Broken strings & Pretty things

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

Archive for the category “Hope”

The North Star.

My summer nights are christened with your name, your smile adorning these rolling fields with garlands of light.  And I continue to spend my summer days falling fast into these wisps of straw, with absolutely no intention of getting up. With every beam of your rose-stained lips and every glow of your tangled laughter, these cold bones grow warmer, and blue flesh becomes flushed.

And, for the first time in a long time, I feel alive.

But I can’t have you: you are a Michelangelo and I’m a thrift shop steal. You are a symphony and I’m a broken string. You are a shining glory fallen upon my calloused mistakes. I am more than damaged goods; I am a fountain of broken glass.

I may look, but I cannot possibly touch.

But I don’t mind, because people have their places and relationships have their time. I would rather gaze across this gliding sunset than never experience it at all. And I will continue to return to these summer nights and have you bless every passing star which blankets us. Maybe one day my fractures will become joins, and maybe I will become a vessel that no longer leaks. Maybe then my ink-stained hands will be able to clasp something as tender as you.

Nevertheless, it is beyond a pleasure to witness your great orchestra, even if I am but a blurred face in a bustling crowd.

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The last day.

You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you will not only miss the people you love but you will miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you will never be this way ever again.
Azar Nafisi

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

Bridge.

And the tears streaked my irises like the rain drops on the window pane as the train tracks led me far, far

away from you.

And all I wanted to do was to stop this train; stop this eternal ticking of time; stop this distance

and crawl back home into you.

And all I could taste was the smell of your skin and  all I could see was the beauty of your voice

yet all that surrounded was complete vacancy.

And all I want to do was to bridge this gap; to colour in this distance etched between us. All I want is to break these in-between moments between now and two weeks away. I’m desperate for your voice to be closer than a crackle down the wireless and your smell to be stronger than the linger of your old sweater. I want your hands to be more than muscle memory.
And I want, more than anything else, for your embrace to remain something unbroken.

But I will carry on chasing you, and I will build a bridge between these miles which stretch their arms between us. And I will embrace the time constrained conversations like the arms that will soon envelope my waist.

(image via http://songofthelark.files.wordpress.com)

Goodbye.

As a side note before this post begins, I would like to apologise for the lack of posts in the past couple of months. I moved away to London for university at the very end of September, and settling in and finding time to write was extremely difficult. However, now my days are more structured, I can once again continue what I love to do most:

Below is a post that I began to write as I was beginning to leave:

Somehow time crept her way behind our backs and stole our nights away until we were left here, stood in a storm of old pictures and sepia-stained conversations. I move my lips: a vain attempt to try and delay this inevitable parting.

And I remember lying down by your side and wishing that this moment would extend itself far from the framework of this evening and into the deepest depths of the night. The notion of morning was far too painful, far too real for me to comprehend. So I kept my fingers entwined with yours and prayed that they could remain there.

Somewhere between the building blocks and textbooks and endless summer nights, we grew up. We resembled the people we once believed to be so big, and so far out of reach. We put on suits and we made decisions and got in cars which would take us far, far, apart. Somewhere along the way, between the teenage insecurities and unobtainable crushes, we became real people: people who live in their own houses and pay bills and take out mortgages.

And I know that so much of me wants to run back to summer nights in log cabins or days drenched in your arms or tea stained Sunday evenings. So much of me wants to continue lying here in the safe clasp of your hands. But stagnation is suffocation and no amount of clock watching will never stop those hands ticking away.

So I kiss your lips that one final time before the car door takes us miles away. I remember your smile and I remember the clumsy melody in your voice.
And I remember that this road will always lead me back to you. I remember that, however far these miles stretch themselves between us, you are never too far away. And most of all, I remember that although this will be tough, and there will be nights where it all seems to much, you are worth it.

You have, and always will be, worth it.

(image sourced via tumblr)

The fall from summer.

I know that you say that you are excited for change, and I know that you say that you are happy the way things are, but I know how easy you find it to hide your feelings until you come undone in the solace of your bedroom.

And I know that you want it to be summer forever, no matter how excited you say you are about moving away. I know that autumn strikes fear into your heart, because you believe autumn means change, and change means distance and a broken heart and missing what is right here in front of you. But darling, please stop living your life in the summer. Stop waiting for sunny days to free yourself and stop waiting for the sunshine to fix your problems.

Because the summertime isn’t real. Although summer makes things appear brighter, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are better. Because easier is not better. Easier is lazier and laziness is doing nothing; achieving nothing. You were created to do so much more than stagnation and a tradition of a wrongly fitting pattern, no matter how comfortable and beautiful it feels.

In the autumn, things happen: you happen. Contrary to popular belief, autumn is where you blossom and winter is where you flourish. It is in the bleakness when you truly find yourself, and it’s when you cut that tie when you can take your shoes off and run in the grass and scream to your heart’s content. Here, you are too strangled. Here, you are told what fits and what to put in your head and you are deceived into thinking who you should love. Not because you don’t know any better, but because the sunshine is a cunning mistress and makes the deepest wound appear the friendliest face.

