Broken strings & Pretty things

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

Archive for the month “February, 2015”

Three years.

And there we have it: three whole years of time spent writing on this humble little blog. Three years of naive wishing, desperate prayers, hyperbolic tears and love-struck poems. Over the course of time, this blog has become more than an outlet for my writing, but a reflection of my final teenage years: an insight of all that has changed from the age of sixteen.

I know that every year I have written a thank you to all of you that have somehow managed to stumble upon my site, but, from the bottom of my heart, I could not be more grateful for all of your support. Whether you have been here from my humble beginnings in 2012, or have just recently found brokenstringsandprettythings, I could not thank you enough for the time you have taken to read my little ramblings on life, love, faith, and everything in between. Thank you for the constant support that you all equip me with, and thank you even more for coping with my half-baked and hyperbolic posts. You all truly inspire me.

I would also like to apologise for the significant decrease in posts in the past months. Moving to London for university has been one of the most wondrously crazy moments of my life and I’m so happy that, after all of this time, I am finally living my dream. As a result, I have sometimes found it really difficult to find the time to write, but I am truly working on it! Therefore, thank you again for still visiting and reading my site when content can be so limited.

Finally, I truly want to thank the people who currently surround me, because you never cease to inspire me. You have all made life a dreamy fairytale which I never thought I would actually obtain. Your smiles, and happiness, and unending laughter light up my days like no other. You all keep me writing, through the good times and the bad. You made a very sad and lonely girl become the one whose face never stops beaming. Without you, there would be no words, no passion, and no inspiration. Without you, there would be nothing left to write about.

So, for the third time, here’s to another year filled with the clumsy typings of a young woman who is still trying to make sense of the world. As I pass through my final year of being a teenager, I realise that though little parts of me have changed, I am still the naive girl who is trying to find the bigger and brighter parts of life; the things worth clinging to. I will continue to write about them, and I will continue to be inspired by you, all of you, whether it is via a computer or in the surrounding day. So thank you.

You all make this blog what it is today.

(photo via http://goo.gl/hrnc9C)
 Last year’s thank you: http://goo.gl/JpWVAz

Crab fishing.

I called your name.

But there was no answer.

Empty corridors, silence down the line, a vacant stare, a message which will never come. I stand and stare out of the window, in the vain hope that your dark eyes will be staring back, twinkling in the mysterious way that I always adored. And I shake my head, not at you or the barren tarmac below, but at me, for the fact that I allowed you another piece of hope. So I pull on the wool of my cardigan, because the frost between us chills my bones too deeply.

And as I sit at my desk, I wonder if my ghost has ever streaked your mind. I wonder if, in between the cigarettes and the music and distasteful jokes, whether you manage to turn your mind to lips pressed onto cheeks; when green eyes grew as wide as her grin. Or back to sudden statements and black stained pillowcases and her body pressed as far as possible into the wall, far away from you as possible.

But I put down my pen and I remember.

I was never that special to you.

Ember.

You were the sun beams which cradled my face on those summer days; my oasis in the most barren lands. You were the voice which kept singing whilst all else was silent; the smiling eyes in the sea of unhappy faces. You were the bonfire which burnt in the deepest caves of my heart.

But that’s the thing about life, love, and everything in between. Sometimes the sun goes down, deserts dry up, and voices stop calling. Eyes glaze up. Fires become embers. Sometimes things change, people change, for reasons beyond missing that call on a Wednesday afternoon. Sometimes people outgrow the excuses you make for them. Sometimes the things you wrote about them become stories of two people who don’t exist anymore. Sometimes people have to become memories, no matter how wonderful they may be.

But as much as I tell myself this, I can’t shake this numbness which has crawled inside me. I want to crumble; I want to turn tables and cry until my heart stops bleeding. I want to break so I can finally be put back together. But it just won’t work. I walk around London with a lead chest and glazed eyes, hoping to feel something more than slight confusion and the feeling like I have forgotten something. I want to see your face and curse your name and give you hell for walking away without a decent reason, but I continue to make allowances for you. People say it’s because I’m too nice, or that I forgive too freely, but I feel like it’s because I understand: I understand what it feels like to be confused and lonely and self destructive. I remember what it feels like when life sneers and jeers as you try and get back on your feet.

But I just wish that you stayed. I wish you would have let me pick you up and brush the dirt of your knees and kiss where it hurt, because that’s exactly what you did for me. You stayed through the nights where I was no longer myself, and you cleaned my tear-stained face and held my hand when it was loose. You made me smile when I thought the muscles had emaciated, and you made me love when I thought that I was a lost cause. You laughed at my hopeless cliches and hyperbolic thoughts.

I know that people are different, but I can’t shake the question of why you kept this wall and stopped me from coming through.

I’m sitting here watching the last embers cling for their final breath, because I can’t bear to stamp them out.

(photo credit to Mitch Martinez via mitchmartinez.com)

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