after midnight in real life

The rain in Wellington today makes me think of this moment...

The Sunday before last, when I was home down in Christchurch, I took a little time away from everything to visit the '185 Empty Chairs' memorial on Cashel Street. There are no words, only a horrible aching silence.

Then, shaken, her heart strangely stirred, her mind chaotic, she walked slowly homeward.

from Taken at the Flood by Agatha Christie, p.82

in half an inch

last friday i lost myself. i'd be loosing myself for sometime. i had forgotten all about taking evening walks. reading a book for enjoyment. celebrating little achievements. attending the birthday plans of old friends. sharing stories over a beer. having a quite coffee. resting. sleeping. laughing.
and so i want to say thank you. to everyone. i am grateful that it is you i have around me. even when i have been swallowed up. when i have not seen you for weeks. you are still there. and you are there again when i am found.

in the evening

please come. and take me away with you.

does a blank page scare you?

sometimes i find this blog a bit like opening a new journal. it's perfect. just by itself.

i feel guilty for forgetting to post. what shall i write? i worry. i don't want to ruin it with all my untidy handwriting. and it scares me. a lot.

but maybe that's exactly what it needs. for me to find a blank page somewhere lost in the middle. to scribble. and draw all over it. imperfection.

my dear

i listened to these beautiful words in the morning. then again. and again. and again.

i've been outside. invited in. but I couldn't abide. i wouldn't miss it again. burning every bridge that i cross. to find some beautiful place to get lost.

i had true love. i made it die. i pushed her away. she said please stay. burning every bridge that i cross. to find some beautiful place to get lost.

i don't know where I'll go now. and I don't really care who follows me there. but I'll burn every bridge that I cross. and find some beautiful place to get lost.

from Let's get lost by Elliott Smith

out here's too cold and i don't want to walk it alone

when i was lost, you thought me a beautiful find.
sometimes i think of you sleeping, so sleep for awhile.


from Beggar's Prayer by Emiliana Torrini