Of memories that arise uninvited.

Why do you keep walking

through

my memories,

like one who has earned the right

to be there;

within me.

You are an

uninvited

exquisite

tenderness.

Can’t you hear my heart

whispering,

Go away.

The Interview.

“Right,” He said, eyes roving over her with interest, “What can you bring to the marriage?”

She looked at him as if he were the only man in the room; to her, he was the very oxygen she needed in order to survive, “I will love you with every fibre of my being. Until I die, everything that I am will be yours.”

He nodded slowly, “Right… erm, but can you iron a straight pleat in formal trousers? It’s really an essential skill in a woman, you know?”

Shadows.

You say that I speak of (my) darkness too much.

With my heart stripped bare before your eyes,

I stand,

my shadows a gift for the

searching ones.

Don’t you know that light that shines too brightly,

blinds?

My gift.

Sometimes,

the only thing that I have to give to you,

is me.

Cracked and fragile;

pain oozing from dark places

that I can’t even see.

But, you do.

You see,

and you don’t flinch.

You catch me when I fall;

tenderly you bind me up;

stuff love in the holes,

and stop me from leaking out of

my memories.

How do you craft such a strong

net from

my brokenness?

Escape.

Every night, she read the same book.

It became her nightly escape; dancing into the world that she encountered on the crisp pages.

Until tragedy struck one stormy night.

Her dingy bedsit caught fire.

Everything was destroyed, except for a book of fairy tales that lay on the charred remains of the bed.

Pages scorched; it lay open as if it had just been read.

Except that, no body was ever found.

Dreams.

How I wish I could find you;

to somehow show you,

that I became all the things

that you told me,

I would never be.

—Dreams.