Wednesday, 22 December 2010


Your forge has been silent for a while now. Or maybe it's just that your creations are not being revealed. Despite being unable to enjoy what you whip into existence from the thin, cold air, there is hope that your little gems are still tumbling from the fire to clink with satisfactory glee on the flagstones of your hearth.


It's just a backdrop.

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Winter's visited.

The blinds are closed. The heating is on. My belongings are lit by the yellow glow of a single lamp. My room is an enclosed, padded box, so I can cough and sleep this fever away in privacy. I haven't even looked outside today. Apparently it's snowing. The Snow Maidens are spreading their gifts once again. But the outside does not concern me right now. The last thing I want to consider is the cold.
But when I glance up from my screen, I get a sudden glimpse, a flash of white: the winter has slid its long fingers into my room.
A crooked mirror. An inexplicable gap between blind and window. And there, sat frozen on my shelf, is an image of cold. Thin branches scratch black lines across the blue-white of the icy sky. Edged with frost, they glitter and flicker with the movement of the light. This slither of winter is bordered by the blue of my blinds and it looks like... a fairytale.

My answer.

I’m hiding behind all these words
I cannot afford to say.
Answers gone ungiven.
Questions left unasked.
They’re holding me captive.
I’m not the answer
for all the questions you have.
An argument with no end,
that stretches in my minds eye
into all eternity.
This isn’t how I want to remember you.
The interrogation is building up.
Brick by boring brick;
a wall of question marks.
They keep me occupied,
they keep me alone.
The answer you wanted,
but I’m long gone.
I’m lost behind all these words
I cannot afford to say.

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

Cardboard boxes.

So. Did I say we've found a new house? It's big and spacious. It's warm and clean. It has rooms enough and more, and a large kitchen and two cookers, and a decent sized garden, and an attic floor specially for myself and my sister with blue carpets and skylights and a lilac spiral staircase leading to it and loft cubbyholes for our secrets and a view over the roofs. It has already installed surround sound in the den, and an oversized watertight garage. It has a study and a living room especially for the parents. It has no character. It's gorgeous, but it is not home.

Home right now is... a mess. Cardboard boxes stand stacked on top of each other in the corners of rooms (esp mine). Clothes and junk are strewn all over the place, or else placed in piles of importance. There's a list of "Things to do" on the kitchen side, but is it all crossed off? No. One solitary line obscures a single item, and that is all.

So. Did I say we're moving in in two weeks? To look around this house, you wouldn't believe it. But that doesn't really bother me. The longer things stay as they are here, the longer I can pretend that all of this... isn't really happening.