It rained.

 Today I wanted to write.

  About how gentle rain felt on my hands at 5am this morning.
  How beautiful having a bubble bath was after 4years of only showering.
  How refreshing mint was in iced water after a run.
  How clear the air was when I brought in the washing.
  How a bitter black coffee felt like re-awakening.
  How waffle duvet covers make a nap that more pleasurable..

So many tangible moments. And yet writing cannot explain. Feeling means everything.

Lifetimes of wishes.

I would dearly love to collect up my lifetime of wishes in a bundle. Relics of hopes and dreams.. confirming the ones that were realized.

I think a great many of these wishes of mine came to fruition. The ones crumpled in chubby hands, of barbies and fairy bread and Polly Pocket's friendship. Simple and pure.

Sometimes I would write them on patterned paper, and hide them under my pillow. I have tied them with string and buried them under trees. We have etched them in wax and burnt them as candles.

Broken wishbones, christmas crackers and whispered requests to worry dolls.

No matter the way, nor the reason, I have managed to have much success in my wishmaking. Maybe it comes with a faith in the world. Maybe we must be the other half in our quest for dreams. Maybe those people we have loved and lost in the past now provide for our future. Or perhaps.. fairies really do exist.

I believe the answer to wishes is this..

If it has not come true, it was best that it didn't. Trust in that.

And don't put wishing aside as you grow older, as this is the time we need it most.

The light in your thoughts sometimes spills into the real world. Or sometimes the light of the world creeps into your thoughts.

Sharing sand.

If the sand between your toes feels right, then run and skip and laugh and jump.

If its more at home in your hands and your hair, then roll and gather it to take with you as a reminder of what it is to be part of the earth around you.

Scattering.

It rained today so I sat on the floor and created a small world around me.

Like a nest I padded it with things I love, teacups and ribbons, old books and erratic jewels.

Littered around me amongst scraps of fabric and discarded pencils, lay thoughts that broke on arrival.

They scampered from view and took shelter behind crumpled paper and extra thread that went astray.

I don't blame them really, a mess such as a busy mind is something to escape from at any rate.

Next time I'll trap each thought in a notepad, as the title for a list.

That'll show 'em.

Pitter Patter.

The sun I awoke to, laughed at my joy. It's warmth tickled my nose, like a loving graze it played. But to teach me a lesson, it scampered with a giggle. It hid behind trees, it hid behind the hanging washing, it hid behind the sky itself.

I played hide and seek with this child called the sun. It's peeking so taunting. It's bright stare brushing my face.

And like a child worn out with such fun and games, it faded and left me, morning just begun. But as we learn from the little one's in our life, beauty is not just bright light and sun's glow. It is also in the grey days, and such dire weather brings beauty too.

Sugar coated.

Give me your bad day.

That way I can roll it in hundreds and thousands and dust it with sugar. I can prepare a box covered with shimmering paper. I'll lay it in a bed of petals and gently cover in with tissue paper.

Lets make your horrid day a nice one. Because it's not in charge. And nothing can resist joy when wrapped in sweetness.

Spacial understanding.

Around me are clouds. They waft with breezes unseen, sometimes lurking in a wreath around my head. Sometimes swathing my shoulders like a shawl. Sometimes drifting in through my ears and creating a storm within.

Wondering Wandering.

A day completed.

Confucious.

I like to speak to myself in my thoughts. As a child I often wondered in what accent this conversation takes place. If different education levels change the way in which we spoke to our mind. If the language in our heads is universal or subject to what we speak outwardly. If a microphone were connected to my thoughts, ramblings several voices thick would burst forth, on seperate journeys to different conclusions. And I most certainly would be surprised to learn the things I was thinking as most of the time I struggle to keep track of it all.

I like to create stories too indepth and detailed to be expressed past the medium of thought, in order to try and keep as much of my brain busy as possible. To try desperately to guide it in one uniform direction. but distraction flashes it's wild colour and excitable possibilities and through the window goes that concentration, along with the memory of what I was busy concocting. Woe is me.

Confucious states the mind is your temple, the highest part of the body that makes the hardest problems simple - Black monks

Darn you and your structured mind Confucious.

Rediscovery.

The words came back. They'd hidden behind a wild mind, who was quite content hiding behind the thin veil of forgetfulness.

