day she finally started to listen. Each word, analysed. Each circumstance, reflected upon, until she finally and dramatically said one simple word, ‘no’. Other words were eventually raised from within her inner monologue, ‘no way’ and, ‘no chance’. She started to rise. Slowly, surely, each step upon the icy ground moving her forward.

Upon a cold day, a shallow day, void of emotional connections or sympathy, she finally said what she’d wanted to say for the longest of times. She calmly explained, exclaimed, that she was no longer willing to endure the pestilence of another’s failing emotional mind. She proclaimed that emotions were gentle, sympathetic, tender and kind. She stated that feelings were precious and that they were to be cared for, held, and embraced with the most tender kisses imaginable.

She, this person wrapped within the warmest blanket, had finally escaped the emotive ups and downs, with one brave, final, emotionally vacant explanation. She stood. She left. She moved forward but would never, ever, forget the cold she’d endured year after year. She, again, smiled, knowing, realising, that she’d finally and bravely, found her own cold safe exterior that would protect her precious, burning, healing heart.

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