Category Archives: writing

If it wasn’t love, what was it?

It wasn’t love.

I knew it wasnt love, because the silences between us should’ve flit the air as freely as the clear waters of a river heading downstream, comfortable even tumbling over rocks and rubble. Instead, they stood heavily amidst us like a house of bricks that never budged, no matter how hard we huffed and puffed.

I knew it wasn’t love, because shouldn’t we have always wished happiness upon each other?  Yet, you tied my heartstrings into knots, harsh and unforgiving, impossible to untangle. And every time you did, I found myself wishing more and more that the rope you had used would somehow lasso from my heart onto yours-so you could feel every single tug of pain exactly how I did.

I knew it wasn’t love, because although love is an endless game, I shouldn’t have constantly felt like the sore loser that desperately tried-and failed- to get to the top. Every wrong you imposed on me I would throw back at you as hard as I possibly could, wanting so badly to win just

for

once-

I knew that love wasn’t a competition of who could hurt each other more so why did I spend every moment of my time with you trying to scale my way up on the rankings?

I knew it wasn’t love. Every sign of affection you fed me I gobbled up like a starving coyote that finally caught a rabbit. I was a little girl, and your words were my favourite blanket- every compliment, every reassuring word that spilled out of your mouth I clung on to for dear life. I always hoped that these words would make up for the fact that you were not the one for me.

Love wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But if it wasn’t love, what was it?

If it wasn’t love, why does my heart still take flight at every mention of your name? Or maybe flight is the wrong word- it feels more like a plane getting hit by the turbulence of merciless winds. Surely having a tsunami within me, feeling the impact of tidal waves crash onto every single inch of my stomach isn’t normal?

If it wasn’t love, then why is every second of my day consumed with the thought of you? Washing the dishes- you. Eating breakfast- you, talking to my friends- you, sweepingthefloormakingcoffeeclosingmyeyestogotosleep-you, and waking up, my eyes still bleary from sleep and my brain just beginning to function properly-you.

If it wasn’t love, then why does every silver car that drives by make me think of the way that you sighed on the freeway as you took my hand and placed it in yours? Why do my insides become a twisting, turning roller coaster everytime the radio plays the stupid rap songs you listen to? Why does every single strand of hair on my skin rise when I think of your skin on mine?

If it wasn’t love, you moving on from me shouldn’t make my throat close up like there is something sitting inside it, blocking the airway and leaving me choking. The way you smile- shy and innocent, pure and harmless-should not hurt me the way it does now that I know that it is no longer me that you are smiling at.

It wasn’t love.

I know it wasn’t love.

But love was at a dead end

And I was on a one way street.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Raw

In the heat of the night at 1:40 in the morning, she lay defeated on top of her crinkled covers. It was autumn for other people, but where she lived it was always summer, and a sticky one at that. It was so God damn hot she could practically feel her vessels vasodilating underneath her skin. As she thought that to herself, she scoffed- the only time Year 10 Biology came in handy. Go figure. The night was darker than most, quieter. The trees outside her window were still, and if she hadn’t known for sure they were real she would’ve thought they were figures in an old oil painting. She couldn’t even hear the sound of crickets  like she usually could. With her unhelpfully heat emitting laptop resting on her sweaty thighs, she glared at a blank page and felt as empty as the screen she was looking at. Her eyes were starting to close. She had woken up early that morning but she wasn’t ready to go to sleep. Her racing mind kept her up; she thought of many things yet none of them were helping her create or write anything of use.

She sighed and thought of what her friends were probably doing. They were probably crammed in some crowded sticky club, grinding on guys and drinking shot after shot of vodka. She was glad she wasn’t there, yet she still felt the unmistakable thud in her stomach that was jealousy, loneliness. It wasn’t the type of jealousy that made her want to be with them, but she wished she was out there somewhere in the world. Anywhere but laying in her bed,beads of sweat forming on her back. She wanted to be making connections with people,  to have conversations at midnight over red and white checked tablecloths and mediocre diner food like in one of those teen fiction books. As these thoughts crept into her mind, she caught hold of herself. Don’t be stupid. Real life isn’t highlighted chapters of a novel, yet something inside her still held onto the hope that one day every desire her heart pondered upon would materialize.

