Broken strings & Pretty things

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

Archive for the category “Happiness”

Summer.

Although the months of June and July were overcast and grey, it didn’t matter in the slightest. His presence was enough sunshine to burn through London’s hazy skyline. With him, life became a perpetual summer: the days were long and tasted sweet. Life was fanciful, and brilliant, and every moment could have been projected from a scriptwriter’s imagination.

Wednesday.

It’s these kind of days that I live for- the days where the spaces between seconds stretch until infinity feels like something tangible; when the world is golden and pure and nothing exists outside of this moment. When we shout at the sky for clouds taking away our precious sunshine; when our senseless chatter flows out into a simple melody. These are the days I turn the page to when life gets that bit too much: these in-between moments when we stop living in the past or working towards our futures; when we actually savour the taste of the present. In these precious seconds, I no longer care about any current uncertainties, because everything I need is right here.

ingelnook:

untitled by 夏先生 on Flickr.

(image via tumblr)

‘So happy I could die’.

Hurtling through the velvet skyline
this moment stretches, making us infinite.
Lungs too filled with air to cope
to even blink
to even mutter.
Here, I could lay my body.

Green crystal waters and lofty pines;
purple mountains eclipse Continental sun.
We soak our skin until everything floods out.
Letting the water pull us in
just enough.
Here, you and I could lay our bodies.

Glittered words and glowing lights
eyes wide in a fixed bloom
they speak words no one can hear,
dancing alone in a sea of pulsating figures.
Here, we could lay our bodies.

And if it weren’t for outstretched hands
and garlands of long-cherished names;
If I could just sink
without leaving an unexplained grave
I would lay my body here,
Drenched in this golden exuberance.

(image via tumblr)

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

Joy.

And this is true happiness.

Snow stained sparkles and red lipped laughter. Caverns of quilts shaped by a long missed embrace. Familiar scents and unforgotten laughter. Winding roads leading me back to the steps I once trod. The warmth of deep voices cradled by the tender taste of afternoon tea. The deep ginger of worn beards and the prickle of awfully grown moustaches. The jibes of merciless teasing, carving faces into permanent grins. The clattering of clay plates and the comfort of my mother’s food. The richness of wine intoxicating green eyes. The endless chatter of your breathless accent alight by fire in your personality. The sweetness of your soul and the unending hilarity of your sister’s jokes.

Once a place so entrenched in fear has finally become a haven.

The exorcism of my home town.

(image credit http://rebloggy.com/post/mine-evening-street-lights-vertical-sheffield/67069478369)

Ebullience.

Then, she began to breathe, and live, and every moment took her to a place where goodbyes were hard to come by. She was in love, but not in love with someone or something, she was in love with her life. And for the first time, in a long time, everything was inspiring.

-r.m. drake

tumblr_n1vj61MNoB1rdq9f1o1_1280(image via tumblr) 

Destination.

I looked up to the sky and praised Him, because I finally made it here.
After years of constant star gazing, and months of unshakable hope, and weeks of constant calender watching, I was here: I was finally home.

No longer would I sit in a cold room drenched in loneliness, and no longer would I crave the warmth of an poisoned friendship. No longer would doubt and insecurity coarse my veins, wrenching my heart into a static sickness. No longer would numbness become reality and no longer would tears be the water to wash in.

So the clock finally demanded that my time had come, and I moved far away. I left the years of disappointment and confusion and the streets of dead-ends and lost dreams. As tyres hurtled me to bright lights and high hopes, I stripped myself of those half hearted goodbyes which cracked my heart into such fragile pieces. The road was long, and the journey was as difficult as the prelude, but it eventually led me here.

It led me here, to you. All of you. It led me to sunshine soaked afternoons lying in peace, and embraces filled with honesty. No longer did my name feel unsafe on another’s tongue, and no longer did I lay my head in depths of fear. I was, well and truly, home after years of fighting for it.

And though being home meant saying goodbye, and although my love is found on the other side of the country, I still have hope. I have the hope which made me survive the deepest depths of insecurity; the nights where hopelessness and the gripping sense of depression wouldn’t leave my bones. Because if I could muster myself through that, the distance between us are is a mere breeze in these sails.

So I stand here in this room, filled with faces carved with happiness. And though most of you don’t know it, I thank you all every single day. I thank you for never letting me let another tear fall on my pillow, and I thank you that a crowded room is no longer something so deeply lonely.

Thank you for making this long awaited destination somewhere I never wish to leave.

Marvellous.

Sometimes I all I can muster is to just sit and watch you, because, in a multitude of perfectly imperfect moments, that’s all I can do: stare.

