Writing is my release, my escape...It helps me get through tough times or work through feelings and thoughts that may be a bit too crowded in my head. I've been writing on and off since I was at school, but these are my favourite pieces. A few of them were written when I broke up with my ex partner of seven years, some are about Julie, some are experiences I've had, some were written specifically for or about Daniel and the rest are thoughts I've had in my head that just needed to come out to make sense...And of course, some are just plain old make believe!
Feel free to sift through them or breeze on by if it's not your cup of tea!

I feel cold. I feel sick. I am tired. I can't think. I can't see. I am numb. I'm stumbling around in a daze, thinking that this must be the ultimate nightmare. But I'm awake. Too awake. I need sleep. I need clarity. I need sanity. I need peace. I need tranquilty. I need you. I'm like this because you are making me. I don't know what the outcome will be. I'm dreading it actually. It's a funny feeling to know where you've come from, but have no idea in which direction you're heading. I've always been told about forks in roads...Never saw one until recently. Thought there was only one direction my life would take. But no, you had to come and put the fork in the road. I'm glad you did though. Wouldn't change anything for anything. So here I am standing in this void, looking at this fork and trying so hard to decide which direction to take. Along one path is dark, along the other is light. Along one path is happiness, along the other is bleak. Along one path is my future, my destiny, along the other is a waste, barren...The thing is I don't know which path holds what. The light path could hold the bleak, barren waste and the dark path could hold my happiness, my destiny, my future. I'm looking hard...But like I said I can't see. So I'm forced to sit here and think until I can see. I don't know how long it will take. I don't know if you will be there when I arrive. I don't know if you will even bother to wait. Do you hate me now? Have I caused you pain? My guess is I have...And I'm sorry. I'm sitting here. I'm waiting to see. I'm waiting for you. I'm waiting to find me. I hope slumber comes tonight...And I hope it brings with it clarity, sanity, peace, tranquility and you. I'm going crazy...I'm closing my eyes...

I had a friend come to me once and tell me that they were in love with two people. I didn't understand. How could I when my heart had belonged to only one for so very long. I always thought that once you had given someone your heart to have and to hold, you could never find someone else to feel the same. It was always only one.

So what do you do when you have two people in your life that you want to give your heart to? What determines who gets what time of yours? What determines who gets more of your heart? What determines what time is spent with what person? So many questions...I guess I could go on for hours. It seems really unfair, doesn't it, to have to choose between two people who obviously mean so much to one heart.

How do you choose? I ask because, ultimately, you will have to choose. It would be an impossibilty to be able to love two people so much for a lifetime wouldn't it? Who do you choose? Why do you choose? All I can say to my friend now is, I don't envy you. But you have to choose who to give your heart to and who to set free. Ultimately you are going to hurt someone that you care deeply about. Your heart didn't choose to fall in love for nothing.

And I know you love them both. But you're not being fair. You're not being fair to you by loving two people and putting your heart through all this turmoil. And mostly you're not being fair to the two people you love...Because by giving them each half of your heart, you cannot possibly love either fully.

No one ever thinks about their insides. We all worry about our outsides and what they feel like and what they look like, but no one ever takes time out to wonder about what their insides are feeling. I'm not talking about all the gooey stuff like blood and guts and major organs...Well, actually, maybe two major organs...The two that are the most important. The heart and the brain. It seems that everyone just takes them for granted. Sometimes we will sit and worry about how our insides are feeling, but if we're doing that, it's usually too late and they're already suffering from some kind of conflict, some kind of pain...Some kind of something...
It seems that by the time we realise that things are not going our way, our insides are screaming out for us to listen and then they go into meltdown when we want them to work and we haven't dealt with what caused the problem in the first place.
I really don't know what I'm trying to say here...I'm just trying to get across to you that your heart and your brain can only do so much before it has to just stop...A life time of trouble, trauma, neglect and unhappiness has to be dealt with sometime or another and you just can't expect to keep piling up the bad stuff and expecting the good stuff to work. How can it possibly have a chance...When you think about it. But that's really the problem isn't it? Things creep up on you really quickly. You may not realise but the little things actually build up into big stuff...It's like a big pile of lint in the back of your dryer...Just keeps getting bigger and bigger until you take the little catcher out and empty the lint into the bin. I'm just saying: Take a look at your outsides...Look into the mirror and look into your eyes...When you look into your eyes, go further...Look into your mind..They say that your eyes are the windows to your soul, so take advantage of that. If your eyes don't carry the sparkly shine that your used to, have a look in your heart...Take care of it, because it's the only one you get...Once you break your heart, or it gets broken, sure you can repair it, but it's not the original is it? Doesn't that make you want to take better care of it? Take care of you. Treat yourselves as you would someone else...Listen to you, and if you hear you crying out for help...Help you. Cos once you lose your heart and your mind, you're nothing...Nothing but a hollow shell wandering aimlessly...

