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We danced the night away. Softly whirling round in circles laughing all the way and I held your hand and you smiled at me and I was happy. We were happy. There were no lost longing glances and no broken hearted trepidations and I didn't miss a thing. All the while there was this big bubble of joy inside me bursting out until I laughed it all away and smiled so hard that I almost lifted off the ground and for the first time I felt a little bit pretty... and then I tottered home in my sky high heels.
What would you do if I told you to lie? To lie beside me and forever to sigh. What would you do if I told you to steal? To steal me away and with a kiss seal. What would you do if I told you cheat? Cheat death for me and never repeat
these words to another, these words are my life, and where you can hide your love, I will hide your strife, safe in my heart, never to be released and my love for you will never be ceased. Mindnumbing poetry. How fickle my heart.
She walked until she could walk no more and then she lay down in the long grass. Warm south wind whispering in her ear and the faint calls of sparrows serenading her, she closed her eyes and waited for the blazing red afternoon sun to settle her into a sleep so deep that none could ever wake her. She was found, a body in the long grass, a few days later and never identified. There were grass stains under her nails where she had tried to hold on and dew drops on her eyelashes where she had cried. I watched her go.
It's funny. It really is. I looked at you through your writing. Hell, I looked at you through your personality. Rubbish.
You hide behind it. It is your shield...
and yet there were times when you were so human. Times when you laughed out loud (and said lol) that made me smile inside because I thought I was helping you to see what you really were. Which is a person. A human being. Homo sapien - what vain creatures we are, to call ourselves 'wise men'. So I'll tell you that you can change. But don't bother.
...because there's no point. Don't change the cover - take it off. Peel away the paint. Let the timber shine through. No lamp shade required, just the bare bright light. Sure, it might be blinding for a little while but we'll get used to it.
When people write they don't say everything they mean, and don't mean everything they say. We are melodramatic because we don't have to look people in the eye. If you tried reading this aloud to someone you'd cringe! But we're writers, so we're dreamy and unimaginable and inconprehensible. I want to be human. For once.
So many pent up nerves wrestling for my attention. I am nervous. I feel like I shouldn't be, I should just be completely over-the-top excited, but I think I'm too tired. I can't seem to muster up the feeling. It doesn't feel like I leave tomorrow. It doesn't feel like anything. I just feel restless and bored and tired and unable to do anything. Weary. I want to be excited. I want to be buzzing. I can barely type, I can barley be bothred to think. It's not a nice feeling. It'll go when the morning comes, I'm sure of it.
Today I went to the USA.
The drive down was alright - Chris had a conference over the car phone, so we learnt a lot about crisps and stuff which was fun. The flight was ok, I was next to a nice American girl who was going home. Plus the ride was only a little bumpy - nowhere near as bad as Virgin Blue! Emmigration was ok. The airport isn't too far away from the Whetstone's house, which is HUGE by the way. The photos do it no justice - the amount of space in here is awsome. The hallway is so open and the whole house goes round in a big circle - you can practically do laps.
It is very very strange being back here, seated at their kitchen table, eating cereal and toast and drinking tea from an old mug. In my pajamas, not feeling afraid or self-consious, just warm and happy and light and
. It is the sense of normality that unsettles me now.
This isn't normal, not any more. This is the least normal thing I've done all year... sit at my friend's table and eat her cereal and her toast in my pajamas with the sunlight streaming through the shuttered windows. It feels like nothing's changed. Everything's changed.
Last September one of my best friends moved to America. Maybe you remember my depressive entries, or maybe I didn't write any. Maybe I holed it all up inside myself and didn't let it show (although knowing me I doubt that very much).
I missed her. Of course I missed her - she's been there everyday for me since I was 5 years old. But to be back with her after almost a year felt so... normal. Like nothing had changed at all. Like this was something I did every day. Like it wasn't special and yet at the same time it felt so very special.
We made cakes. In the supermarket the confectionary isle was just boxes of muffin-mix, but rather than be insulted I stayed calm and wandered off to find some butter, sugar, flour, eggs and then we dug for a recipe and ended up making the cutest pile of chocolate icing cupcakes you ever saw. Plus with a variation of rasberries and candles we had her mum a very nice birthday spread. They tasted good too, which is always an added bonus. We arranged them on a stand and took pictures and laughed a lot. Littlest things that a person leaves behind.
