2010

the first

I understood that he was upset. That part I got. What I didn't get was why he was acting that way. Everybody deals with things in their own way, everybody has their own way of sorting things out. I guess I just never expected him to make death threats against me.
But, the thing is, he was fine at first. He didn't seem upset at all. But then all through the night he got angrier and angrier and more violent.
He knew why I did what I did. He knew I couldn't stay with him any longer. And after seeing him like that last night, so angry... I can never look at him the same.



PHOTO CREDIT: ALEX DENNIS

bitter

The funny thing about Ellen was that she was remarkably beautiful but also remarkably unhappy. She'd been miserable since she was just ten years old, and Ellen was now twenty and knew depression like a dear friend. But every now and then she would get that lost look in her eyes, like she was catching a glimpse of what she was missing. Then it would be gone and she was in the dark again, without hope. So she continued to lie, cheat, hurt people and breathe more smoke than oxygen. Then she'd run away, leaving bridges burning and hearts broken.
Ellen never let anybody into her world. She knew they couldn't handle it.




PHOTO CREDIT - CRISTOPHE KUTNER

her name was Natasha

She looked as though she would break if you held her too tightly. Perhaps that's why she avoided contact, shuddering away from my touch as though it was poison. She stayed away from people, laughing it off and saying that she hated everybody. But the truth was that she was scared. She was scared of getting attached to people, scared of falling in love. Scared to death of having her heart broken.
I don't think anybody realised that her heart had been broken for a long, long time. Maybe she didn't even know.



photo credit - miche hart

if you want me

today i feel disenchanted.
maybe it's you. maybe it's being with you.
or maybe it's just me, maybe it's just one of those days.
but today... nothing feels right.
today i feel disenchanted.



photo credit - rae

the memory of rain

It rained for six days straight. The gutters filled with water, gardens turned into swamps and the streets were so flooded that driving home from work was like taking a submarine. The streets never emptied, though. Even in the downpour the people scurried past, in black and grey, heads bowed. Every night, when I lay in my bed with the quilt clutched around me in a desperate attempt to stay warm, I looked out my window at the grey sky. Raindrops made tracks on the dirty glass and I followed them with my eyes. All I could hear was the drumming sound on the roof and the occasional woosh of a car driving through the drowning streets.

But then the rain stopped. I woke one morning to find a weak blue sky staring at me, blearily. There was nothing but the memory of rain on the sidewalk, accompanied by the unmistakeable smell of damp concrete. I walked to work that day. Aside from me, the streets were completely empty.

as of now

i don't know if anybody really understands how precious it is. it's like that feeling you get when the sun hits your back and warms you right through to your chest, like when you shut your eyes for too long and everything is tinted blue. it's as fragile as a necklace made of daisies, or a tiny blue robin's egg. it smells like wet grass in the morning and it tastes like freshly baked bread. but nobody knows how precious it is, not really.
not until it's gone.