Hundreds of them were pasted to her arm. Some of them were flying on the breeze. Some of them were still wet. Some were dry. They were all pale. The wet ones were separated and glistening and as she moved her arm away to swat away her tears and shade her eyes from the sunlight, they fell softly down her back. The dry ones had a mind of their own. They lashed angrily at her face, knotting and curling the only way they could when they were free, unfastened. She didn't care. There was too much on her mind to worry about her hair. Her hair reminded her of her mind. Some of it heavy and remaining motionless, wanting to become light and free, yet having to wait for the wind to dry it out and give it it's freedom. The rest was wild and moving freely, randomly, wildly. Knotting angrily, curling partly, frizzing willingly. It was out of control. The wind wasn't helping. She couldn't control the wind any more than she could control her hair. "How funny," she thought "that my hair should be as messy as my mind. You would think that I could have control over something." It wasn't to be. As she stood up, the wind took control of her hair, pushing it across her face and blinding her temporarily. She gathered it up in her hands, feeling the tendrils cool and soft between her fingers. She wound it round her hand and fastened it in a bun atop her head. Refusing to accept it's newly bound look, a few strands found their way loose and streamed out behind her as she began to walk. She reached behind her head and grimaced as she scraped her hair up and wrapped it back into the bun. She carried on walking, her head down, eyes on the road in front of her, hair secure and trapped on top of her head. Her mind stirred, then began to wander...Something it hadn't done in a long time. She lifted her face and the sun shone warmly onto it, her eyes sparkled and were ready to meet the world again. A smile began to tug at her lips and threatened to break through. Her mind began to whir and thoughts raced and ran and danced like they hadn't in what seemed an eternity. Her steps grew lighter, her smile got wider, her eyes shone. As she began to run, she reached up and freed her mane of hair. It fell around her and as she picked up momentum it flew behind her, knotting, dancing, playing. A tendril, still damp, blew across her face. She didn't reach up to brush it away. She let it be. Her hair couldn't be contained. It needed to be free...Just like her mind, which had been bound and trapped for so long and was now coming to life. She spun around, her hair fanning around her. She felt good. She walked on, one cool, soft tendril curled around her finger. She was ready...Just ready...

She'd long ago lost track of time. It was as if it had stopped and resigned itself to playing over and over. She had forgotten how long she had been walking. The monotony of placing one foot in front of the other had become as essential as breathing, for if she didn't keep walking, she would surely die. She didn't remember anything. Not her birth, not her parents. She had no clue of where she came or why she was not there now. Her memory failed her. She stopped, exhausted, and fell to the ground. Her head was the last to meet the cold, hard earth, but she did not care. She could not remember the last time she savoured a morsel of food. It had been too long ago. She had found a small stream a few days ago and had drunk the cool liquid from it, hastily, greedily. She had felt sick, but knew she needed it to keep her going. So she forced more into her gullet and stopped only when she was sated. Now she wished she had just laid by the stream and let fate do as it would. But she hadn't and somehow knew she must keep going.
Delirium had come and gone. Mirages had played tricks on her mind. Nightmares had woken her from slumber. She accepted it all and kept in the back of her mind that she was headed somewhere. To where, she did not know, but it was moving her, driving her, pushing her. Who was she to ignore it? She pulled herself up, her head beginning to ache. She touched her fingers to her temple and as she pulled them away, noticed the blood. A small bruise began to form as she threw the jagged rock that she had unknowingly hit her head on as far as her weakened state would let her. She pulled herself to her feet. They were unstable, seemingly only just able to hold her weight. Falteringly she started out again. One foot in front of the other. She would stop soon. The sun had set and night was enveloping the world once again. When she could see no longer, she would rest. She pushed on. Minutes melded into each other until darkness was all around her. A broken tree branch blocked her path. She stumbled and fell over a piece of the fallen log and hit her head once again. She fought unconsciousness, but it took her and carried her away. There she lay...Unknowing...

The sun was rising. Time had moved on without her. She had not moved from the postion she had landed in the night before. The fresh smell of pine and jasmine began to fill the air, teasing her senses, beckoning her to wake. She stirred but slept on, the drowsiness refusing to leave her. She was a small girl, not only in stature, but in build. She had many growing years to come as she only looked to be thirteen or fourteen years old, definitely no more than fifteen. Time would tell how tall she would be and how muscular her frame would become. For now she would remain thin, wiry, a child. She stirred again, this time reaching up to feel the lump on her head. She winced and tried to pull her hand away from her head. Her fingers got caught in her hair. Her pale golden curls which fell to her waist had been matted and tangled. Leaves, twigs and bark were scattered throughout. Her face was dirty and scratched, but sweet. Her eyes, closed, were framed by arched eyebrows and long, dark lashes. Her small straight nose was smattered with freckles and her full mouth gaped to show perfectly straight white teeth. Her body was covered in bruises and scratches. Although she looked frail, she could not be, for she would have had to have been strong to come this far. She wasn't pale or fair, nor did she have olive skin. Her skin was healthy, tanned, unblemished except for the superficial wounds which would heal. She wore a tan suede singlet with a laced up bodice and a pair of tight tan suede pants. On her feet she wore a pair of black leather boots that laced up to her calves, the silver eyelets winking in the morning sunlight. This was no beggar child, for if she were she would have been dressed less expensively in mismatched clothing and worn, scuffed shoes. This girl had come come from somewhere of importance, somewhere of notoriety. One piece of jewellery adorned her body. On the middle finger of her right hand she wore a thick silver band with a garnet stone embedded deeply in the metal. Her name was engraved on the inside of the ring, but only her given name...Bijou, meaning "jewel". Slowly she woke, revealing emerald coloured eyes. She blinked, sat up and raked her fingers through her knotted hair. Feeling groggy, she balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes. Still not quite right, she shook her head. She saw black and then stars popped and flew all around her. She remembered...Her head. A dull headache presented itself. She got to her feet and started to move. She had to find someone, or somewhere, soon. She was hungry and tired and sore. She wanted to feel a warm blanket around her shoulders, a soft mattress beneath her body and lay her aching head on a pillow. When she had slept a million years, eaten her fill and quenched her thirst, then she would begin to ask questions. Someone would have to know something about her. Onwards she walked, stepping over rocks and fallen trees, pushing branches and leaves out of her face, tripping, stumbling, staggering, wandering. And then there was no more. After what seemed forever, she was no longer in the forest. She stood on the edge of a clearing. In the distance she could see a building. What it was, she didn't know, didn't care. Atop the building, all alone, sat a gargoyle, watching his world. Finally she had found somewhere. The stillness of the air carried voices to her. People...Life. Not knowing what lay ahead she took a breath and began to run...

