This was the first time they had seen each other in years - time had wrought ironwork across their hearts, locked and censored the feelings she had abandoned at the door, at his feet, when she had turned and faced the biting wind. He had changed little and she was still as beautiful; summer to … Continue reading Censored
Last night a storm raged outside. Last night I forgot how to apologise. Lightning streaked the sky; electric crackles of the fury I had no valid reason to feel yet I continued to chew the insides of my cheeks and furrow my brow in thunder loud anger. Even when the rains moved on and the … Continue reading The storm
You imagine a box filled with the songs you no longer listen to yet used to. The songs you shared with loved ones whose faces are now but obscured glass to you. The songs you didn’t realise led up to that one big decision you never thought you would make; and although you’re proud of … Continue reading Boxed melodies
Once I began reading Twelve, I couldn’t stop. I was captivated by her words and felt every teardrop of her grief. We are not taught how to grieve but Austin’s choice to document and share the first year of mourning her Mother’s death, is a beautiful way to begin. Her words inspire, comfort and sting. … Continue reading Review of TWELVE, Kindra M. Austin
I - The Night We Met It was the tail end of summer we were young and had no idea what we were in for. I saw you and tried to touch forever; in hindsight I should have bottled the August night sky for us to keep and breathe on the days the air between … Continue reading Quartet
My bones feel rigid like I’m living with rigor mortis, depression’s equivalent of arthritis. There’s nothing the doctor can prescribe; sunshine cannot be packaged and nor can your smile so I guess I’ll just wait in my heaviness. This opaque silence where nothing can relieve the nothingness I feel whenever you leave. © … Continue reading Rigid
Little acts of braveryEvery day this week, thus far, I have opened the curtains in every room. You would be right in thinking this is a metaphor for letting the light in. It is similar to polishing ageing ornaments or dusting away the cobwebs. Whenever Dee arrives, I hide. I close every curtain, put my … Continue reading The Dee Diaries #1
A gloomy morning walk, 8am without sunrise and I find myself in a graveyard paying respects to strangers; thankful there is no one here I knew or loved. Those graveyards are elsewhere and lack paths to line the headstones. In some places it is overgrown and uneven - an endless reminder the dead rest beneath … Continue reading 8am without sunrise
We were star-crossed and then committed. We were children and then adults dressed in ill fitting clothes and promises. We were in love always away from home and I soon learned affection of this ilk was unsustainable because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to love you in every other place except here. © Kristiana … Continue reading Here
It has been years since we met, decades since we last touched each other's lives with a smile. Time has been cruel, convincing me you were never there at all. A figment of a twelve year old imagination; lonely amongst the bookshelves and films, fixated on wheat fields and sunsets. You were beautiful … Continue reading Ghost Boy
