Thursday 29 July 2021

Starting Again II

I have lived before, and imagined, and written, and been read - but when life is very hard, these things feel impossible to acknowledge or remember. 

So I'm going back to basics - I find the trunk from under the bed and pick through old achievements, pictures, stories, fragments. I find my first prize-winning poem - a sonnet. I find demented drawings. I find shrines to people I've loved and friends I'll always call mine. 

L x


Thursday 22 July 2021


break (verb)

to (cause something to) separate suddenly or violently into two or more pieces, or to (cause something to) stop working by being damaged

to destroy or end something, or to come to an end

to fail to keep a law, rule, or promise

to go somewhere or do something by force

to lose your confidence, determination, or ability to control yourself, or to make someone do this

to become known or to make something become known

(of waves) to reach and move over the beach, hit a cliff or wall

(of the weather) to change suddenly and usually become worse

(of dawn or day) when dawn or day breaks, the sun starts to appear in the sky early in the morning

a short period of rest

I sat in the common that was more mine than anyone else's. I knew the roots of every tree, the place to find the damsons, the loops to make when you wanted to walk for hours without seeing a car. 

I wrote on a fallen trunk. The date: the same as all the days before. I wrote about all the ways a body could break and all the ways it could be forced. To split in two, four, six, more, to reach too far over beaches and cliffs and lakes and walls, to rise too early, to change irrevocably, to become worse suddenly, to feel the hurt violently, to be so destroyed that the only thing left is to end completely. But when you survive, there are ways to make hope out of all that breaking, and the rotten parts start to give way to green shoots and new years.

The date hadn't changed in a month and three days, but I would - eventually. I wouldn't be a coward. I wouldn't walk on and say nothing. In the night, three boys sang Angels outside the bedroom window and when I woke up there were fresh sunflowers by the pillow. I sat amongst blue velvet cushions, drank coffee from a small cup, and put on a new white shirt. The air smelled as I knew it would and the sky was as blue. I slipped out into a morning already as warm as skin and went to reclaim the pieces that had survived.        

L x

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