Funny the way words roll off the tongue so easily yet never know the damage they can do. Broken down, they’re nothing but letters. String them together and they can form the most powerful ammunition your world has seen. And they aim straight for the heart.

I’d changed, he said. Tears sprang to my eyes, for little did he know that I hadn’t changed at all. I was just me….But without the mask I had been wearing for so many years. But how did I tell him that? I couldn’t with out shattering his world. He believed he knew me, yet really he knew nothing. He might know the little things, like my favourite colour or my favourite take away food…But he didn’t know what I was feeling inside, what made me tick and drove me. I hid that from him, because I was afraid he wouldn’t like what he saw.

He stood staring at a photo of us taken years ago. A sad look came over his face. “All these years you’ve wanted me to love you and now that I do, you’re breaking my heart.” That’s what he said. I was breaking his heart. He had admitted to me that he hadn’t loved me for the whole time we were together, yet I was breaking his heart. My world fell down. I stood there biting my lip and trying to hold myself together. But I was breaking his heart. It made sense to him though.

I could have killed him with my words…Could have done so much to hurt him, but I spared him his life, because I cared too much to use my ammunition. Yet his just seemed to come so easily, without so much as a raised voice or an angry tone, he had put a bullet straight through my heart.

He could have hurt me physically. He could have smashed his fist against my face and broken bones, left me bruised and bleeding. It probably would have been easier. For those words that day cut me like a knife, hit me like a speeding train, gutted me completely, left me stripped naked and waiting to die. I wish he had have hurt me physically. At least I could have recovered…The bruises would have healed and went away…Those words will stay with me forever…Haunting me and torturing me for eternity

I could have very easily gone back. The amount of time we had spent together had made us extremely close. Closer than I’d ever imagined. I’d never felt a closeness like that before with a member of the opposite sex. It was new, and it was exciting, but most of all it was comfortable…Like it was meant to be that way and never any other. I could have easily gone back for that reason alone.

He was my best friend. I had never found a friend to take the position of closest confidant and all around best friend. He came the closest. I suppose that’s what happens when you stop telling every little thing to your best girl friend and transfer that to your boy friend. They become your all, your every thing. He was that. I felt like I could tell him anything, and he would listen. Never judge, always be there.

We had fun. Whether it be hanging out together and watching TV or it was travelling half way around the country, it was fun. Always a joke to be told, or a giggle to be had. Yeah, sure, there were the fights and the arguments and the tears, but they were never in competition with the good times. Always so many more good times than bad…Just the way I liked it.

He become all encompassing. Soon, I found myself dependant on him for everything. If he was happy, I was happy, if he was sad, I was sad. If he was angry, I was angry. It was scary, overwhelming, all consuming. But I drowned myself in him because I loved him the way I did. With everything that I had, with every ounce of me.

I trusted him. I believed in him. I wanted the best for him. I encouraged him. I could see myself with him forever. I would look at him and see my future. He held my heart in his hands, like someone would a tea cup. There was no other way, for he was a part of me. Inextricably, always a part of me. Forever more.

Little did I know that my adoration was never fully accepted. It was taken, yes, but never reciprocated. It was never fully appreciated, but he took it anyways. It was never returned. Always taken though. I was too blind to see that. I always knew that he was mine. He wasn’t going anywhere. We were forever together. And I never saw that he was taking, but never giving. He took too much though. I know that now. He took so much that now I fear I have nothing left to give.

All that once shimmered has now faded. Once something that was so bright and new is now but a tarnished and ravaged remnant. I got tired. Tired of giving and never receiving. Tired of trying to give my emotions to feed someone else’s lacking. The distance between us had grown while I wasn’t watching and the price to pay was us falling apart. And that we did.

Now it’s all been reversed. He gives, but doesn’t receive. That frustrates him. He wants, but cannot have, and it angers him. He promises, but I cannot believe. Because of the past that he laid for himself that has now come back to haunt. The broken promises lay as a reminder to him. The giving is shoved in his face and mocks him. The wanting turns to heartache that bitters him. And I can only watch, with pity.

