Broken strings & Pretty things

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

January blues.

With the closing of hinges, we hurtled far away from each other.

In a mere few hours long gone were those Earl Grey afternoons cluttered with the pitter patter of simple happiness. As quickly as December came and went, the family filled days in your living room blurred their way by as fast as the tyres and tarmac took us apart.

Because it wasn’t until my eighteenth Christmas when I realised the true treasure of family, despite them not being of my own blood. I embraced the warmth of laughter and shouting and family movies and never felt more at home than in someone else’s house. I laughed at the calamity of board games filled with sore losers and overzealous opponents. I helped make dinner and watched VCRs with your brother and cried in your mothers arms and talked business with your father.

And as the silent clock face danced her way to this point, it wasn’t until the final goodbye when I realised just how much this one was going to hurt. Because last time I was able to slowly watch you fly away and flourish whilst I submerged myself with the hustle and bustle of a new school year. But that is the elasticity of our beautiful friendship: that either of us can run to some other horizon and know that we will end up running back to a blue polka dot teapot. We always come back to each other. No matter how long of an adventure we embark on.

This was always going to be a hard one, because the goodbye was whispered as soon as the hello was spun around. You and I now live in different worlds, and fall asleep in exotic sheets. Emerald will lay far away from peridot. But one day it will come back, as the gravity will slowly lead us back to our shared atmosphere.

So as I hold you one last time before we say goodbye, I wish I held you that bit tighter.
But I always know that you are just a smell of chai; the tender sound of Jupiter; a guitar string strum away.

Forever and always my dearest best friend.

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One thought on “January blues.

  1. It’s amazing what a simple object can tell when put to words, like the photograph of the teacups. I have a literary blog myself, and I think you’re writing is truly a gift. Keep writing!

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