Shades of Clarity

This world has too many shades but I long for clarity.

Answers smudge and blur into one another, none standing alone. Emotions coil and swirl, so entwined I cannot know what I feel.

I can’t bear it any longer.

Tell me who to love, and I will love them. There never will be a love like mine again, and it will fade into legend.

Tell me what to feel, and I will burn up with it. I will ignite such a flare that all those that see me will feel the heat.

But do not give me shades. Do not give me choice. Pulled all ways by the brilliant colours of them, I will mix to grey. I will not love one, but try and love all.
Trying to feel everything at once, I will not feel at all.

Just give me clarity, and I will chase it till I can no longer even crawl. Till my coffin slams shut around me.

Give me clarity, and the world will not be able to stop me. And as I slip through its grasping fingers, it will breathe my name in awe.


An Apology

I’ve been lost for a while now.

My life, from the outside, seems pretty amazing. And without a doubt I am more lucky than I can say.

I have a family that fills my heart with so much warmth and joy that I struggle to describe it. We have our issues, but I have so much respect for each and every one of them and I don’t know where I’d be without them.

I have friends that are incredible people. That are always there for me when I need them, and I hope I repay the favour.

My job, though it’s not in an area that I want to get into, is pretty amazing. My boss is someone that treats me like an equal, who has answered all my incessant questions, and has always given me the time off that I need. He even supports my writing.
Not only that, it is right next door to my favourite cafe…

How fortunate can one person get?

And yet, I am lost.

I lack focus. Lack drive. My writing haunts me, and every day that passes without a word leaving my mind, everything gets.. Worse.

I lose myself in stories, because there I am alive. There I feel my body light up with feelings, curl in with pain. There, I feel something.

And though I know that if I wrote every day things would start getting better, still I cannot bring myself to just sit down, and bleed through my keyboard.

Which is why this is the first thing I have posted in close to four months. Which is why these words have stuttered on their way out, and crawled fearful onto the screen.

I apologise for the long silence. I apologise for this post not being what it should be.

But I am also glad that it is written. And I am holding my breath… Holding my breath hoping that this has enough weight to break through the ice that has frozen over my creativity.

Maybe, just maybe, it will begin to flow again.

And if it does I intend to drown myself in it.


From Him

‘Every moment I question whether one truly needs to be alone to find oneself.
I stand naked on the precipice of my mind, a cold and desolate place.
A longing fills my being, I miss her.
She brought a kindness to my life that I had never known. She brought reason and balance to a man that has had neither…
And as I pick up the pieces of my broken self, I hear her voice, I feel her touch.
There are moments where the suns warmth does naught but leave me wanting, waiting, hoping for a heat I now know not. A heat that was once mine, that may never caress my skin or envelop my being again.
In mind, body, and spirit, I wish I was with her.
I love her. I long for her….’


It has been so long since I’ve seen you. At least six months we decide, though our minds and bodies refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe that it has been twice that since we’ve had the familiarity that they keep trying to slip into.

‘Muscle memory, ´ you say, blue eyes soft. I cannot look at them. There is a tilt to your smile, a disbelief in your expression, which I cannot bear.

I never thought I’d see you look at me like that again.

We talk, held in the misty greyness that is dusk beneath the trees, till the sky is bruised into darkness. We talk about everything, share words that we thought would forever be caught in our lungs.

‘I’ve missed this.’ Your words hold two truths, the unspoken one that nothing has changed.

But I am as grey as this dusk, and as unreachable. I watch you with eyes that are heavy with sadness. Talk with words laced with an ache that has long since made my heart its home.

Nothing has changed, yet it has. And I don’t tell you that.

I don’t tell you that last night I broke it off with a man who loves me, even though all he has truly seen are the broken, jagged edges of what you have left behind.

I don’t tell you that I felt the most worthless I have ever felt when I pushed send on the message that brought us here. Or that I felt sick at how my heart thumped in my chest when you replied.

I don’t tell you that the only reason I am here is because I’ve become lost, with no light to guide me. Only your darkness holds familiarity.

And I don’t tell you that I know all too well that it has been a year since I’ve truly held someone. Or that that someone had your blue eyes, had your scar on his shoulder, and bore your chaotic, beautiful soul.

We talk about Alice in Wonderland quotes, and I do not tell you my favourite. We share so much, yet my chest still remembers the gun you pressed to it and the broken look in your eyes as you pulled the trigger. Somewhere, wrapped in the darkness that the bullet left behind, are still a few shreds of me that I cannot bear to let you see.

“Actually, the best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures.”

Because you still think my love was conditional, and I cannot blame you. You still do not see what you meant to me, and that is a good thing.

You saw the conflict I was caught in, between what my family wanted, what logic told me, and how my heart beat. But that was just a battle.

You had won the war when you’d told me you loved me, still half asleep.

When at your friend’s wedding you’d looked at me in such a way that I saw the future take form, brought to life by your expression.

When you’d laid your hand over my heart and promised to protect me, though neither of us knew then that it was your darkness that I would need saving from.