I could have gone back very easily. He was something that I had known for such a long time. Something that was comfortable and easy…Like that favourite chair you slide into at the end of a hard day. You know all the lumpy bits to avoid and all the comfy bits to sink into. He was my favourite chair…Everything I had ever known. It would have been simple, to slip back into the old routine.

But I can’t. I want something new. I want to receive as well as give. Prop and reassure as well as fall and be comforted. I need that. I can have that. I know I can. I deserve it for a change. I’m so tired, and I want to rest. I want things to be easy again, like they were so many summers ago. I want to laugh and joke and giggle. I want my happiness. And I will find it.

They say there’s always two sides to a coin…The tarnished and the shiny. I’ve lived the tarnished, now I’m looking for the shiny.

The only time I see her now is in my dreams. Sometimes they come frequently, sometimes the drought seems so long I forget her face. Occasionally they are happy dreams, but mostly they are nightmares. But I am happy with my nightmares…Because at least I get to see her again.

It’s funny the things we take for granted. I took her for granted. I thought I would have her in my life forever…To hear her voice, see her face, touch her hand…But it was all taken away in the blink of an eye. And I can’t do anything to change that. So I am grateful for my dreams.

It started out like any other dream last night. Two little kids playing on a FischerPrice toy upscaled by ten. It was a mini island…With a moat to complete it. Down below the island was real life. A big lake…People milling about. There she was, my sister. She had spotted something in the water and was about to step into the lake to retrieve it when the two children announced to me that a man had just thrown the crocodiles some meat…I stopped…Time stood still…My heart in my mouth as I watched my sister bend down and pull out one coke can with one hand and then another with the other hand. She looked up at me and smiled. That beautiful smile…I saw it come up behind her and drag her just below the surface. I watched her being pushed along to the edge of the lake and thrown like a prize, like a cat would drop a dead mouse at it owners feet in triumph, onto the embankment. My Uncle, somehow there, pulled her away from this monster who had taken her from me again. Another monster to take her from me. Not again. Everytime a different way for her to be gone. I rushed to her. She was cold, stiff, blue...But I put my hand on her heart and it was still beating…She stared at me with vacant eyes…Not really there. So why was her heart beating…And why did she feel like only bones under those clothes? I called her name…Then I woke…

I miss her voice, the bird twitter that it was…I miss her face, it held her eyes and her smile…I miss her touch, her sweet little hands…I miss everything about her. So even though I may wake up in a cold sweat, I may wake up crying or wake up in such a state that I can’t breathe because I’ve lost her again, I wouldn’t give up those dreams, because it’s the only time I see her now…And I’ll take anything I can get

A reverie. That plays over and over in my mind. I stop it, rewind it and play it again. Always the same outcome, but just different ways to get there. I love it, as I love you. It’s always the same. Always the same beginning, and the same ending. There may be tiny little parts in the middle that change, but they never affect the out come. How does it begin, you ask? At the airport. There you are, smiling, arms outstretched. Where am I you ask? Here I am running, crying, the good sort of crying. I’m happy you see. Happy to see you, finally. We embrace, you holding me against you. I love that. I love you. I look up and touch your face. There you are, right there. We go home, to our house and spend the night just lying in each others arms. Content, as it should be. As we always are when we’re together. You are mine and I am yours and we are made one that night, by my return. My long awaited return to you. Talking. Smiling. Laughing. Tenderness. That’s what fills our first night. It will fill our lives too. I know that. For you are me and I am you. We will always be bound together you and I, just the way we like it. We skip along into our future. There you are, one one knee, asking the question that every princess wants to hear. I am your Princess just as you are my Prince. There was no need to ask though. You always knew the answer. I think the questions and answers were written before you and I were ever aware of the others existance. I believe that. Then, there I am. A Princess, in a beautiful dress, with my heart full and my eyes brimming. Where am I you ask? You are there, at the other end of the aisle…Waiting, as you have your whole life…For me. And I for you. Your Angel. My Angel. I say the words that I’ve been longing to say. I do. I don’t need to say them, but I do…Because we’ve always known we’d end up here…Giving ourselves to each other. It’s just the way it is, the way it was written. How could we doubt it? We were gifts sent to each other and we have had our time to undo the wrapping. We are happy with what’s inside and we always will be. For how could we question that which was meant to be? We can’t and we don’t. Our baby Angel is everything we ever dreamed and more. What is her name you ask? You already know. That conversation came about eons ago. We are never afraid to talk, that’s why it all comes so easily. You are her Daddy, she your Daughter, and I am your Love. Love everlasting. That’s what we have. That’s the way it ends. Us in love, happy, with every dream, desire, wish and hope fulfilled. We are everything if we have each other and I never intend to be without you. That’s where the dream in my mind ends…But the dream I am living continues. I stop it, rewind it and play it again. I adore it. Just as I adore you. Dreamlover…

