Do you find me strange in my strange ways? The way I walk, the way I talk. My voice, my choice. My gait, am I really straight? How do you look at someone and not pass judgement? I look at you and I pause momentarily. I gather my thoughts, before I start letting them run free. You seem strange. Different. Your singing, your humming, your happy. You lean forward and breathe on the window, fogging it up. Without thinking twice you start drawing out strange letters, which makes up strange words. My brows tense and I squint my eyes, making sure my -1.25 vision hasn’t deceived me. No. Your strange. Your happy and your humming as your hands wipe off the profanity that once lingered on the glass. You draw more letters, words, phrases. More profanity. I wonder if your okay. How strange. People look at you, wondering, judging, not knowing what to make of your obscene gesture, as you look around at their faces. They gape and frown. You seem happy by that reaction. You skip off, smugly. Do I seem strange to you? I sip my warm festive drink. I gaze around at the strange faces everywhere. The rush to be somewhere, the thought of retreating on your bed when you reach your humble abode, the warmth of his hand holding onto yours. I like these strange entities and their strange behaviours. You make my stay on this planet all the more beautiful.
Listen to the silence. Can you hear it? That’s the sound of the world going by, it’s the sound of the music in your ears. Can you hear it? You watch silently. You let out a laugh, almost like a whisper, the wind carries it across, as you watch, and illuminates her world. You look deep into her eyes, and almost as if you spoke a language no one could hear or understand, she smiles at you as she lays her head to rest on your shoulders. Your eyes speak unspoken words, oblivious of crowds, of pandemonium, only listening to one others voice. Is it beautiful how you chose the sounds you wish to listen to, how focused your mind can be when the world has been blocked out or is it a tragedy how you’ll never hear what I hear, speak what’s been held in your heart, stuck behind a barrier, your longing to just hear her voice once? Her eyes sparkle at the sight of your face, but does she long to hear you too?
One day, when you leave this life behind, making your way to the next, you know you’ll hear her call your name. Your not scared, your not doubtful. Your sure, your happy you found her and she found you. Everything is alright.
There are endless conversations I want to have with you. There are countless secrets I want to share with you. There are a millions traits I adore about you. There are also a few things I hate about you. There aren’t enough words to express how much of my life revolves around you. Someone up there knew, exactly what I needed, when He was giving me my sister. Despite being younger, you’ve always been the one to take care of me, you’ve always knocked sense into me (Although it only ever took one knock!) You’ve always held tight, even when my fingers lost their grip. Thank you for that.
I love your courage, I love how your always so brave. I love the way we burst into fits of laughter, with just one glance. I love how awkward your grammar can be at times. I love how you understand me with very little words. I love how you laugh at me and my jokes. I love how you swear at men, for just being men. I love your tantrums, but I hate them just as much! I love the way you try to lie, but make silly excuses instead. I love the way you secretly leave me notes by my bedside. You make me smile but you also make me cry. Sometimes I just want to sit with me while I ponder. Sometimes I just want you to lay with me while I fall asleep. Sometimes I just need your hugs. Sometimes I just need your friendship. Sometimes I just want you all to myself. Sometimes I get jealous that I have to share. Sometimes I can’t stand that I don’t get enough time any more. Sometimes I’m just as stubborn as you are. There’s no one in this world who can ever take your place in my life. You have always been my better half.
Meeting at 10.40am. You get there on time but it’s running 20mins late. You hang around anxiously as you have another commitment at 12.30. Okay. 11.00am. Still no call for you to come through. 11.15am. Finally. Let’s make it quick. 11.30am. Your out. Running to catch the bus. Running to catch the train. 12.15pm. Still not anywhere near your destination. 12.30pm. Panic. Maybe you’ll call and they’ll understand. You don’t have your phone so you jump into the nearest phone box. You apologize and wonder if you can still join in? No. Disappointed but you weren’t expecting a yes anyway! You decide you’ll ring your friend and meet up earlier then planned. One ring. Two rings. Your through. You make your way to the next station. Again you jump into a phone box to ring up again and let your presence be known. Lift receiver. Insert coin. Coin gets stuck. Bang on the phone box. Nothing. Try another box. Lift receiver. Insert coin. Wait. Coin gets stuck again! Bang on the phone box harder. Frustration. This time try a something lower then a £1 coin. Another phone box. Another coin. Stuck again! Bang on the phone box, bang the door. Another phone box. Paper stuffed in the ‘insert coin’ area. I give up. I’m going home.
Okay. So I have some major trust issues. Anything all too clichéd is always a trigger for my panic button. If it’s too perfect, I’ll question it a million times, before accepting it can be mine. I believe the hurdles that I’ve come across in life are ones that I’ve built up for myself. I’ve worn a strong exterior for a long time. It doesn’t fool anyone. It confuses the crap out of me though. I forget now, are you another painted face? Or had I learnt to put my trust in you? Another broken radio on static repeat.
What compels people to put on masks? Why these walls, these barriers? I’ve recently discovered that all this time I’d been building a wall around me. One brick at a time. It’s almost six feet tall. If I want to, I can touch you, hold you, wrap my arms around you. Only if I want to. But you give me one reason, and I’ll build it stronger and stronger to keep you out. I wear a mask. One that’s been on for so long, it’s almost as if it’s infused itself onto my skin making it impossible to take off. Alas, I am, but a hypocrite. Who knows a state of mind better, then one who dwells in it? Who knows a world better, then one who exists in it?
Beginnings aren’t easy. Well, they’re not.
Bit confusing really. Like the first’s of any mundane task. Cleaning your room? Gosh, where do you begin? First day of school? Don’t want a stranger telling me there’s no mama here. I want my mama!
I want to take hold of my ‘blank canvas’ and paint stories, about life, its uncertainties, its vulnerabilities. I see a story, in every step of life. I want to tell that my way. I want to talk about the random things I see and hear, and I want to tell you this story. The essence of it. From down here, my little workspace corner.