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.
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.