She was bundled in warm clothes. She entered the dark hall quietly, gracefully. She carried with her a large bag, hugging it close to her body for a bit of extra warmth on that cold, still morning. It was dark and peaceful in the hall and what few rays of light filtered through the massive windows picked up the dust particles and made them float as she moved the air about. She walked to the wooden seat that was boarded around the room. Her bag was thrown out in front of her. She reached up and scraped her long, silky hair into a tight bun at the back of her head. It made her look harder, older. She kicked off her sneakers and sat on the cold, hard wooden floor. Cupping her feet in her hands, she tried to give them some warmth. She stretched her legs out in front of her and flexed her feet, pushing her toes to the floor. She pulled her bag to her and reached in, pulling out a pair of warn, scuffed pointes, twisting her ankles round and round and flexing her feet backward and forward the entire time. She pulled her feet closer and slipped them into these slippers which had become a part of her. The wood had softened and dented where her toes fit and her toes had calloused and adapted to the hard wooden block hidden in the tip of the shoe. She bent her body over her legs and touched the tips of her toes with ease. It had become to easy to stretch, to put her body into what looked like awkward postions with grace. She pulled herself up and began to stretch, warming up her cold, stiff body. She limbered up slowly, gradually. She was on auto pilot, not yet thinking of the steps she would perform, the pain she would endure. She moved to the barre and continued to warm up. Plie upon plie, stretch upon stretch, move upon move. An hour later she was warm. She removed the bulky tracksuit pants and fleecy jumper she had been wearing and revealed skin tight leggings and a pale pink, skin tight wraparound top. Standard warm up clothes. Her body was taut, tight, lithe. To say she was muscular would be an understatement. Years of training had ensured that she was an elite athelete, capable of almost anything. As she moved into positions, her legs hardened and rippled. Her stomach was flat and stretched tighter than a drum skin. Her waist was small, almost non existant. Her chest, that of a prepubescent child, even though she had surpassed puberty some years ago. Her arms, long and slender. The chords in her neck, visible. The dancers body. In her head the music began. A solo from Sleeping Beauty, the finale from Giselle, the strenuous steps from the Swan Lake. Which would it be today? She chose a difficult piece from Romeo and Juliet. Her eyes widened as the first strains of music began in her mind. This was where she came alive. She used the floor. She moved across it so lightly, her footsteps hardly registered a noise. In perfect time she danced her dance. Her face was a picture of concentration, her body in tune with only the music. The pure joy and exhilartion she felt showed in every tiny move. The turn of a head, the flutter of an arm, the extension of a torso, the raising of a leg, the miniscule step measured to perfection. Her face, her body, her movement, her entire being presented outward what she felt inside as she danced. She looked like a feather that had been picked up by the wind and was swaying back and forward. So free. So graceful. Such poise. She pirouetted, she leapt, she performed the most intricate steps with such delicacy and made it look so easy. The routine was no longer than 30 minutes. The last strains of music played in her head and she held position, thunderous applause ringing in her ears. Her breath came hard and fast. Her cheeks were red and the chords in her neck were pushing to get out. Sweat glistened in her hair, ran down her face and came to a stop in the small of her back. Her top was saturated and the pink of her skin clashed with the pink of her wrap. Her dark leggings soaked. She was exhausted, yet held her position, until the ovation had come to a stop in her mind. Then, and only then, did she break her hold and stoop to catch her breath. Not over yet, she began the warm down. She stretched each muscle slowly, so it would not spasm and contract. After an hour of warm down exercises, her body had regained it’s composure. She felt a shiver and looked about. The room had filed with sunlight and the chill in the air had disappeared. She picked a towel out of her bag and wiped her face and neck. She threw her jumper over her head and pulled it down over her torso. She sat down and undid the laces of her pointes, pulled them off and bound the shoes together, wrapping the laces tightly. She placed them carefully, tenderly in her bag, put the towel over the top and zipped up the bag. She pulled her sneakers on, stood up, took a look around and moved silently toward the door of the hall. She came and she went, day after day. The life of the ballerina.

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“Yes,” she replies, nodding.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She places an empty smile on her face and looks up at him, careful not to show her real feelings.

“OK” He turns away from her.

Her head bows and she bites her lips to stop the tears forming. Her heart leaps into her chest and causes her pain. She wrings her hands in her lap and steels her feelings.

“Not again…” she thinks “Why do I bother?”

She’s tired…Tired of building her hopes up only to have them knocked down.

The feeling of her heart breaking should be almost second nature to her now. Yet why does it still hurt so much? You’d think she would have built up a threshold to the feeling…But she hasn’t…It’s always the same sickening, devastating feeling…She hates it.

So often she is left feeling like this. She feels like she gives more than receives…Through no fault of his. He is a hard worker…Up early every morning, sleep late at night…Busy on the weekends…Tired all the time. She should know this by now and be used to it…But it still can’t stop her from building up her hopes…

She is always giving. She is used to it. She always gives more of herself than she really should. She makes sure to put off plans, or hold them back to please him. She makes sure that she is always available to him. It makes him happy. And it satisfies her. But she is growing weary of it.

“I’m off to bed then.” he claims, turning to her and giving a soft smile.

“OK…Sleep well.” The fake smile returns to her lips.

