Let it go.


I awoke in dreamlike haze, seeping through the silk drapes the setting sun drenched the room in its light. Light rain drizzled on, the soft wind whispered. History had been written, the bullet had been shot, the train was quickly leaving the station, had it ever stopped? 

And in a second it’ has all changed, everything. 




The sky above is grey, dark clouds weep tears, it has a magical quality of drenching everything around it, the blossoms and the trees, in its all encompassing misery. Though, it is not total misery, it is a slow, numbing virus that eats away at ones self.

My old soul creaks under the weight of the ticking seconds, the darkness that engulfs me. 


Question Your Existence


What is time, does it exist?

What is your purpose?

How do you really feel?

Why are people so consumed in relationships?

Does the animal side rule you?

Is this life real?

Why are people so angry?

What’s the point of money?

What’s the point of you?

Where are going?

Where have you come from?

Is this reality?

Question your existence.

Question the coffee in front of you, the bustling streets the stretch beyond. The setting sun and the rising moon, the stars that blanket the dark ink sky. The sparkling city lights, the lonely night. 




An iced coffee sits in front me it drips on the table,  whiskey stings my throat. The windows are open and the silk drapes are caught in a gentle breeze, the clouds are grey. Rain drizzles down the window pane to the melody of faint music. 

Another day racing beyond my grasp. Notebooks scatter in front of me, fleeting emotions captured, pulled apart and disposed of.

I haven’t been writing as much as I would like to. I almost feel disappointed in myself. I had promised to start writing a book, I got past the first paragraph, then the first page, then the fifth, though after that words fell apart. Just like life, i’m good with the introduction, i’m good with dreaming and ideas, though when it comes to reality, what should happen next, my fabricated wall of day dreamed lies fall apart and the harsh reality drowns me. 

I might go for a walk later, get a coffee, watch people pass me by. 



My coffee blog –  Uno Cappuccino



Rain drizzles down from the cloudy evening sky, the wind wails as trees get caught in the rage. Silence echoes down the hallways of the dark house, faint music enchants. 

Monsters inhabit the dark crevices of my inner turmoil, the pendulum swings, changing my mood with every ticking second.

Who is writing this today? Should I have a different name for every different me? 

For when the monsters arise, who do I turn to?  My self destruction is inevitable, with every footstep, I tiptoe into the abyss. 


Liebster Blog Award


Thank you so much Fictional Machines for giving me my first wordpress writers award! It is really appreciated and a lovely thing to receive on the last day of 2012.

The Rules:

1] Link back to the person who nominated you.  Fictional Machines

2] Post the award


3] Nominate five blogs

The nominees (In no particular order)






4] Answer these questions

1) What is your favorite word in the English language?


2) What are you listening to as you write the answer to this question?

Birds singing to the setting sun and “It’s hard to say goodbye” by Michael Ortega 

3) What is the last thing you ate that you really, really enjoyed?

I had Mango with sticky rice and coconut milk for dessert tonight

4) You’re at a job interview, and the interviewer asks you to make him laugh. What do you do or say?

Walk out, I don’t want that job anymore

5) The world is about to blow up, but you’re being saved, and are allowed to take five things to another planet (Aside from the clothes that you are currently wearing) where you and only 999 other people will now exist (Ignore the bleakness of this question). What do you take?

I would take a notebook, a pen, a telescope, and my two chihuahua cross papillons 

6) What’s your favorite drink to consume first thing in the morning?

an iced latte every morning without fail 

7) What was the last book that made you cry?

Books don’t make me immediatley cry, they eat away at me slowly

8) What’s the most ridiculous or silliest way you’ve been injured?

Walking into a wall with a fork in my mouth and chipping a tooth at the back… 

9) What’s your favorite city in the world? Why?

It’s a really tough tie between Edinburgh and Abu Dhabi, they are both so uniquely different. Today I shall go with Abu Dhabi,the city sparkles like diamonds and it really appears like a mirage from the desert. 

10) What’s the most embarrassing album in your music collection (Be honest)?

— I wouldn’t say its embarrassing to me, though i’m sure others would find it a little embarrassing.. I love Disney music, particularly Pocahontas. Maybe what makes it embarrassing is I know all the words and sing “Colours of the wind” to my dogs. 

11) To borrow an old line from a Crowded House song, would you rather a mansion in the slums or a caravan in the hills (i.e. a nice house in a not nice area, or a tiny living space but with views)?

– A caravan in the hills, no competition between the two in my mind!




The sun set drenching the room in its light. The old floorboards creaked under her feet as she walked to the window, pulling the silk drapes down. 

She had not left the house for many weeks and the passing of time had lost all meaning. 

The people in her life where resembling shadows and shadows do not leave much to miss. They seem to stand silently beside you, offering you a glimpse of the person, yet when dark times inevitably fall they vanish.

The more she learnt of truth, she realised all she knew was lies. 




And her days were filled with a silence. Thundering, loud silence.

Candles flickered against the bare white walls and rain drizzles down the window.

The decisions she had made met her every morning, walked her to where she was going and tucked her into bed at night.

Every action felt like a time filler, filling the space between birth and death.

Slumbering blossoms slept in a vase, paper with scribbled words that breathe life scattered across the table. A cup of coffee sat glued to her cold hands. 


A Melody


Marks lingered on her body, around her neck and across her arms, his marks. Outside rain hits the concrete and drips down the window pane, the wind wails. Dark shadows creep across the walls, the echoing silence thunders loudly. The memories were slipping through her grasp like water. Was she to see his blue eyes filled with sunlight again? Or the way he smiled, dimples forming across his rugged face, was she going to miss that? 

For who does she have? No family, nor many friends… Apart from her two papillons, with their hearts as expansive as oceans, she was alone. 

To others she was the adventurer, the philosopher, the dreamer, the truth seeker. Though they never wanted to get too close it seemed.

She is the nomad, the hermit, the artist, the seductress, the child, the scared, the hurt, the lonely, the passionate, the strong, the universe and the stars.