Because the slightest pull of being in your atmosphere; the rhythm and risk of my name on your lips; the simpleness of knowing your fingers will clasp mine without a second of doubt: these are things people have written sonnets and plays and cried and laughed about and have gone to war over since man’s eyes first laid themselves on another. Yet, as history rolls on, no one has been able to capture those words. No library, or painting or monument can ever truly capture the depth and passion and rawness of unadulterated adoration within the love-stricken human being.

So as I sit and watch with the same widened eyes as generations before us did with their own paramour, I realise that I too cannot find those words. I realise that I cannot build you a palace. I cannot mark your name in posterity’s history books. I cannot rearrange the stars from their idiosyncratic welds and form our own skyline.

But I know what I can do: I know that I could scour dictionaries and anthologies and learn languages and write volumes of poetry all in vain to find those words that I’m looking for. But there is no need, because the most profound things in life are too great, too powerful, too wondrous for words.

And with that, I am content, for I would rather love deeply than search widely. I would rather give you my heart than the moon, or a river or Giroud’s autograph (though you may debate with me on this one). I would rather communicate my love with action and deed than a simple set of syllables. You are more than a worn out and static phrase: you are active and present and as real as the air residing in my lungs as I write.

You are oh so marvellously ineffable.

Dusk.

As we watched the sun sink her head into dreamy depths, we turned our heads east and headed straight for the grey clouds outlining the border. And though sadness filled our hearts, it did not eclipse them; for the very light we beheld and carried within us radiated enough hope to keep us burning. And with that, our beams burned brighter than the sun’s could ever muster. It was the week filled with tear stained clutches; it was the week filled with serendipitous joy. It was a week stained with both metaphorical and metaphysical thunderstorms and sun-rays. It was a week torn with heartbreaking questions and unyielding faith in equal measures. It was dream and reality all the same.

And as the dust rolled us down the highway, we gave the purple hills their final bow and praised them for their constant vigilance. And then we kept our eyes forward.  We sang songs and shouted and prayed, for we had hope. We had strength and trust and promise, even as the misty curtain parted to make way for us.

This was one of those rare golden moments which filled our lungs and kissed our eyes and laced our lips. Who could ever stop us? Not the becoming darkness, nor any demon, nor any deepest depth.

All was well.

 

An open letter of gratitude.

These days I fear that I fall into the all too accustomed to pattern of not being grateful where gratitude is due; for not taking the oh so important time to thank you for each and every single thing you do. Because, like most people, I become all too consumed by what is wrong, and not on the various and many ways you make the little things shine.

Thank you for tea stained Wednesday afternoons drenched in tangible laughter. Thank you for tear drenched hour-long phone conversations when the world just seems too small. Thank you for mindless chatter and heart wrenching discussions and a firm place to rest my weary head. Thank you for an unbiased compass and a firm hand. Thank you for selfless patience and kindness and welcome. Thank you for understanding, or trying as hard as humanly possible when I don’t understand it myself. Thank you for the constant inspiration of consistently being there without complaint or begrudge. Thank you for withstanding storms so many others would be weathered away by. Thank you for reliability and stability and hospitality and the definition of true friendship. Thank you for allowing me to play my small role your great symphony that has only just begun. You’re going to be so wonderful.

Thank you for seven years of consistent friendship. Thank you for archives of adventures and constant sunshine. Thank you for being an anomaly. Thank you for always being there, even if my conciousness subjected to the background, because you always stayed. You have always, and always will be there. Thank you for tremendous forgiveness and loyalty and compassion. Thank you for listening and understanding when others couldn’t. Thank you for finding gratitude in smiles and dry eyes and morning hugs. Thank you for knowing there isn’t possibly enough room in the world for me to thank you enough. Thank you for consistence, because you of all people know that someone needs to keep me on earth. Thank you for delighting in my many flaws and celebrating my victories. You are beyond worth it.

Thank you for being yourself. Thank you for blanket-wrapped star gazing and talking about anything and everything. Thank you for constant reminders and challenges and integrity. Thank you for your opinions which are so drastic and challenging. Thank you for your infinite wisdom and insight and pure honesty. Thank you for your prayers and encouragement and pride. Thank you for letting me in and letting me share some of my greatest evenings in your company. Thank you for holding my ground. Thank you for consecutively compulsively buying  Taylor Swift albums alongside me since we were fifteen. Thank you for reminding me that I need to text back. Thank you for growing up with me, and allowing me to be constantly inspired by the pure adoration you hold for God. Thank you that everything is better with you.

And thank you in advance for the many years we hold ahead, because if they are just half as wonderful as they are today, I will be the happiest woman alive.

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