He leans down to kiss her lips…It stings her, like a bite from an insect. It makes her feel sick and want to vomit. She doesn’t though.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.” Her reply is empty, hollow. It echoes around in her head. It is the last thing she wants to say to him. A feeling presents itself to her in the pit of her stomach. It makes her feel queasy.

He smiles down on her, that smile that she loves so much, belonging to the lips on the man that she adores with all her heart.

She smiles back, thinly.

“You sure you’re OK?” he asks, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she replies, recoiling at his touch. It feels like fire, burning into her skin.

“OK…Meet you in bed…I’ll wait up.” He winks at her, suggestively. She knows what he wants.

“I have some things I need to do before bed. You’re tired, Darling. Go to sleep” Again the thin smile showed itself to him.

He looks sad “OK…” And off he goes to bed.

She watches him leave, not sure whether to let her resolve soften or to hate him just that little bit more. She is undecided as she lets the hot tears sting their way down her face. On the one hand, she wants to run to him, fall into his arms and let him love her the way she desires to be loved. On the other hand, she wants to make him pay for hurting her the way he did. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know how she feels and she won’t tell him, all that matters is she wants to make him pay. She wants to break his heart, the way he breaks hers. She wants to drive nails into his heart and scratch his eyes out. She wants to rip every shred of skin from his body and break every bone that holds him together…And then she wants to put him back together and kiss away the pain. She loves him so, but can’t understand why he does what he does, why he says what he says, why he is the way he is. And she will never know…

She hopes he doesn’t stray too far from the man she fell in love with. For he is different to anyone she has ever known…The only one to ever treat her the way she wants to be treated. She is his Princess…His heart, his love. She doesn’t ever want to be without him, but if he hurts her when she needs him, she will pull away…She knows that. She just wants to know, that she is getting back what she is giving. She doesn’t feel that tonight.

She asks herself if she is just being petty, pathetic…She questions what has made her feel like this tonight, of all nights. Was it that he was gone all day and she has missed him terribly? Was it that they hadn’t seemed to spend as much time together as usual? They had seemed to miss each other, catch each other at the wrong times…He was coming home, she was heading out…That sort of thing. She aches for him when they are not together. She knows that he knows, but doesn’t know if he understands…

She wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. She is still seething and desperately hurt, but she doesn’t want to let him know that he has hurt her. It seems to trivial to argue over. And she would rather just love him and have him love her. She stands up and moves toward the bedroom.

She feels selfish and mean. She shouldn’t have had the feelings in the first place. She had no right really. She was horrible to him, and yet he had no idea of what was going through her head. She feels regret and wishes she had never had the feelings in the first place. She is sorry, for something he doesn’t even know she’s done. She feels a feeling wash over her…Love.

He has fallen asleep with the bedside lamp still on for her to see where she is going. Her face softens as she watches his chest rise and fall evenly. Always thinking of her…How sweet of him to leave the light on. She undresses and slips under the covers with him, moving her body to his and softly kissing his forehead. She loves him, she knows that. He stirs and opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her sleepily.

“I love you, my love,” she tells him as she smiles down at him, a full, loving smile.

Her heart is full…She moves to his open arms and all is forgiven, but not forgotten, as he brings his lips to hers.

She reaches over and snaps the light off…

A still, starry night. That’s what it was. She remembers it clearly. She sat outdoors by the lake, the night balmy and calm, playing the word over and over in her mind. She looked up, her clear eyes taking in everything, her senses alive. The night sky was like a black satin blanket thrown over the world to keep it safe. The satin was dotted with diamonds that glinted and gleamed, like eyes winking, hinting that they knew the secret, whatever it was. The moon was full, ever knowing, all seeing. It provided a silvery light that reflected off the glassy lake. The trees over head rustled as the soft breeze made it way through their leaves, permeating them and jostling them together. The trees whispered to her, telling her secrets that they knew, that they had seen. Trees knew too much, saw too much, and couldn’t be quiet! The breeze that made the trees speak came down to play with her. It found its way to her tresses and messed them up, binding tendrils together. It fanned across her face and cooled her warm skin and blew across her body, providing relief from the warmth of the night. She lay with her legs dangling over an embankment and her feet touched the cool water. She kicked her feet and sent hundreds of drops across the water, breaking the surface. She moved to kneel and stooped down so she could reach into the water and bring some up to wash over her face. Her hair, knotted, thanks to the breeze, framed her face. She tucked it behind her ear and cupped her hands together. She sank them under the fresh water and brought out a full handful. She touched her hands to her lips and drank some before splashing the rest over her face. She lay back down…Refreshed. Underneath her, leaves crackled and crunched. She stretched her arms above her head and dug her fingernails into the cold, hard earth. She wondered what was down there…Little worms searching blindly for food, ants and bugs, building homes for themselves…Remains, of both human and animal, that had been here before her. She drank in everything around her, knowing that she would never feel this way ever again, no matter how hard she tried to regain the same elation she felt on this night. She saw the night as it was, dark, opposite to day, peaceful, calm, quiet. She heard the trees swaying in the wind, leaves meeting and rubbing against each other, the water lapping against the embankment and the night birds calling to one another. She smelled the earth, somehow fresh, even though it was composting as she thought, the jasmine reached her and caused a soft smile to arrive…Jasmine…Her favourite. She felt the cool breeze wrap itself around her and cool her down, the earth under her, providing a stable place for her to lie and the water, cold and refreshing against her lips as she drank. She tasted everything. She devoured the moon, nibbled at the stars, savoured the breeze, she consumed the leaves, gobbled the lake, chewed on the satin blanket, gnawed on the silvery glow, she relished everything that beautiful night…Took in everything that surrounded her as she heard that word reverberate in her head…To and fro, backward and forward, upside down and rightside up, round and round.