We stayed up talking until 3am. It felt good, sitting up on the sofas clutching a pillow and chatting about random schizzle which is what most daily conversations consist of. Relaxed. Normal - that word again, that strange strange word. Georgie started quizzing Alex on girls and his opinions of them and it was funny watching him squirm because I know that I've looked like that so many times before. We played LA Noire on x-box. We drank hot chocolate. We sat and watched each other breathing. We lived. Day in, day out, only living. Living together. Breathing together. Love.
Shotgun. Did you know that people call shotgun to sit in the front seat because in the olden days when there were cowboys who rode in wagons through the dust, the man who sat next to the driver had a shotgun to protect them from bandits and the like. So we call shotgun to sit where he sat, up front next to the driver.
I like sitting in the back. It seems to me that that's where all the fun is. It's a little lonely being stuck in the front with all your friends in the back. Unless your friend is driving.
Trigger finger happy. That's me. Click-click-clicking all day long. A snap here a flash there. I like making memories. I take photos to document my life.
If I have children I'm going to take lots of photos of them every day so that I can make a book that's called 'A day in the Life' and when we're old we can look back at it and remember the day and every other day that was so good. I think I'm scared that I'll forget, that maybe the pictures will help me to remember. How could I ever forget?
I hugged her a lot. I like the feeling of her being close to me, not just a face on a computer screen. Not just a voice on the other end of a wire. She's here, right beside me, and if I concentrate I can smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her breath on my shoulder. Trying to make the most of it because it won't last long. Wipe away the tears and welcome the darkness. It is our friend. I'm going to miss her so much I can feel it so hold her closer than close now. It won't last.
We laughed so much our sides hurt. I bent double gasping for air and wiping tears from my eyes. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard ever, and I doubt that I'll ever feel like this again. Happysad, with a euphoric burst of adrenaline on top that was making me giggle excitedly. One word and we were off again, rolling on the floor with the dogs licking our faces in amusement. We lay there for a time letting the laughter drain away. I could almost taste the sugar in the air. I don't think I've ever felt quite so happy.
Is it hard?
Yeah. It's hard.
I wanted to pick her up and bury her in my suitcase and take her home and let her live in the shed but at least she'd be
. I wanted to take her home. Instead I danced by myself on the rug and spun around in circles until she laughed and said 'Annie what on earth are you doing?' and my reply was 'Spinning!' and I pulled her up off the bed and we spun together on the rug for the longest time. I love her. I miss her.
I cried. Alex just looked at me and said 'oh God' in a despairing kind of way, but it's alright for him he'll be back in a week. I feel like I'm never going to see them again. I tried wiping them away but they kept spilling over my cheeks, the epitome of a cliche. I'm tired anyway. I didn't want to get on a plane again. I felt like there was a hole in my chest. I felt like a drone. More cliches - I felt like one big cliche, bad enough to make an audience groan. Leave me here.
My room is splashed with gold, like some crazed god has taken King Midas' curse and run through it, caressing everything they touched. Evening sunlight (which is the best kind) dances and dapples across my bedsheets, my bookshleves, my dozing cat who sleeps with one eye open. The walls are now a warm yellow and the windows glisten. Glisten, glint, gleam, glimmer. Rich and oily here, light and streaming there. I stand in the shadow of the doorway, wishing I could lay down and bathe in the richness that fills my room. I cannot go in... the sunlight scares me.
Charlotte had a pool party. It rained. Can you tell I'm back in England? Nah, we had a great time - even though the pool was a little freezing. Seth's lips went blue. I didn't go in until half way through, and even then it was only because Catherine either said I'd jump in or she'd push me! I'd already seen Emma go in fully clothed, thanks to Joe. The sun did come out for a little while though. It's now 2:00am. I can't sleep, because for my body clock it's only 9:00pm or something like that. I miss America already.
I stopped writing poetry and started recording. I started writing dwon what I did each day - so that when I was old I could look back and remember. I can't remember any more. So I'll diary America and Norway because they were important but nothing else because it's not important any more. And I have wasted time in considering unrealities and the future and things that are barely tangible. I want to go back to poetry, basic soul deep rhythm of word torrents and tapestries and spelling mistakes. I want to go home.
Back to the dark from whence we came.
Did I ever tell you that it hurt? Oh I acted like a selfish bastard and I pretended that no amount of you could cause me pain and that I didn't know what to do. I guess that was true, for a while. I guess that I wore the mask so much that it became a part of me.
