Monday, 24 June 2013

Four am feeling

I want to make a collage. A picture collage of sorts, pictures of people and things that made a difference, that have changed me to some extent, made me what I am today. They may not be wonderful memories, but they're part of me. I want your picture to be amongst it, I want our memories to float underneath the laminated and the faded, I want it all.

I wonder if people finish writing books and read them again, I wonder if they avoid it because they fear disliking what their own hands have created over hundreds of pages. I wonder if people about to die feel that way about their lives.
I know my book is being written somewhere and I know deep down I want it to be perfect. I want to live this life and leave the world a little better than when I entered it. I want to look back in my dying moments and love what I've created. I want my book to be read and reread like a thousand bestsellers with words that eyes would never grow weary of reading.

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Three weeks old today

They say you don’t understand my smiles or sighs yet, or when I babble baby talk to you because I feel like it. I think they’re wrong. What do they know of the contented whispered laughs you make in your sleep and your nano second mischievous, toothless smiles? Would you breathe so peacefully if you didn't know you were loved so much? The language you speak isn’t what tongues utter and minds process, it is the language of the heart. And I think you understand me perfectly.