Sweetheart, he had called her.

It was the first time, and hopefully not the last.

Sweetheart.

She reached in to switch on the light. Her eyes scanned the room before resting on the open curtains before her. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she imagined eyes gazing upon her from the blackness beyond the window. She moved to the glass and reached out to pull the curtains together. She fingered the material and decided against pulling them closed. She moved to switch on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room more, giving her eyes outside more to see. She kicked off her shoes and reached her hands above her head, stretching languidly. She undid the button to her pants and slowly slid the zipper down. The pants fell to the floor. She moved to the dresser and picked up a tube. She squeezed a small amount of the cream onto her palms and began to apply it to her calves. She flexed the muscle and rubbed the cream into it. She moved her hands up over her knees and began to massage her thighs. She lightly ran her hands over her outer thigh. She looked up and her own eyes squinted as she searched for those imaginary eyes in the darkness. Her hands found their own way to her inner thighs and she began to rub and massage them slowly, seductively, rhythmically. A look of pleasure crossed her face. Her hands brushed the black lace of her panties as she continued to rub the cream into her inner thighs. Her eyes closed and the smile played at her lips. She hoped he was watching, whoever he was. The thought of him watching her made her shiver. She stopped and stood up. She switched the bedroom light off, leaving only the dull shine of the lamp beside her bed. But still she couldn’t close the drapes. She wanted him to see her if he was out there…She leaned her head against the glass and wondered if he was enjoying the show, his show. Slowly she backed away and removed her blouse. She turned her back on the window and turned to her drawers. She pulled out a black chemise and threw it on the bed. With her back still facing the glass, she unhooked her bra. She glanced over her shoulder, picked up the nightie and dropped it over her head. Funny that she should be so shy when she was the one who wanted the curtains open, she was the one who wanted to put on the little show. She turned back to face the window. She reached up and let her hair down. It swung down, framing her face, sweeping across her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it, pulling it away from her face. Her hairbrush lay on the bedside cabinet. She sat on the end of the bed and ran it through her hair. When she finished, she went and sat on the window sill. She raised her leg up to her chest and leaned her cheek on her knee. She stared out into the blackness, unable to see anything, knowing that what she was looking for was most probably not even there. She sat there for a few minutes, thinking, about him, her, them. When she was done, she crawled into bed. She didn't close the curtains...In case he really was out there. She reached to turn off the light and closed her eyes. She would dream of him tonight...And maybe he would come to her tomorrow.

She was seventeen years old. She was single, had never had a real boyfriend and was a pretty well adjusted young woman.
She liked a boy. He knew she liked him, but had never shown her any attention. He also had a girlfriend and seemed quite content to stay with her.

It was his birthday. She was invited to his party. She dressed herself up all pretty for him. Makeup, hair, the works. As usual, he paid no attention to her. She was used to it, but watched his every move anyway.

She went home. She washed her face clear of every scrap of makeup, brushed her hair out, put an old tracksuit on and started to get ready for bed.

Her Mum was away and she had her best friends staying over with her, so she wasn't alone. There was a knock at the door. There was a group of boys. He was among them.

She was amazed he had bothered to come. Then she was embarrassed because she looked like a wreck. She wanted to run and get changed and put the make up back on...But she didn't. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.

They stayed for a while, those boys. It was late and she wanted to go to sleep. So she left them to it, her friends and the boys that had come over. They were trustworthy boys. Her mother knew their mothers, so there was nothing to worry about.

She went down to her room and climbed into her bed. She closed her eyes and started to drift off to sleep. There was a knock on the door. She expected it to be one of her friends. It was him. The boy she liked. She was embarrassed, nervous, shy.

He said he was tired, said he wanted to go to sleep. She thought he wanted to use her floor, or borrow a blanket. Naive little girl. He slipped into bed beside her. She was startled, but by the same token, flattered that he wanted to sleep in her bed. She laid straight in bed, careful not to touch him, careful not to say anything stupid, breathe too heavy, all that stuff.

He leaned over. He said "You like me don't you?" She told him yes. Then he was kissing her. She was shocked. She never even thought he knew she existed. The kissing lasted all of about two minutes. Then things changed.

He was insistent. He was harsh. He didn't care about her or her feelings. He hurt her, emotionally, physically. He took what he wanted. She should have tried harder to stop it, but she was scared. She should have called out for help, but she was afraid. She should have done something, anything, to stop it, but she was frightened. So it happened. Her first time..Her worst time.

