There are always those times where my hands are not able to reach out and touch you. I want to but I just can't quite seem to do it. I'm not sure if it's the voices I hear outside my window. They are having their own conversations attempting to make right of what is. Or if it's something more than this. It's always something more than this. The flowers are covering everything in a way which I like. The colours are so vibrant and I pick off the leaves and throw them out of the window one by one. I'm letting go of times gone by in hopes that you will come back to me and take me away from this place. I'm always letting go. I wait in hope that one day it will come where I can do this for myself. Waiting is so painful and takes me on this journey into the abyss where everyone we know is talking to each other in that language we both like. It's the language that makes no sense to others. The one that we made up when we were 5 and use to hide under my bed hoping no one would find us. My mum would shout and try to make us do things we no longer wanted to do like obsessively clean things that did not need cleaning. Fun was not in her vocabulary neither was relaxing. I like the way we rebelled as though we were somehow different and above this world. We have always been different and that's what I like the most about you. My fingers touch that scar which I love. I have to check to see if it's still there everyday. If it ever went away I'm not sure what I would do. But that's the beauty of scars they may fade but will never leave us. Bigger and better things are coming our way and we sit and wait whilst sipping tea. Sssh let's pretend we are not here and count the stains that are covering my window.
It appears these things have seen better days like that old teddy bear that ended up in the wash and lost his eye. I prefer him that way. It gives him character like that scar on my leg that's fading as each day passes. I like the marks and things that appear as we enter different stages of our lives. It’s like my stories are written on my skin and only those who are close are in the know. I like secrets. The harmless ones that at are not for everyone. The ones that are for us to keep and to show each other under the covers when night falls. But I can't seem to wake you these days. No matter what I do. You are walking around in a some sort of deep sleep and there is nothing I can do to save the mess that has been created. And so I drift into memories of the D and T cupboard at primary school and remember how time just stopped when I was in there. Rummaging around in all the boxes and realising that nothing else mattered. The peaceful safety of my own world. Its filled with pipe cleaners, empty tubes and old cardboard boxes that were patiently waiting, ready to be transformed into something new. I will transform them in my dreams also. Hoping to reach you there and bring you back to where we belong. I hear the water running and I prepare to jump in. I'll wait for you there in my old bath tub until I'm old and wrinkly. But I'm scared you will never come back to me. But I will call your name and wait...
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.