Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Archive for the month “December, 2013”

December.

I love December because it brought me back to you.

December brought me back to the ginger in your beard and the carelessness of your blonde ruffles. It brought me back to the pools of your peridot eyes. It brought me back to the honeysuckle of your voice. It brought me back to your simple warmth. It brought me back to nostalgia. It brought me back to your slowness, your calm and your easiness. December brought me back to tea-stained afternoons decorated with clumsy conversations.

December brought me back to yet another bustling coffee shop with you. It brought me back to the asymmetrical fullness of your bottom lip. It brought me to some hard apologies, and even harder forgiveness. It brought me back to your endearing immaturity. It brought me back to being the person there for you. December brought me back to a friendship that I though had ended, and made a bed for a new start to bloom.

December brought me back to earth and back to you. It brought me out of my head and back into the warmth of your arms. It brought me away from the edge where I was ready to jump. It brought me back from recklessness and self sabotage and fear. It brought me back to love and wholeness and maturity. It brought me to where I belong. It brought me to realisation and sincere gratitude. It brought me back safely from almost letting history repeat itself.  December brought me back to sense.

December brought me back home.
To you.
To all of you.

Berlin.

Sometimes I wonder whether the moon misses the sun.

I wonder whether there truly is silence in space
Maybe instead the stars themselves
Are psychedelic whispers transcending
Across the velvet skyline.

Or maybe the moon does not actually miss the sun.

Because maybe there is happiness in knowing
That they are moving in a parallel waltz
That maybe just sharing the same atmosphere
Is enough.

Because one day each celestial glide
With each side’s unshakable zeal
Will one day meet

In the warmth and brightness
Of a silver eclipse.

Necessity.

“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips, aeroplanes and passports and new songs and old songs. But people more than anything else. You will need other people. And you will need to be that other person to someone else; a living, breathing, screaming invitation to believe better things.”
– Jamie Tworkowski

Eighteen.

Yesterday I finally turned eighteen. Last year I wrote about finally turning seventeen (https://brokenstringsandprettythings.wordpress.com/2012/12/03/seventeen/)
and it’s strange to think what has happened in just one year. That’s the gloriously captivating thing about birthdays: you just don’t know what is going to happen in the next twelve months. Much like how I wrote last year, this year was filled with the highest of highs and no doubt the lowest of lows. Seventeen was the year where I didn’t think I could face anything harder, and seventeen was the year where I didn’t think I was going to cope. Seventeen was the year of not only losing two of the most significant people in my life, but an array of close and distant friends. But seventeen was the year of change, and the year of meeting the most wonderful people. Seventeen was making the best of friends and going half way across the world and seeing a changed life. Seventeen was achieving more than I ever thought possible. Seventeen was falling in love when I didn’t think I would feel so strongly about a person again. Seventeen saw the hardest, but it welcomed the best. And although I lost and cried and despaired, I gained the whole world. Seventeen was the best year of my life.

And that’s what makes me so nostalgic about becoming eighteen: because seventeen was just so wonderful. Furthermore, eighteen means becoming an adult; it’s not just another candle on the cake like seventeen was. Eighteen is the setting sun to my childhood, and the dawn of a brand new world. Eighteen marks change: in eight months I don’t even know where I’m going to be; just not here.
Eighteen is responsibility and sensibility and less recklessness. But that doesn’t mean eighteen will be any less wonderful than seventeen. Eighteen is freedom and chance and risk. Eighteen is challenging and different and that’s exciting. The next year is going to be filled with new trials and temptations and crying down the phone as well as joys and dancing with friends and 3am. Eighteen is going to be wonderful.

Eighteen is only the beginning.

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