She thought of when she had felt most alive, and she was an introvert but her most memorable moments sure as hell weren’t spent by herself. She longed to feel the wind in her hair and the salt in her face as she perched on a rope tyre, feeling as if she were in a snow globe and somehow being able to see the world curve at its corners like she did two years ago. She remembered her best friend swinging her, laughing, and automatically felt the same sad feeling nudge her. She was mundane, in a rut, wishing she had more to her than just the same old daily routines. Everyday she was blanketed with ambivalence; I want to stay at home, but I should go out with my friends. But who were her friends? She didn’t seem to have very many lately. So she stayed at home, lying on the sofa, her bed, the floor. She would blast her favourite songs from her speaker and get up to cut herself some fruit or down a glass of water, and she would feel happy. It was just times like this, when everyone was out living their lives and she was stuck here, that she wanted to scream and tear her hair out.

She constantly preached positivity, so why did she feel so low? She knew not to look too far in the future but at the moment that’s the only thing she clung onto like a little girl clutching the string of balloon, hoping that one day she would finally be able to stop existing and start living, like she knew she was supposed to. She didn’t know what she wanted in life, she just knew it wasn’t this.


Sorry about this depressing post guys! May delete it in the near future but I think it’d be good to look back on and kind of be able to understand how I felt and how things have changed. Thanks for reading.

Why I Started this Blog.

Untitled designI haven’t been taking part in the ultimate blogging challenge, but I decided to do day 3 of it, hope that is okay.

So day 3 is why you started your blog.

I started mine in November 2015. I had six months off of school, had just gotten “fired” from my first job ever and was so bored with my life. I felt like I had no purpose, I felt that I wasn’t putting my creativity anywhere and everything was just kind of stagnant. Day in day out would be spent on youtube, twitter, instagram, mindlessly scrolling and clicking on literally any youtube video that would keep me from becoming so bored that I could tear my hair out. I’ve always loved writing and I had stumbled across a tumblr account which wrote beautiful pieces. I decided that it was time to put MY free time into something that wasn’t completely meaningless. So I started this blog. I haven’t come very far- I don’t write this blog for the views or for the reads, just for myself. When I feel inspired I write something and put it on here. That may be often or very occasionally.

I remember how it felt to be completely stuck in what felt like an endless rut, in fact recently I’ve fallen back into the rut. So my first post on my blog was a short “story” about how I felt about the time whilst I was in school and kind of how I felt at the moment. It was before I had found veganism and I felt disgusting and tired and sluggish. Sometimes when I feel stuck, I read through this blog and manage to inspire myself again.

Here is an extract, and other pieces of my favourite parts in my first post.

November 16, 2015.

Exhaustion

t’s 4pm, and the weight of the world has knocked you off your feet and onto the plushy comfort of your living room couch. The drive back is a blur. All you remember is “school was fine” and nibbling half-heartedly on a meatball sub, the sandwich wrapping crinkling beneath your fingers. Lying down on the back seat of the car, head on one side, feet on the other. Toes resting on the window. All you remember is the feeling of the road beneath you, the gentle vibrations the car made as it turned bends and twisted around roundabouts. The feeling of your eyes, as laden as the responsibilities sitting on your shoulders. Shoulders, so heavy. So heavy you’re almost certain there’s someone, something sitting on them, pressing down on you so hard it hurts.

…..

The tiredness has not only hit you now but yesterday, when you felt dizzy in class and your eyes were wandering and your mind was drifting and your teacher made you stay back for not paying attention. The tiredness was there then, and it was there when you sat under fluorescent lights at 8 in the morning, head in the palms of your hands. Sweater wrapped around you like a blanket. Tiredness was there then.

It’s here now.

So you lie on the couch, brain fuzzy, and dread the moment you have to get up and get back to the reality of all nighters and 6ams, cold pizza for lunch and pencil lead tainting your hands.

Since I’ve started my blog I’ve gotten through half a year of school, discovered veganism and other things about myself. I’ve also applied for a major in creative writing in University. I hope all goes well, and I hope everything is well with you. Thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoyed this post.

 

You are

 

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You are not your grades,

the bank notes you have stuffed in your wallet

You are not the length of your hair,

the size of your waist,

your height,

the colour of your skin,

even your reflection in the mirror

You are

the powdered sugar in the cake you last baked,

that dissolved on the tip of your tongue,

the seashell you found at the beach when you were a kid,

the one you pressed to your ear for days,

you are the sound of the ocean you heard within it,

the crashing of the waves against the shore,

you are the flutter of the wind in the trees,

in your hair,

on your cheeks,

you are the glitter that fell from the sky on New Years Eve,

you are iridescent

you are

the golden star you stuck on the top of your page in kindergarten,

your tongue sticking out in concentration as you got it

just

right,

perfectly straight, you are

the doodles of black ink you drew on your wrist when you were fourteen,

of stars, planets, the sun and moon,

on each and every finger until no skin was left, just orbits

you are the sun and moon,

the rays that hit your skin on the last days of summer,

the glow that you gaze up at in the hours of midnight,

wondering how you got here,

how anything is real,

you are

the song that you dance to in your room when nobody’s watching,

the smile in your voice at your last concert,

the glimmer of glow sticks in the crowd,

or the saxophone in the background of your favourite disney song,

what you listen to when you’re happy, sad

or anything in between.

