They surface in quiet moments. Starting small, with a spark,
with a glimpse into something else, a flash of mind,
like a blink going the other way, but they build in an exponential
crescendo and soon I’m stopping every minute to take my gloves off
and write something down because the thoughts just keep coming,
and by the time all the dishes are clean, the bubbles have all disappeared
and the water is only on the verge of being warm.
Thinking for the future is often thinking for ‘one day’, and while in some instances it is an extremely beneficial thing to think about, I’ve realised that balance is key. In future thinking, the goal is to have as many days as possible where I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but where I am. We should be making decisions that won’t be to our future’s detriment, but we shouldn’t be trying to make the future happen too fast, which is something that even I have been caught up in. Planning a whole list of projects and starting several all at once is just trying to get too many finished as soon as possible, when I should adopt a one at a time approach.
You are a chapter of significance enclosed in the story of me,
That was the chapter, and
Sometimes I write words and reread them
And struggle to find who wrote them.
Maybe my poems will never be read by you
Because I didn’t write them for you to read.
You are a mystery I will never solve because I am no detective
And I will never perfectly write you
Because you are not the one I am supposed to perfectly write.
You will always be significant,
Because you are teetering on the edge,
You are a question until I stop asking
But I am deciding to let it remain unanswered.
You say we ended
While still in the middle,
But if it’s over
Wasn’t that the end?
We’re in the middle of our lives
The middle of our growth
The middle of our timeline
In the middle of learning both
Who we are with each other and on our own.
I don’t know who I am yet
How can I ever expect to know who you are?
I think I worry about time too much.
Living alongside the rhythmic and repetitious strides
Of the backdrop of humanity
Seems to fill my head with it.
The nonstop tick-tock is locked into my footsteps
Into the beats per minute of my heart
Blinking numbers or the hypnotic swirl
Of hands that spin too fast in the corner of my eye
But not at all when staring them in the face.
Maybe I worry about time too much because
I’m aware of being trapped in it
But I can’t see it to get out.
Silence is more than quiet. Quiet is the sweeping hush of the stars pressing fingers to their lips so the world stops thinking. But silence steals even the most subtle of sounds and fills the air with everything else.
There are different ways a place can hold memories. Sometimes you see them and other times you feel them. It might be just a breath, other times the feeling can consume you. But either way it moves you and either way it’s there.
Sometimes it can be like a waft of familiar perfume that makes your heart skip a beat. Or it’s like you travelled back in time and you’re no longer standing there but surrounded by your past unfolding in front of you. As if your soul escapes your body for a moment and the only thing possible for you to do is stand there and feel it.