Blissful-Day-Dreamer

People always ask questions they don't really want to know the answer to; questions like 'how much is this?', 'do you really love me?', 'have you read the terms and conditions?' and the Big One. People are always asking things they don't want a real answer for, honesty is a highly prized commodity so long as no one's dealing in it; everyone is totally convinced they can live in a continued state of denial so long as there's an unspoken agreement that nobody digs past the surface of the issue. Chances are you'll hear the Big One half a dozen times a day, unless you're agoraphobic or a hermit. And almost every single time you'll answer with a

Dear Missing, I know I haven't written in a while, but I just thought I should let you know... That there's something I don't know that either of us ever realised about what we are, or were. (Or what we assumed we were at a dozen points in time.) You've changed from the person you were, the person I knew intimately, without ever being a part of you. You're more You, than you used to be; but you're still the You you were. It's confusing. And it hurts, or at least it hurts me because what are we? What happened to us being no more than what we wanted, to something that no longer exists except in my memory, because you've probably forgotten. I

It twists and twines; enraptured and repulsed by its own measure Thick and thin it spirals, never ending. Not noticing the blush that stains like a rose's scarlet skirt or the tattoo that bleeds out from a set of nervous fingers. It descends on those unsuspecting Sweeping forward to embrace; like a wave to the shore. Outlasting or outcasting from the grammar of convention existing in a world, regardless of day's fading glow. Nameless in contention, but voiceless in rejection defining the interaction of the flower with the bee. A silver silence or the golden moment it is broken the movement remains a tango of corruption. Sedu

They trickled down the window pane, and were deposited safely in an ever growing puddle on the sill. The little pieces of the pain given understandable form, created only so often as to replace the one that had finished the run. Simple tears. They caught and refracted the flickering light shed by the candle, the only source of light in the room. It seemed easier for her to deal with the pain, when she couldn't catch sight of herself in a mirror, couldn't increase the well of self pity she was drowning in. When she didn't have to face the light, the long nights seemed easier. So caught was she within the depths, that the press of cold glass o

Those that visit that distant shimmer over the horizon call it the 'city of desires'; place where dreams are said to be realised and then forgotten, between one moment and the next. Those that inhabit a city where towers scrape the sky, and all is edged in precious metals, inlaid with semi-precious stones, call it the 'city where dreams come to die'. It is said that no man has walked the streets and left with all that he came with. A select few can enter the walls and remain past those moments, free from the seductive song that seems to sweep along the alleyways, and byways that cross the City of Memory.

One thousand, ninety-five and three-quarter days. Thirty-six months. Three years. That was how long it had taken to get a degree. It was how long it took to realise that the place you grow up in, is possible to grow out of. It was about thirty-six and a half times longer than the probationary period with International Affairs. It was the amount of time since we'd shared more than a simple conversation. It marked time where I pushed you to a place in the back of my mind so I wouldn't have to remember you in the middle of the night. It was the space of time since I'd last promised myself I would cry. I was happy. It wasn't just a superfic

She watched from the door way as the car pulled out from the curb, and drove down the street before it disappeared around the corner. It had been awkward, but she supposed things like that always were. But it was the first step. *   They offered each other small smiles. Small, fragile smiles offered from one fractured heart to the other. Uncomfortable hellos, which were often left to confused interpretation when they met. They weren't them any more, but neither really thought they would be what they were after it all. One didn't want the other, whilst the other wasn't sure what they wanted. But it was the second step. *  &#

Dear Almost Perfect, Don't know why I'm writing to you again other than I needed to talk to you... I guess you could say that I miss you. But at the same time I really don't. I hate knowing that after everything we're not going to see each other any more, because we both want to forget. Don't we? I guess it's "Life's Lesson". I found something today that reminded me of you. Hated that you were the first thing I thought of though. Has anyone told you that you're addicting? The perfect combination of sounds. You made the flaws disappear into something that was almost tangible. I know you said that you weren't perfect but being human means you

It was a full moon in an almost cloudless sky, the occasional wisp would dash across the full face like a veil, or a badly hidden smirk. The city was dark. The street lamps were extinguished at 12 am, leaving the few lurking earthly shadows only the moon as illumination on the auspicious night. One night a week they were given to wander the ruined city, it's once immense skyscrapers half collapsed from the bombs. For those that hadn't been unlucky or lucky, depending on who was asked, to be caught in the radiation this night was called the Night of the Fallen. In the underground circles it was called Hellion. I called it a night on the town.