There's no word for yesterday in Eskimo language.

'...and I'm scared of what's behind, and what's before.'

I know a year is always longer than it seems. I just wasn't aware that so much could happen in that amount of time. And I wish I could say that in spite of it all, I'm still the same as I was; that I'm still as hopeful and sure about what I want. But what's the use in that? It simply wouldn't be true.

A cold wind whispers and stirs a dream into the night.

"Then in the end, it won't matter, that I didn't do all the things I planned. Maybe nothing ever really matters, you only think it does. And all the notches on the belt that you run around gathering - as if the world will count themp up and reward you, declare you human after all - they won't matter either. All that time you could have been lying there under a tree, under a sky, bewildered only by the beauty above you. And still the world would declare the same thing: you are alive. Yes, you are." - Martine Murray, How to make a bird

And I know that you’re mad at me but if you're thinking like that I think you'll see that you're mad at you too.

There's nothing I could say
To make you try to feel ok
And nothing you could do
To stop me feeling the way I do
And if the chance should happen
That I never see you again
Just remember that I'll always love you

I'd be a better person
On the other side I'm sure
You'd find a way to help yourself
And find another door
To shrug off minor incidents
And make us both feel proud
I just wish I could be there
To see you through

You always were the one
To make us stand out in a crowd
Though every once upon a while
Your head was in the cloud
There's nothing you could never do
To ever let me down
And remember that I'll always love you

"And I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me..."

Strangers by the River

We remained there for over an hour
on that bench. We waited,
until the light faded away
and we knew that the day was ending.

He didn't speak, and
I could think of nothing more to say.
So we sat in silence; and for a time,
I could still feel the warmth
emanating from the spot
where his hand had rested
next to mine,
before he pulled away.

I didn't want to look at him,
or see the unquestionable hurt in his eyes.
I knew that it was my fault,
that all the yearning, curiosity and excitement in them
had disappeared.

But I did glance over,
just once,
when the sun was flickering
behind the trees
across the water.

He was staring out in front, still as anything;
and for the first time since we'd met
I couldn't even guess what was
running through his mind.

His eyes were guarded and distant,
and I realised then that
it was too late;
we'd never be close again.


It was a quiet place;
far enough from the chaos
of everyone's to-ing and fro-ing
for us not to hear it.
And it was getting to that time of day
when even the stragglers agreed
it was a good idea to go home.

So we had that space to ourselves.
And it should have been peaceful;
but when the sun finally sank below the horizon,
I couldn't help but feel it took a part of us with it.
I'm sure that if anyone passed us at all
they'd have thought we were simply
strangers by the river,
sharing the twilight.

And in a way, we were.

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

He had been waiting long enough;
                     and he wanted it all to cease,
    to stop,
                            to end.

It wasn't that it made him mad;

it didn't frustrate him,
            or send a rage boiling up inside.

It was merely tiring,
       and the weariness
               tore away at his heart,
      and made him feel weak,

helpless,

a    dandelion      in            the                  wind.

She had to make her mind up, he decided.

Because there was only so much more he could take
before he crumbled,
                      and all the fire that was once there
                                                 burned away into the past.

He had been waiting long enough.

It's only when you are aware that you're breathing that you are aware that you are truly alive.

I never thought it would be so fleeting.

But I realised then that the dynamics had changed; and all that had happened was the passing of time itself.

films to see.

do not think that you are something.

I'd always had this yearning to be someone extraordinary. And secretly, I'd hoped that I already was; that I had something special to offer that no one else had. So accepting that I was in fact ordinary, perhaps even less than that, was one of the hardest things I've done.

caught up in a story.

“And that taught me you can't have anything, you can't have anything at all. Because desire just cheats you. It's like a sunbeam skipping here and there about a room. It stops and gilds some inconsequential object, and we poor fools try to grasp it - but when we do the sunbeam moves on to something else, and you've got the inconsequential part, but the glitter that made you want it is gone.”  - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

capture me, trust me in your dream.

"A sentimental person thinks things will last; a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't." - F. Scott Fitzgerald.