Run away into those autumn leaves. Let autumn’s musty breath change you: change everything. Let it settle in your relationships, in your eyes, in your heart, on your windowsill. Let it make nothing appear the same. Then come back. Come back with fearsome tenacity and knowledge and strength in the fact that you no longer need to rely on fading blonde curls and summer dresses to make your day a good one.

Liverpool.

I didn’t know what to expect as the train hurtled me far into this western corner, but as my clumsy feet found themselves standing between your golden-ruffled grin and your freckle-kissed blue eyes, I suddenly found myself home.

This was not because any of these streets held any familiarity, and not because these crowds held any long-lost faces. I was home because I finally felt like there were no longer fault lines or hard edges or a squeezed fit: here, belonging felt effortless. With the pair of you beside me, this foreign city furled into a place where my name didn’t feel strange; I felt safe, and welcomed and loved.

And the feeling of home grew as every minute passed: as I made friends within your friends and shared in your smiles; as I learned your families’ names and revelled in their laughter; as I cooked and skipped and tripped beside you in each passing moment. And, for that, I could not begin to express my gratitude. For so long I had always felt content in half-hearted friendships and ill-fitting matches, and it was more than a blessing to taste the friendships I had longed for so long: to finally find a home when for so long I was trapped in empty streets and cul-de-sacs.

Because that’s the thing about home: it is far from bricks and mortar and a postcode. Home is knowing that your name is safe in someone’s mouth and home is no longer having to work. Home is no longer having to construct a perfect image. Home is reality and laughter and watching you wrestle your sister over photographs you’d rather left unseen.

And though train track wrenches us miles apart, I have never felt closer home. And though watching you hurtle far away, back into that western corner, heavied my heart like nothing else, I could not be happier. Because of you, and our entirely serendipitous friendships, I finally know that I belong.

(Photograph: Alamy, sourced via The Guardian)

Ravage.

Come away with me.

We’ll search every sea and scour the furthest land.

Come away with me.

We’ll watch the moon lift every last drop of light and laugh until dreams heavy our heads.

Come away with me.

We’ll forget the past and our played out passions and we’ll conquer the world again.

Come away with me, please.

So that you will no longer be lost. Come away with me so that you can be you, and I can be me and so that I won’t have lost you. Come away with me so you’ll be here, and not there and safe back in the memories I used to know. Come away with me and be the person I thought you were. Please don’t be a figment or an ideal or a worn-out name. Don’t be silence on the telephone or an uncomfortable smile or hurt-stained pixel.

Come away with me and be you.

Be safe and be home and be everything I wish you could be. Be the open and honest and flawed and wonderful person that you are. Be the person who I confided everything in and be the person who I looked to as my compass. Be my Wednesday afternoons and my night-time confidant. Be the person I believed in more than anything.

Come away with me and escape this all-consuming town.

We can leave behind the mess and the madness and I can still look into your eyes and see my best friend smiling back. You are so much more and so much deeper and so much more lovely than the girl I see before me in this crowded room. You are so much brighter than this faceless crowd.

Be here, because I don’t know where I am now without you.

(image sourced via tumblr)

Awe.

As life hurtles past me like bullet trains heading to an unmarked terminus, I simply lay myself down in Your presence.

Sometimes that is all I can muster. Sometimes all I can allow myself is to bathe in Your atmosphere and hear Your voice. Because, for so longg it felt like I was blindly shouting across barren hills, and for so long I felt crippled by others who love You; crippled by those within Your church. For so long I traded You in for a concept than a reality. For so long You were merely a distant relative; a former acquaintance etched into former days but absent from the present.

And though questions pervade my head like an unyielding whirlwind, I humbly stand before You, and look towards You. You are so much bigger and brighter than my bleeding heart and racing mind. You have equipped me with a lion-heart which is so densely controversial, and I kneel before You and have hope that it is for a reason: that You will use it for Your good. I submit: a submission not of cowardice and weakness but of knowing that at the end of the day You are beautiful, and You are constant and You are bigger than any tears or laughter or head-scratching.

Though the path before me seems so overgrown with doubt and difficult questions and a constant uphill battle, I trust that there is fighting for a reason. I trust that there is a method in this madness. Although there will be times that I will not be able to lay here with You like I am now, I know that You will still be somewhere out there, somewhere close, even when I call in the bleakness and the valley. Even when all goes silent and my heart is fatigued and my mind crippled: You will still be there.

So as I rest in viscosity of true joy, You remind me that it all worth it. You remind me that the difficult parts are the best bits and the easiest things in life are a bland taste in the face of Your glory. You always give just enough to cope with. Though some may be given more torment and discomfort and trial than others, I thank You for the challenge. I thank You that You allow me to keep going.

I thank You that You are so constant and firm and that I can always come back here and know that it is worth it; that You, beyond every possible measure, are worth it.

 

(image sourced via flickr)

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.

 

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