It was without warning that we found ourselves in the Grief Islands... Alone. Adrift. Our lives splintered and shattered. We had lost one of our dearest, before his prime. Our lives will never be the same. I am not sure which one of us first washed ashore on the sandy beaches of Pretendland, breathless and vulnerable... But here we are together, and alone, stranded in its complex archipelago trying to see our way back to the mainland.
Friday, 18 September 2015
"It doesn't make it worse," I said. "One doesn't compound the other. Its like two injuries, they will heal independently of each other. Only one of them will never heal completely, it will gnaw and gnash and leave the deepest scars. That one is life-changing, an aching yearning, the other is quiet sadness."
Tuesday, 12 May 2015
To Istanbul with love...
Dear Istanbul, Istanbul canim, our 4 week romance has been all that I desired... And it's been over 28 days since I last cried. And just today, on my last day, at one of my favourite cafes... Whilst I was grappling with my emotions on leaving you and returning home to those I love... You played The Gypsy Kings... It took me straight back to happy Saturday mornings at Anzac Street. Clean washing on the line, the water glinting off the pool, the curtains billowing with fresh ocean breezes and The Gypsy Kings ... The soundtrack of our Saturday housework mornings. And so now in the cafe, they think I'm crying cos I'm leaving Istanbul... But I'm crying to the strains of a song in a language I don't understand. And to the sweet memories of happy days. Of the joys and of the loss. And now anything sung in Spanish makes me think of him.
Dear Istanbul, Istanbul canim, our 4 week romance has been all that I desired... And it's been over 28 days since I last cried. And just today, on my last day, at one of my favourite cafes... Whilst I was grappling with my emotions on leaving you and returning home to those I love... You played The Gypsy Kings... It took me straight back to happy Saturday mornings at Anzac Street. Clean washing on the line, the water glinting off the pool, the curtains billowing with fresh ocean breezes and The Gypsy Kings ... The soundtrack of our Saturday housework mornings. And so now in the cafe, they think I'm crying cos I'm leaving Istanbul... But I'm crying to the strains of a song in a language I don't understand. And to the sweet memories of happy days. Of the joys and of the loss. And now anything sung in Spanish makes me think of him.
Monday, 19 January 2015
This is not the Movies... this is real life.
Its not like in the Movies.
I don’t “see” him in all the places where he used to be...
What I see is all the places where he is not.
I don’t “see” him in all the places where he used to be...
What I see is all the places where he is not.
Monday, 5 January 2015
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