Thursday, 5 November 2015


She's a young summer and a bright winter and the breeze that flows between. She's a candy floss will and a molten heart. She's a firefly.

She’s a short burst of hard laughter, the rock lead in a jazz ballad. She has aces in her eyes and a story up her sleeve. She is hard talk and small talk and no talk at all. She's a long night at a packed bar, a short flight next morning. She’s a welcome contradiction.

She’s soft cheer and sure grace. She pulls off a gown and a frown with the easiest of ease. She sways to no music, makes you swoon to her tune, she swings like no one’s watching. She dresses up and dresses down, and stuns you every time. She sports mascara but never a mask. She wears no airs.

She’s the darkest heaven and the brightest hell. She flits through time, without a thing to prove, like warm poetry on a trapeze. She leads firms, and lays terms, and takes what’s coming to her. She runs the show. She runs as deep as still waters go. She should run for president.

She’ll sting you with her honesty and nurse you with her presence. She knows no compulsion and only says what she means. She’ll flood you with answers and still leave you guessing. She walks like a tiger and runs like a child. She's pure fire and raw rain, her mind holds no regret. She’s the flicker of the filament of a bright yellow bulb. She is tungsten.

Wednesday, 20 May 2015

The End

At the end of this life, you will have laughed and loved, hurt and hated, fought and failed, won and waited. You will have tried and tested, cried and coped, dreamt, denied, helped and hoped. You will be learned and lonesome, wistful and wise, calm and clueless, it'll show in your eyes. You will have been anxious and affectionate, firm and furious, interesting, insecure, conscientious, curious. You will be a lot and a little you won't, you will have taken far more than you thought you could give, you will be tired but find yourself grateful, for every day you were lucky enough to live.

Tuesday, 21 April 2015


I sit here among you. I sit here with a drink in my hand and the odd smirk on my lips. You might think I'm a dreamer. You might believe I'm a schemer. But the truth, God's honest version of it, is I couldn't care less. I don't care for small talk and long winded conversations of no comprehensible consequence. I don't care who you are, what you've done and where you're from. I don't care for what you have to say. It's not that I despise you. It might appear to be the case, but I'm not judging you. No, that's unfair, because I don't know you. I don't despise you. It's just that I don't want to know you. You must be interesting. You must have some joke, anecdote or achievement up your sleeve, raring to unleash itself upon an eager audience. But, I will spare my ears the trouble and spare you an audience. I'm closing myself as the evening wears on. And I quite like how that feels.

Wednesday, 11 February 2015


You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love. I watch you smile, I see you playing with your hair, I observe you listening pensively, your chin on your palm, disinterested in what you hear but nodding in acknowledgment nonetheless, then spontaneously breaking into a laugh that places you right back in the thick of it all. I look at your hand, the hand I held a few minutes ago. I remember your touch.

And, as I gaze into you and turn away when your eyes meet mine, as I seek you out through panes of stained glass even though nothing obstructs my view, I find words. I'm at the cusp. I run the back of my finger against the brick wall to pause for a second. I want this to be real. I want my words to be true. I pause for a second second when I recall your name has much to do with the truth. I utter your name in silence, you can't see me grin after, and realise the hour is right. I'm at the cusp. No, we're at the cusp. Between a love immortal and one that never existed. Walking the thin line between hope and its lessness. I know lessness isn't an actual word but there's no reason it shouldn't be. We're on the verge of something extraordinary every single moment we're together, this one included. And in this moment, you and I are standing at the threshold of our futures. I believe they're intertwined, like our fingers are used to being

Why did I leave that table? Sitting across you, inches apart, your feet occasionally brushing mine, I didn't have to. Conversations are a distraction, especially when the only thing on your mind is the only thing you want to talk about. Instinctively, I stood up, polished the last of my wine and stepped out. It wasn't the cigarette alone that drew me away. There would be another. It wasn't the cigarettes alone. I wanted to numb the noise, blur the whirl, and find some focus. And, I did. I lit up, looked up, and there you were. You and the candle, only. I wondered which one was illuminating the other. You threw me inspiration, I caught it. Each time the thin white haze cleared, I saw you. I see you. The way I've always seen you. You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love.