I honestly don't know what I was doing. When I think about it I still don't. I convinced myself that I could read you mind and interpret the beat of your rhythm and everything you ever wanted was a nightmare. Liar.
I wrote as someone else for a little while. Scared that I couldn't find the words to fill the days. A diary is for my memories... this here is for my thoughts, so much easier to share with stranger than strangers. I'm never going to read this and I don't care who looks upon it and remembers.
My change of heart? I found you. You who so plaugues my thoughts and dreams when you shouldn't. Faery goblyn, ever following. What are you doing here and will you ever know that I love you and I am afraid? Thought not.
We flew out with the newsreaders and cameramen all desperate for a glimpse of the carnage. Bastard. Did you watch her face as you put a bullet through her chest or laugh as he froze and drowned in icy waters? Do you want us to listen to your story? I am screaming and howling for your blood because you had no fight with them. He had a family, she had a lover and how dare you walk towards them and take their lives like you would crush a leaf because they were only children HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU?!
I was sold a rose blossom once as a symbol for their love. Love again is the display here, the deep dark pit of the soul... and all they can do is pour as much love as they can back into their people bacause hate is so easy to control. The blinding black and white beast that sits in broad daylight - let love linger in the shadows. Warped view of the world this one. Scattered roses so many that they blocked the street and everywhere there were rose blossoms. In the water in the street and the poor poor souls.
I was surrounded by the story. I thought of you. You would have liked the story written on the walls for all to see. The way it flowed past the windows and the doorways and death lingered on the ceiling right above my head. A princess and a bear and a story unstoppable. I took pictures for you. I imagined you beside me. Sad really, how good the imagination is when you're really desperate. I wanted you to see. Come sit in this story with me and we'll finish it together. You and your lover, me in the shadows of love.
How easily this poetry flows off my tongue now! How easily now I know you might be watching. We could discuss it perhaps. I had a dream last night about you. No, not that kind of dream. There was an old woman who lived in a house and her garden was a bed for all to see. The grass beach spreads. We ran and ran and ran and I followed you on our great quest to get away from this world. One thing we have to get, out of this life. Stolen verses. Stolen dreams. Run Rabbit Run. Run. Faster.
'... and so I'll share this room with you/ and you can have this heart to break'
How backward we are. Why do we drown in love and dance in hatred. You never saw anyone die of hate. Never have I once contemplated hatred with such loath longing. Love is the best kind of self-harm. Emo's should try it. It gives you more greif, uses less intruments and you don't get blood on the bedsheets. Trust me, it stains something terrible. Tastes good, but takes forever to wash out. I blistered my hands scrubbing at it. Out damn spot.
But your soul you must keep totally free. Come now. Come now. The only thing you have is your soul.
I think I'd like that. To set off with nothing but my soul on my back and wander in the dust till the end of the nothing new. This is a war zone. What would you do if I gave you my soul. If I slipped it into your back pocket and you put it through the wash and never found it. If it stayed there, safe and close to your skin. Would you keep it and never know it. Never a question.
Well we were casually off to a Viking museum what with being in Norway and everything and it was a lovely sunny day. There were activities outside like archery and balancing and axe throwing. So of course we all pick up and axe and start hurling it at this bit of tree and we all get it in eventually. There's a certain technique to it I must say... and then up gets mum all quiet like and she picks up this axe and BAM in first time.
I took my mother to Norway and brought home a Viking.
I like them, this branch of the family. Bunch of Vikings that they are (I'm kidding). I haven't seen them all since I was very small, but we have a lot in common. I've seen Christin the most as she went to Oxford university so came over a lot. But Richard I don't remember, although I'm glad we've met now because he's really nice and we share reading interests. They've been very good to us. It's so pretty here - so green and peaceful. Even with the attacks it's been peaceful. I don't think I've ever felt quite so safe.
I didn't realise how much I'd missed them. Wil and Callum and Dan and Matty and Baris and Rory. Me and Emma just looked at each other and laughed. I can't begin to write about it because it was just... fabulous.
Today I started the Essex way which is 81 miles from Epping station to Harwich lighthouse. We're raising money for Macmillan cancer support. 81 miles, four days, a bundle of laughs and 8 pairs of duct-tapped feet. Don't ask. It feels so good to be back on the road. Wherever it takes us.
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