After he finished, he went and showered. She cried tears of blood, and cleaned up the bloody sheets. She remade the bed, crawled into it and curled up. He came back into the room. He lay down next to me, his back touching mine. "Aren't you going to have a shower?" She told him no. He grunted. A while later he told her she breathed like Darth Vader...Could she please be quiet.

Morning came. She could hear whispers. He was gone. She walked out to the kitchen...There he was, talking to his friend. They looked at her. She looked down and walked away. They left. He didn't speak to her again for months. Until the next time he came back...

Again, he took what he wanted, how he wanted, and left. Funny how it never seemed wrong to him. He didn't understand.

He ruined her. He made her think things about herself that were wrong. She wished she could have remained a virgin until the time came when she felt ready to give herself to someone. He took that choice from her, made it his own, took it with out asking. They were not two consenting adults. They were two children playing games, and someone broke the rules.

She wished, fervently, that she could go back and change what happened. Maybe then things would be different for her. Maybe she wouldn't have such a bad self image. Maybe then she wouldn't feel like a joke, a plaything, a whore. Maybe then she would have held herself in higher regard to men. Maybe then she would be a different person.

They say everything happens for a reason, but she just doesn't understand why she had to learn that lesson. She learned how fragile she could be. She learned how to be afraid. She learned how to be hurt. She learned how some men are. She learned how she could be treated. She learned harshness, violence and pain. All the bad stuff...

She forgave him...A long time ago. For a long time she blamed herself. Was it something she did, something she said that made him think she wanted it? But she can never forget him...For he was her first...And they say you never forget your first...

I recently read a question on the Posting Board about life in twenty years from now. It was a great question, but it made me think. I read the answers and predictions of other posters and I was torn, whether to reply or not.

There are a couple of reasons why I wouldn’t reply. One, because I’m not sure whether I’ll be here in twenty years to begin with, the other because the world is in such a state that I’m not sure whether I’m game to guess what it would be like in another two decades.

You might think it’s quite pessimistic of me to say that I might not be here in twenty years, the thing is, I’m just being realistic. Having Cystic Fibrosis, sometimes it’s hard for me took look ahead a year, let alone twenty of them. I would love to think that I’ll be here until I’m eighty, but tomorrow I may get an infection bad enough to wipe me out and take me over within a couple of weeks. So, sometimes I wonder, what is the point in looking ahead, when I need to concentrate and appreciate the now, this day, this hour, this minute, this second and think about tomorrow where it lies…tomorrow.

The state of the world in which we live has declined dramatically in the past two decades. If we go back forty years and take a look, and had a button to press to head back there, I’d press the damn button. Anything has to better than this. Sure, technology has advanced us beyond our wildest dreams, but is that to our benefit, or detriment?
The diseases we have been faced with have been handed cures. Some diseaes have been wiped from the face of the earh. A lot of diseases are becoming rare and some diseases are considered mild now, whereas in the past, they were deadly. Modern medicine has excelled, but there are drawbacks. With the disintergration of some diseases, new and deadlier ones have replaced them. With the making of medicines and antiobiotics come allergies, rejection and resistance. It’s just fact that as life progresses, so do diseases and afflictions. Out with the old and in with the new, the old addage says.
The human race has become harder. Where in the 60’s it was common to leave your back door unlocked and open and the keys in the ignition of your car, nowadays it’s common to have your house burgled and your car stolen and wrecked.
Crime has risen, dramatically. Murder is so common place these days, kids don’t even bat an eyelid when told the atrocities of a heinous crime commited on the nightly news. The public is almost blasé to hear about crime being commited in their part of the woods.
Along with a rising in crime comes a rise in abuse. The all out street fights commited publicly are as vicious as the husband laying into his innocent wife and children hidden behind closed doors and windows. The sexual abuse commited against children and the elderly is disgusting, atrocious and antisocial. It’s still rising, despite the attempts to curb it.
The drug abuse that we are seeing in the world today is saddening. Young women being forced into prostitution to survive are turning to mind and body numbing drugs to deal with their jobs. Young men are being found slumped against a wall, dead, with syringes hanging out of their arms. Children taking up smoking and drinking at ages 10 and younger are not uncommon. A culture is growing to use drugs recreationally. Pot, LSD, Amphetamine, Hallucinogenics and Depressants are all common place with all creed of people, ranging from the teenage raver through to the Magistrate Judge. Uppers, downers, smoking it, danging it, Wednesday, Saturday, ounces, points, jellies, caps, getting high and getting on. It’s not discriminatory and it’s growing.
Suicide. The statistics for the suicide rate of boys aged between 16 and 30 is alarming. Our men are taking their own lives before the even reach full potential. No one knows why, but I know that it’s scary. Suicide is becoming way too prevalent. The girls are playing their part too, and teenage suicide is a problem we have to deal with and rectify. How do we expect the human race to carry on when people can’t even find the courage, the way out of a black hole, the way back to the light to deal with their lives and make the hardest decision of all…To live.
Racism, sexism, ageism, all the isms, political correctness, glass ceilings and concrete jungles…It’s all going haywire…And here we are, in the middle of it all, thinking about it twenty years from now…Why?

If I were to look into the future and tell you what I wanted to see, it would go something like this:

The continuation of the human race, in all it’s glory. No questions asked.