I had no conditions on my love. I was terrified, confused, and overwhelmed. But there were never any bounds on it.

If you’d learnt how to listen, and to ask, I would have spent my life jumping off cliffs with you. And then spent the evenings using all the adventures you’d gifted me to chase my own soul, to weave words onto paper.

That has always been our biggest rift though. Me, bearing too much empathy. You, naked without it. And all compromises sliding my way, with only a few finding themselves on your shoulders.

So I don’t tell you that my writing has lacked imagination since that bullet.
Every spare thread of it has been used, trying to find a way to write you back into my story. Because I cannot accept that your role in it was only ever fleeting. Or that mine in yours has already ended.

You are not a secondary character.

And I am sure as hell not to be replaced.

A Note for My Readers

I have been going through a lot of the pieces that I wrote this last year, rediscovering them and picking out the ones that still call to me. I haven’t had the distance from it all to do it before now. Sometimes I think I still don’t.

But that’s the problem with writing. Rawness requires words to spill from you while you still bleed. And then, when read again, submerges you in all that you thought you’d locked away.

That wasn’t supposed to be the point of this post however.

Instead, I had intended to mention that a theme may take over my blog for a while as I re-work all the pieces that I feel can be saved. The tales of this blog will never be solely of one nature  but I hope you will enjoy each aspect as it shows itself, and bear with me if ever one is lingered on for too long.

Sometimes it takes a while to bleed away the emotions that colour my mind.

My Strength

Sometimes I find I cannot write.

Sometimes it feels as if depression is courting me, offering me a hand that promises stability. An embrace that suggests warmth, comfort, and forgetfulness. Not from melancholy, but from everything else. It brings to mind days in bed. An escape from a world at once breath-taking, and harsh.

Sometimes writing feels as if it is drawing me closer to that depression, to the hand that part of me so desperately wants to surrender to. Because it would be so much easier not to fight against it, every day. Every week. To stop feeling like time, which I was always told would be on my side, is only deepening the wounds.

Sometimes writing is just too hard. Because it means focus. It means thoughts. It means spending time inside my own head, unlike mindless TV shows and terrible movies that do not require presence.

And sometimes I cannot face that.

Which means that, sometimes, I forget that writing is always there for me. That it keeps me sane. That the ink that runs through me weaves me together, ties all the strands of me into a whole. That even if I try to run from it, I’ll always find it within me. Supporting, and strengthening me.

And when I am heavy with memories, bloated with loss, clouded with memories of him? It is words that ease the burden.

It may sometimes feel like they bring depression closer. But by doing so they cast his face in light and show me all that is really behind his guise.

For his hold which appears so comforting, is smothering. Depression clings to those that it claims and shaking him loose is always harder than holding him at bay.

I may be tired of fighting but at least I have a chance to.

At least I have my writing.


Maybe we hold on to our heartbreaks to just feel something.

Maybe we let them back into our lives because beautiful chaos is better than nothing.

Or maybe those are excuses to not let go of something that once meant everything. Of something that still does mean everything, even when it shouldn’t.

Chasing Moonlight


Driving up to an intersection as we are, I tense at his exclamation, searching for the accident about to happen.

It is only when I can see nothing, and I look further afield in confusion, that I understand.

Cradled in the deep blue of a sky still relaxing into night’s embrace, is the moon. Except it’s a moon that we rarely get to see. Massive, and golden. Smug, and content.

“Woah.” Repeating him is the only thing I can think to do.

For a moment, everything is still. The car, our attention, the land. And then headlights remind us where we are, and the car and time begin to move again.

The moon slips behind shrubs lining the road, but I still cannot look away.

Caught in its gaze, we are in a sudden rush. Music is needed and briefly I see a glimpse of his home, thick with greenery in which I can see a dark tail wagging. I grin at the way he cannot help but stop and scratch at his dog’s head, despite the urgency we are feeling.

Then we are back on the road, with no clue as to where we are going. And neither of us care at all, only knowing that the darkness of the open country side is calling.

“I’ll get that moon for you,” he says, glancing sideways at me.

I laugh, joy bubbling through my veins, as golden and precious as the moonlight drawing us away into the night. I almost half-believe his words, as impossible as they are. There is something about him.

But instead of saying anything I reach up to where the sun-roof gapes open, dipping my hands into the cold air that rushes by. Doing so diverts streams of air, sending threads of wind biting into the warmth that the heater is so furiously trying to maintain.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him let go of the steering wheel, knees holding it steady, and his hands join mine. Our fingers weave together. Already numb, I can only feel vestiges of the heat that his skin usually contains.

Nothing can numb this moment though. This isolated pocket of perfect happiness and light, travelling along abandoned roads, cocooned in music.

Chasing moonlight.

The road disappears so easily beneath us, taking all else with it. And though I know I should hold onto reality, I let it go, not even looking back to see it twist and fall to the tarmac.

Right now is a moment I cannot let slip away. I would regret it too much.

Right now, I want nothing else but to be here. Driving nowhere and everywhere with this man, and the moon always just out of reach.

But knowing that he will make it mine.