you are the fort you crawl under when you’re cold,

blanketed by white, protected,

warm,

you are waking up on a sunday morning,

the light that simmers through the curtains,

or the dust that floats in it,

you are the twinkles twirled around the Christmas tree,

the monkey bars you sat on top of with your best friend,

or the grip of her hand n yours,

the rope swing that stretched out over the sea,

the wind in the air when you swung,

Or maybe you’re

the disappointment in your mum’s voice when you come home too late, or

the lurch in your stomach when you’re speaking in public,

the stutter in your voice,

the weights on your eyelids

when you’ve gotten no sleep,

the feeling you get when you haven’t left the house in five days,

sluggish, slow, stagnant,

maybe you’re

everything at once,

everything you know,

everything you believe

everything you dream,

and all the magic that’s in it.

 

THIS DOESNT EVEN MaKE SENSE BUT I HAVE NEGLECTED THIS BLOG FOR SO LONG AND I WAS LISTENING TO OLD DISNEY SONGS AND I FELT SAD AND I FELT LIKE I WANTED TO WRITE THIS AND I WROTE IT IN TEN MINS SO HOPE YOU ENJOY ❤ MWAH

 

 

#POSITIVITEA | #2

#POSITIVITEA

“You are the books you read, the films you watch, the music you listen to, the people you meet, the dreams you have, the conversations you engage in. You are what you take from these.

You are the sound of the ocean, the breath of fresh air, the brightest light and the darkest corner. You are a collective of every experience you have had in your life. You are every single second of every single day. So drown yourself in a sea of knowledge and existence. Let the words run through your veins and let the colours fill your mind until there is nothing left to do but explode. There are no wrong answers. Inspiration is everything. So sit back, relax, and take it all in. Now, go and create something.”

Jac Vanek

LOVE THAT FRIEND.

SessionsLove that friend.

Love the friend who is always there for you, the friend whose name immediately pops into your head when you see something pretty like a sunset or the sea. The one whose face appears in your mind when you read something funny, your fingers immediately itching for your phone so you can send it to them, tell it to them.

Love the friend who you can talk endlessly about, but also not say a word about, because no amount of words in the english language strung together could possibly describe the fondness you have for them. Use their name as a synonym for the word “love”. There is no other word that could come close.

Love the friend that makes you remember who you are deep inside. Appreciate the fact that you don’t have to wear a mask or a cool facade around them- and even when you do, they look at cinderella in her sparkling blue dress and ella in her dirty brown scrubs both the same.

Be grateful for this friend, because you probably don’t talk everyday, but when you finally get talking it’s like you’ve never gone a second without them in your life. Let the snapshots in your mind of the memories you’ve shared all be filled with spirit. Choose a soundtrack to these pictures- is it an inside joke? The music flowing through only one of your ears, because the other earphone is in theirs? Maybe it’s the sound of the bus tyres against the road the morning after morning of traveling to school together.

Thank this friend for always spending time on you.

Strive to be this friend. Strive to be the one that people think about when they read this. Be the friend that’s there for people when they’re happy, so they can share their joy with you- but also be there when they’re sad, so you can reach out and at least try to understand what they’re going through. Be the friend that never drags people down, but instead lifts them up higher higher higher, until their head is skimming the clouds. Be the friend that is constantly showing them the light, but who doesn’t open the windows in the morning at a sleepover because you know they only got 3 hours of sleep the night before.

Love this special person in your life. Be the special person in someone else’s.

WONDERLAND

WONDERLAND

If we were to have thought bubbles above our heads, like they do in cartoons, showing real-life images of what we think “wonderland” is, it’d probably show the same thing. Our minds have been trained to think of wonderland as some kind of warped, magical, pscyhedelic world- just like Alice in wonderland. The bubbles would be filled with blues and pinks and lilacs, spilling from one side to the other. Trees that have limbs, rabbits that speak. Distorted faces and voices that are too high pitched, too loud.

But what really is wonderland?

Maybe you’re a dreamer, and wonderland is a world only you can enter, only you can picture perfectly. Maybe it’s vibrant everywhere you look-  like the Northern lights, colours swirling and scattering across outer space.

