As my Ninocha-esque WIP develops and I manage to make it younger with a dash of fun and spoof I remember all the things that I enjoy and have enjoyed throughout my life.
To be alone with my thoughts, to work things out in my head, to create and invent, laugh and declare. To disagree, move on, embrace the new.
I am learning all the time, every day. I am learning to write and re-write, to let go. I am re-learning the thing I love the most – the process. It’s between me and my imagination right now.
Everything I believe in, you don’t.
Everything I respect, you don’t.
All that I love, you say you hate.
Today you walked past me twice.
You did your best to avoid eye contact, staring into your bag.
You have everything, I don’t hate you for that.
What I don’t understand is your resentment of me and mine.
We are no longer friends.
Were we ever?
The End of The Rose
Sound. The birds in the morning are welcoming. The guitar from above. Songs.
Cars. Constant coming and going. Revving. Empty houses and a sudden appearance in the night. Doors slamming.
Noises you don’t hear in a town. Chopping of wood. The river bank sliding. Vans lost, reversing, crunching gears.
Imbalance. No regular noises. Just sporadic bursts. There’s no rhythm of life, no steady beat.