But once again my thought spills past consciousness to a brightly lit reality. Accidently maybe? Well maybe not wholly by accident but maybe not with full will and purpose.

So noted, ever so slightly tinged with doubt.. I have returned to this diary of sorts. To exist again.

A letter to nobody.

You see through my basics. An eye that's uninhibited, perusing a naked soul.

You steal from me my words. They're held tightly in your smile. Obliterating my vocabulary with every glance at it's perfection.

You spin my heart in circles. Dancing with it tenderly, adhering your step to it's every beat.

You share with me a secret. I know not it's meaning but it's wrapped in simple paper and I keep it hidden behind my shoulder.

You stroke my nervous mind to silence. Soft is the movement, soothing fears and extracting the confusion from worry.

You are the core of the question. Emanating new wonder with your existence and stirring dormant mind and enthusing a sleeping adventure.

You are not anyone nor someone. You are a weakness. You are a strength. You belong to no-one, and yet, with your presence, are everything.

A Year of Other.

Wasting days in a cloak of grey. Wire heartbeat of my mattress, revisited in it's solemn state. Fine mists of uncertainty envelop feeble minds and choke them of thought that extends past the moment. The choking grey that inhibits futures and dares one to stay in a state of pause, of silence, of boredom.

Terrifying is the looming imprisonment of mind in this dusty cage. A prison with no solidity to it's walls, only a block on choice and a haze where dreams once explored. The present attacks dreams of futures brightly woven, wraps them in silencing webs. Sitting in the clouds a mile above the world, phases into being encased in a cocoon of cloud, barely suspended over the carpet of a quiet room.

Days of pain weaken the defence. Weaken the force of imagination. Weaken the smile that follows the excitement of possibility, until only the ghost of happiness tickles lightly the cloaked senses.

Delivered.

Letter to the world as it was today.
My mind took a photograph, one of a moment clear. When memory may grow fuzzy, that feeling sparked in a moment may suddenly re-appear. As a flash it will return, I knew that in the very second, but in the photograph I must keep it, as time passes and delivers lessons from which I must truly learn.

In that second, that still frame of a time of life, question did not haunt eyes. There was no sign of a heart half hidden by scars of strife. Innocence was the only plague in such a picture.. sickly in its sweetness and invisible in it's shield. Delicious light, delight was all that came from the cries.

A smile can dance in its memory.. and yet it delivers much hurt. Fingers trace lips, feeling for words unsaid, the braille of dreams lost, smooth happiness tainted with dirt. The pull of the image.. the thoughts it inspires. To regret is not worthwhile. To be bitter is to betray the moment's smile. To feel sadness is to feed angers fire.

Thankyou's are all I have for this photograph. To lose them, is to give up the now.. Which is the next memory to be captured.. To thank only, is my solemn vow.

:)

Short 3am Thought.

There's a monster in my pocket, a hum of life sits in my ear. The chocolate has run out and snuggly jumpers line my suitcase. Inspiration may be lacking in force and yet at 3 in the morning a pull towards words leaves certain thoughts aching.

There are questions parading, constant in their hunt for attention. Trivial, I think. Ridiculous, I think. And yet they gnaw with their little fangs, nipping at braincells and stirring an exhausted mind. Questions of where to, of when. Of what now and of how. Of colours I need, creations unstable in their image just yet, plans not yet made, commitments to be faced.

There is quiet on the outside, cacophony within.

Quiet today.

Today the world began again. For me it began earlier than usual. The hint of sunlight decided for me the start of my days consciousness. Stinging eyes and peace of mind.. electric blanket and still air. The inexpressible comfort of a wakening to a day you owe to no-one.

I thought of clouds, their state of contradictory constance. I thought of my Mum and her love for the world. I thought of the smell of vanilla and apple, frangipani and lavender, how summer hides behind veils of sky and is as cheeky within itself as the mischief that it brings.

Music lifted me from blankets. Delicious tones and infectious smooth. Music like velvet cold and satin ice. It was with tranquil thought I rose to my day of nothingness.

I long for purpose to the day that involves not doctor visits or the awaiting of progression. For pain to cease. For the day that I can inform you that I am in fact just me and not a head clouded with ache and invisible ouch.

It will come. But this is the world today. And tomorrow, no doubt, it will begin again.