I think about kissing you and how the earth would fall away with your touch. How my body rose to meet your lips, your breath bringing life to my skin. Those times where I was lost, tethered to the ceiling, bound by passion.  

Where love making started with a word, a whisper. Never predictable never by demand.  

I don’t have a story. Just a bunch of words that fall into place every so often. There’s no schedule, they fall and I write. Without inspiration I flounder. I don’t seek the next chapter for the sake of a page of text, it wouldn’t work. I don’t write for approval nor appraisal. Sometimes it’s the last thing I feel like doing, but I always end up longing for the words to fall again. There are things I don’t write about here. I’m not sure why….

That’s how our moments together feel. Snippets of what could be. Throw me a rope and I’ll climb it, or swing for eternity. 

Love makes such a difference to life. It’s an energy all of its own. It can fill every void with colour and light. It can make your soul a home. 

You notice the slight and the hidden as it passes through your core. When it builds you feel invincible, but when it fades you long for more. 

At its strongest it can be beyond belief, at its weakest the bringer of pain. Yet no matter the suffering we endure, we want to feel it again and again.

Please feel free to intervene, I’m stuck in this, the in between.  All directions are the same,  it’s lack of movement and I’m to blame. 

Standing still is becoming increasingly hard for me. I think it’s time I stopped waiting. I’ll stagnate when I’m dead. I’m not cutting  opportunities just getting on with my side of my life. 

Thank fuck that’s over with. I want a beer and a massage. Preferably at the same time. 

Too tired to write anything worth writing or reading. Long day. Went to the pub after work…..probably shouldn’t have…..
It is what it is. 

You’re the artist in my heart the thread that pulls the seams apart and sets it free this life in me. 

You’re the leaf from every tree that fills the path in front of me, you ease my mind when life’s unkind. 

You’re my walk in the moonlit wood the nighttime air never felt this good before, with you I’m sure. 

You’re the safety net I feel when I take my hands off of the wheel. You’re everywhere, when my heart’s laid bare. 

All these words come from a memory from a place I used to be before, but they’re still true and still for you.

Sunday morning melancholia oozing from my pores. Pouring from my fingertips like a billion ink filled spores. 

This desire to spill emotions onto the blank white page. Like the urge of the wild bird incarcerated in a cage. 

Untangling the tangled, these puzzles in my heart. Never knowing where they’re going or why they ever start. 

But start they do and I’ll see it through until the words run dry. I’m not here to find the answers, just the reasons why.