I find you hard to write. It is as if you are too... real. Or too close. Or too much a part of me.
You ask me for a picture - why is it I cannot even do that? I know you too well, I think. Trying to get you down onto paper seems an interminable task. Maybe I could condense you into a cartoon. I think I could. I think, maybe a poem would do as well...
I need to stop thinking of you as a whole and take only one aspect. Your humour. Your image. Your attitude.
You pass me in a hurry and I know exactly where you are going, what you are doing. I think living with someone makes them hard to view from a distance. They're too near all the time.
You should go away on holiday. I did not make use of the time when you went last time, but if you went again, maybe I would. Maybe then I would sit down and think about you. Maybe then I could separate the memories and knowledge of you a little and change you into letters that form words that form... a piece. Finished. Incomplete, maybe, but finished.
And maybe I could make you happy with that...
About Me
- Blue Bird
- Isn't this what the blogging's for..? I write. I draw. I listen to music... alot. I have an obsession with the colour blue and any type of glass. If Orion or Cassiopeia or The Plough or the Seven Sisters were visible in the night sky I could point them out to you, and probably would, but I couldn't tell you if Jupiter was that bright star on the horizon or if Venus can only be seen in the morning, however much I'd like to be able to. My obsessions spread over to photos too - those small physical snapshots of memories to shake and reawaken feelings in your mind. I try recreate that with my writing, but don't often succeed - it's a harder task than it sounds. I find this is partly because I don't write enough... hence the reason I'm here, speaking my thoughts to a distinct lack of reader. It's all good.
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