Life Experience, Writing

Only Me: Part 5

It’s sad really, that you needed to leave.

It’s sad that your heart wasn’t strong enough to stay, that you didn’t have the willpower to fix things, or to open up space in your heart to fit me.

It’s sad that you have felt this for a long time, that you pretended all was well.

It’s sad that you have led a lie for the last few months.

It’s sad that you were not brave enough to face your feelings when you first saw them. It’s sad that you waited for the ‘perfect moment’, as though I was just a pawn in your game.

It’s sad that you think in logistics, not emotions.

It’s sad that you don’t hurt, when you have caused pain to the person you have claimed you care about the most.

It’s sad that your reasons were ‘in my best interests’ and it’s sad that you don’t realise how much better you have made my life since you left.

 

bigstock-Woman-walking-alone-at-sunset-52945624

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Misc.

Daffodils

The sun comes pouring through the window after endless months of hibernation, the wood of the window frame creaking under the warmth. The glass heats up and becomes a sheet of transparent energy as the light glares through, bathing the room in a sumptuous glow of gold. Daffodils, yesterday just green papery buds, today blooming folds of yellow and orange. Gracefully, they dance open and smile at the sunshine, grateful for the heat and the power of the golden ball consuming the sky. Resting amid a tropical blue sky, it cleanses the soul of the emerald earth with its heavenly radiance, bright and shimmering, bringing life along with it. The daffodils sigh as they bathe in the glory of the sun, stretching out to its streaming rays, relishing in the long lost light.

Decorative vases of daffodils

Entertainment, Film

Imaginaaaation

Lately all I’ve wanted to do is write. Be it scripts, stories, paragraphs or whatever, even blog posts every now and then. But mainly fictional. It’s just that I get to the point where my fingers start itching for a pen and paper, or for my laptop and all I want to do is write constantly, literally anything that pours out of my head. But there’s one problem: finding the ideas and pinpointing them. It’s as though in my head I have all these ideas and characters and locations swimming around but they refuse to come to fruition which can get really, really frustrating, lemme tell you. I guess part of it came from a very long and interesting conversation with Sam about what we like to write and what inspires us. Might be wise to join forces.. But anyway, the upshot of it is, I’m sitting here, staring at a blank Word Document, waiting for something to appear on the page as if by magic. I think I’m just too impatient to spend the time writing…hm.