Rhetorical Questions?

I find myself writing again.
Loss.
I’m feeling it recently and I want to know how to manage, how to cope, how to survive?
I’ve tried.
I’m not great at it.
But what would happen if I asked.
Asked those who were due to leave me?
When you’re gone, what will I do?
How will I survive without you? How will my world continue to turn without you?
What do you recommend to ease grief?
What suggestions do you have to numb the pain?
How on earth do I keep moving forward?
What have you learnt?
How did you stay married that long?
What is the meaning of life?
What would you do differently?
What’s your biggest regret?
Did I make you proud? How?
Are you mad at me? What are you most disappointed about?
Are you scared?
What do you think happens next?
Do you believe in any deities yet?
What would you do if I wasn’t there anymore?
I feel like I’m swimming in a vast, open sea of questions that I can’t cope with.
And I can’t talk about it.
I just can’t.
I can’t visualise it or make it work.
I just sloap off to bed early, feign tiredness, rough day, stress, exhaustion, period cranp, fatigue and think and write and think some more.
An over thinker and a realist.
I wasn’t born yesterday and I’m not silly.

A woollen cardigan knitted with love

I haven’t written consistently for a very long time.
7 years, actually.
I find this exceedingly ironic.
You see, I’ve been an English teacher for 7 years.
I’ve been able to read, absorb, critique and experience the world’s best writers but I just haven’t been able to transfer that to paper.
Time.
Effort.
Energy.
Perhaps.
I’ve only ever written during hardships, very rarely during good times. But I’ve had hardships. The most difficult of times. The loss of love, life and the will to live. Yet still the words just wouldn’t come.
I often think a fear, a fear of being able to put that pen to paper and experiencing what will really happen, writing something I don’t want to read.
An unlocking of a gate to a path I don’t want to go down.
I think we’re all afraid of that. Letting our heads wonder freely when our hearts feel so contented.
I need to commit to this.
You won’t write yourself.

The reality of Boy Unsure.

Sometimes we need a reality check.
When our world is falling apart around us, someone has it much worse then we could ever imagine.
I returned to working away when Boy Unsure told me he didn't want me in his life.
Of course, heartbroken.
It's natural.
I'd convinced myself he had potential. I enjoyed his company. I enjoyed his words. I enjoyed his talents.
I liked to look at him, in the least creepiest way ever.
I liked whenever he woke up his hair was always a mess, no matter what.
I liked this strange birthmark he had on his bum that I never told him I knew about.
I liked that he had passion. Passion is something lots of people lack.
I liked the way he looked, for me, a rarity. I actually fancied the pants off him, I really did.
I had insane urges to just jump on him and kiss him for hours.
And of course, to do the other things lovers do for hours.
I liked that he had a life that didn't need me.
It matched my life.
I liked how he was busy.
I'm always busy.
But ultimately, I wasn't enough.
Who I am. What I stand for. How I look. Just wasn't enough.
And I couldn't accept that when I returned to my temporary home.
But I returned to some terrible news.
The owner of my temporary home had passed away during the Easter Holidays.
I was heartbroken over a man I had barely known for four months and somebody had lost a husband of 40 years, somebody had lost a father, somebody had lost a grandad and lots of people had lost a friend.
I felt pathetic.
Death is probably the only thing that can make you rethink everything.
Such a sad, delicate time.
A time when no-one actually knows what happens next and something that must happen to everyone at some point, we just have no idea when.
I was touched by how this family handled death.
Death is the next adventure, not the end.
It made me think deeply about my situation.
I still get to speak to Boy Unsure, if i want to, if he wants to speak to me.
He still gets to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night.
If I really cared about him the way I thought I did. I should be thankful for that.
Life is so short, fragile and limited by everything and everyone.
And really, if someone doesn't want you, it's really not the end of your world. It's just a moment.
Of course, it's both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply but life is far too short to be miserable, even if you feel like being miserable.
Eat, drink, smile and love often. Especially when you're down on love. Love anyway. Love with all of your heart because loving and supporting another living thing will make the world a much better place.
Be positive. The right one is out there somewhere. Just wanting to fall in love with your crazy ways, just waiting to face every single challenge with you, holding your hand, cheering you on, being your team mate and your partner in crime. Laughing at the way, you must always type all of your feelings onto a stupid blog and loving every single word you type and reading in awe at how secretly talented you really are. Loving those tiny wrinkles around your eyes that you hate and poking fun at the hints of your grey hair. Listening to you stress about every aspect of your job, despite the fact you're wonderful at it. Making love to you in the middle of the night, when you should definitely be asleep.
But until this made up mystery man comes crashing into my life (because I can guarantee if he's meant for me, he won't do anything by halves), keep smiling.
Everything is a blessing or a lesson.
And Boy Unsure, he was a blessing. A weird one. I will miss someone not taking my shit and giving me a different perspective on life. I will miss passion and I will miss long conversations in kitchens.
But you can't always be right.
Actually, he had a good shower too, I'll miss that bit the most.
Now onward,
We have miles to go and promises to keep.

Boy Unsure

If she reached into her chest and hacked her heart out, that still wouldn't be enough.
You would still be careless, unsure, unaware.
Yet she talks about you like you put the stars in the sky because for that brief moment, for her, you did.
But now the best you could ever hope to be is now just a bitter sweet memory.
She will tiptoe into the friendzone.
Hanging, clinging, secretly fighting.
Until the feeling disappears and you become just another guy.
Imagine being told you're just not that important.
You just don't want to spend of every hour of every day with her because she's just not right.
When for her, you start the butterfly riot in her stomach.
She would cross oceans for you, yet you wouldn't even drive two hours to be with her.
She looked into his eyes and felt the tingle. That feeling. It locked on and gnawed away at her.
What will she do now?
You are the fox and she is just the rabbit.

Lose Out, Very Empty

I have sat down to write. To write for pleasure. To write for passion. But mainly just to bleed words.
To have an outlet.
Since the last time I posted my life has taken many interesting twists and turns.
But that's not what I am here to write about today.

Today I want to write about the concept of love.
Love and the ridiculous obsession society allows us to have with it.
This fanciful notion of another half.
Someone to complete us.
Because somehow alone we are just not enough.
This team mate, the companion we must have to make our lives feel completed.

It's draining.
I am constantly exhausted with this concept.
I think alone, I am more than enough.

Violins & Tambourines, Candy Canes & Magazines

Now it hasn't been that I haven't had anything to write.
I always have something to write.
But these last few weeks I've been a notebook kinda girl.
I've been writing and living the next chapter of my life.
In fact I would go as far as to say it's a brand new book.
It's an exciting time for me.
And don't get me wrong, I've had to experience some really shitty situations to arrive at this new, exciting point.
But I believe everything happens for a reason.
Things are on the up for me.
Perhaps the rabbit caught the fox?

Unread the words?

The advice I have been given is to write.
Pour it out onto a page and never read it.
My world has come undone.
All I can do is stare at the ceiling.
And wish, just wish i'd have done something different.
But I doubt it would change the final outcome.
I am done.
I am empty.
I have no faith.
I have no energy.
Love is nothing but a fantasy.
A lie.
Something fabricated.
Make believe.
No more real than fairys or goblins.
I won't be falling anymore.