Maybe you’re a reader, and wonderland is stacks of books piled sky-high. To your left are all your favourite books, stained from the amount of times you’ve read them, spilt food on them, dropped them in the bath. Spines twisted, dust gathered within the browned pages. To your right are all the books you wish to read and you’re going to read, brand new. Clean, crisp hardback covers, shiny soft paperbacks. And where books aren’t, words are. Words you use, words you know, words you are soon to learn.

Maybe you’re an adventurer, and wonderland is the forest and the trees and the hills. Wonderland smells like snow at the top of the mountains, or soiled leaves. Maybe it smells like mosquito repellent, sunscreen. What does it feel like? The soil beneath the green tent you lay on on that cold November midnight? The ache in your muscles after a five hour hike?

Maybe you’re a homebody, and wonderland is simply the comfort of your own house .  Maybe wonderland feels like getting up at 11am on a Sunday and having no plans. It’s cereal and cold milk, blankets between your toes, lighted candles and empty schedules. It’s lying on the sofa staring at nothing, but thinking about everything. It’s the sound of your sister showering in the other room. Maybe it’s the sun shining through the cracks in the curtains and the smell of a vanilla latte.

Maybe you can’t decide what, or where, wonderland is and you’re excited to find out. Maybe all your life you’ve been searching for it but everywhere you look you can’t seem to find it. You’ve gotten close, so close you could taste it at the tip of your tongue, but somehow managed to let it slip away. Keep looking. Keep finding. One day, you’ll discover your wonderland, and someday, wonderland will become your home.

FAVOURITE TIMES OF THE DAY

A coffee plant can live up to 200 years.

I have two favorite times of the day. Early in the morning, or late at night. There is no in between.

There’s nothing like waking up to a soft alarm and realizing I have a whole day of me, a new start. The sky is clear and bright, and there’s nothing like the scent of morning dew on freshly cut grass. The sliver of light emptying into my bedroom turns everything it touches into gold.

There’s nothing like staying awake later than everybody else.  I have the whole night ahead of me to think and dream. Maybe it’s raining, and I’m lying in bed. The sky is too dark for me to see the rain, but I can hear it. The gentle patter in the night lulls me, pulling me into its warm embrace.

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EXHAUSTION

architecture inspiration

|EXHAUSTION|

It’s 4pm, and the weight of the world has knocked you off your feet and onto the plushy comfort of your living room couch. The drive back is a blur. All you remember is “school was fine” and nibbling half-heartedly on a meatball sub, the sandwich wrapping crinkling beneath your fingers. Lying down on the back seat of the car, head on one side, feet on the other. Toes resting on the window. All you remember is the feeling of the road beneath you, the gentle vibrations the car made as it turned bends and twisted around roundabouts. The feeling of your eyes, as laden as the responsibilities sitting on your shoulders. Shoulders, so heavy. So heavy you’re almost certain there’s someone, something sitting on them, pressing down on you so hard it hurts. All you can think about lying on your couch is how sore your muscles feel from walking too much, or talking too much, saying too much. How your face can finally relax after hours upon hours of speaking, laughing and smiling all day.

“I’m tired” you think- and you are. Maybe that’s why all you want to do is fall into a slumber that lasts all winter. What are you tired of? Perhaps you’re tired of finally having the courage to raise your hand in class, only to have the teacher shut you down while the girl slouching at the back of the classroom snickers at your answer. Tired of trying in PE, because you know your feet stick out when you run and you’re breathless after 10 meters, let alone a kilometer and a half, and no matter how many times someone tells you, you never drop the bat after hitting the ball in T-ball. You’re sick of your friends mocking you and you telling them to stop but laughing at your insecurities is a drug and every time they take a hit laughter escapes their mouths like demons in a pit of fire.

Or maybe you’re tired because you haven’t slept in three days. Maybe the tiredness has just now hit you because you sat at your desk for hours last night. You found out that trying to breathe in information from your textbook like steam will never work because none of it sticks in your head, it just stays hazy in your brain like a layer of fog on a cold night. The tiredness has not only hit you now but yesterday, when you felt dizzy in class and your eyes were wandering and your mind was drifting and your teacher made you stay back for not paying attention. The tiredness was there then, and it was there when you sat under fluorescent lights at 8 in the morning, head in the palms of your hands. Sweater wrapped around you like a blanket. Tiredness was there then.

It’s here now.

So you lie on the couch, brain fuzzy, and dread the moment you have to get up and get back to the reality of all nighters and 6ams, cold pizza for lunch and pencil lead tainting your hands.