The White Torch – 22nd December 2021

Like a ray of moonlight through the window
Sweet words fall like dew drops from petals
Connected by vapour pulled through the air
The briefest touch sends hearts spinning

Pure eyes emanating light, lit large
Her grace flows forth like a stanza
This tree in blossom fights against her sorrows
A brief affection, two bodies made into one

A love cleansed by tears remains pure
A single thought makes it so
The flowers hidden in darkness
Cannot hide that held in our hearts

The universe trembles to this sweet music
This delicious dance felt for the first time
Love and fear fills the heart with joy
The obstacles of doubt surmounted
– Every minute now, a year of love

Mangled from the titular chapter of The Broken Wings by Khalil Gibran and inspired by the attached picture of an old student of mine. I read this chapter and saw the picture on the same day and combined, they both took me back to enjoy that soft sick feeling in the stomach and chest of teenage love.

3rd Mar 2024 – Submitted to Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge
16th Aug 2024 – Submitted to dVerse OLN

Gratitude Journal

I am so happy and grateful that from today the daylight hours will get longer again. I say this as I saw the sun appear above the mountain this morning filling the sky with its orange light.

I’m anxious and overthinking again at the moment. I need to overcome this feeling somehow. Yesterday I talked with Champ and I could feel he understood my frustrations with school but it became obvious that if anything happens down the line, such as more complaints from the parents, then he will not support me. Not necessarily by choice but just to protect himself. This is kinda disappointing really but I guess it shows me where I stand.

I think I’ll make some changes with some small things in my life again to give me back more of a feeling of control again. I feel not strong enough to support my own beliefs, not arrogant enough to feel superior, not flexible enough to bend to the will of others.

The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.

There’s something to be said for thoughtless manual labour. Weak. Time feels like it’s running away but it’s not real – why am I insisting on making it real? Is this my midlife crisis? Gotta self-talk my way out of it.