Sunday, March 30, 2014


Nothing can beat falling asleep to the evenness of your breathing.

Or the way, in your last moments of semi consciousness, you tighten your hold on me for just a fraction of a second.
Just a fraction, of a second.

I love you.


The wake up call.

Missed you all day

Your goodnights,
And the click of the button as you end the phone call-
Sometimes, it feels like it's the loudest part of our conversation.

If I could have one wish, if I could have some say

And when the world drowns you in the roars of its ocean, I want to be the crashing waves that tell you where the shoreline is.

Where home is. 

I want to promise you, that there is nothing you will miss when you listen with your eyes closed and your fingers laced with mine. 

I want to find the surest way for you to understand-

That you are magic. 

Because you hear all the words that some of us do not say, and you feel the tiniest inkling of a feeling before anyone gets a chance to bury it in their subconscious. 

That you are magic. 

In the quiet that you are amidst this city's senseless cacophony, and in the comfort that you bring when I've been spat back out at the end of an 18-hour day. 

And so,

when the world drowns you in the roars of its ocean; when it is difficult to hear above the din of fear, of frustration, of anger and exasperation-

I want to be the crashing waves that tell you where the shoreline is.

Where home is. 

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Sitting in a spinning teacup

With you.


I'm in a cuddlesome mood.
Clearly that is not a good frame of mind to be in.


use me all you want-
I just wish this bit stung a little less.


I am in such, a cuddlesome mood.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Happiness in small bursts

So I was due to get on a plane about four days ago and while that didn't happen, I still managed to get on a later flight that got me where I needed to go.

The few days away have done me good. I wish I could say the same for my waistline but it's one of those fuck-it-I'm-young-I'll-maximize-on-my-rapidly-deteriorating-metabolism-while-I-can.

And so, armed with a tummy full of hong kong nomnoms to last me a couple of months, I'm about to take on a crazy term 2 in approximately five hours (and I'm still on the way back from the airport! Score!).
A term 2 that kicks off with running a showcase at the end of the first week, featuring seven short plays and three to four sketches, and which will thereafter chuck me into rehearsals for a full length play (more on this later!).
I'm excited about having an actor hat to swap into for a while. The schedule though, is what is scary. Or the lack thereof at the moment.
And oh, that's just the first half of the new term!

Now though..
I'm desperately looking forward to falling into my softy soft bed and not getting bruised just by crawling into it as I have the last two days. Haha.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Ma chérie,

You are a collection of loose post-its and quick scribbles left for me to find.

I love you.
So, so much.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

"Maybe when you're beautiful," she says to the girl,
"Maybe, when you're beautiful."
If I told you everything was fine, and that I'm alright, I'd be lying.
But there isn't much of a point dwelling on the bits that made my day all wrong, or how I come back to an empty that fills me.

Because I am not lying when I talk about how lovely my evening was. And that, for a while, I really was happy. That being with you, and your family, is nice. That I love it. That I close where we are with our families.

Having said that, I think even though I thought I had come away from it, there are parts of today that I am still getting over.
So forgive my sullenness sometimes, my sulkiness; I chide myself often and remind myself that it is the last thing anyone would want to come home to. But on days like this, when we've already said all that there is to be said, when we know it's nothing within our control and neither of our faults, please then, do excuse me.

Because i might want terribly for you to hold me, and make it alright, but I don't know how to ask. Or I might have numbed my sadness just long enough to say I need you, out loud, but am made to realize the world doesn't always work in our favour.
But that's just mostly how growing up works though, right?
That I will need you, and I can. But that doesn't mean you will be there. You fix everything, and so easily- but I can't expect you to all the time.

That sometimes, there will be streams of days that are only punctuated with crying oneself to sleep.
That we are the only ones who can fix ourselves.
That there are birthdays you will find yourself crying your way into.

That all of it is just something I'll have to learn to deal with. On my own.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Ando como hormiguita por tu espalda

Coming home to you, 
fast asleep in bed is likely the most beautiful thing in the world


hacia el oro que se derrama y se me enreda

Monday, March 10, 2014

Who's Afraid Of Virgina Woolfe?

There are some things I am afraid of talking about. Afraid of starting on, because it'll lead me from one memory to another to another until it is all too late and...
And I'm afraid of that. 

But I'm also, admittedly, afraid of blocking things out. Afraid of finding that I have let my defense mechanisms wrap me up so quickly, so tightly, that parts of me never get to breathe again, never get to heal properly. 

Perhaps this is me in that in between. Trying to dissect things only as much as I dare to, all while wincing and well... Trying to be brave I suppose. 

Last Friday left me really creeped out. 
Sure, i managed to walk away. Sure, I managed to give the bloke a bit of what he deserved. And sure, I can say that this time, I didn't freeze up. That this time I won't look back and say, "I should've.."
But I can't say I walked away completely unscathed. 

You feel fear in different parts of your body. 
For me that often means parts of me shutting down, clamping up. And no, it's not very useful. 

Being grabbed, pulled back, pressed up against-
When you're in a crowd, when you've got enough in you to attempt to move yourself and your friend out of the situation, when you're trying to shake him off, when you're a little more than slightly aware that you can't move more than two steps because of a force that's keeping you...

Here is me in all my honesty and as much nakedness as I can bear;
Fear was a very fleeting emotion that was quickly replaced by annoyance and irritation. I don't think I'd even built up to anger yet, really. What I did just seemed like a very practical thing to do, at the time. And it was. And I'm glad i did. 
But. There are some bruises that cannot be seen. 

And long after this, they might just still be there. 

As much as I've tried to not let this trigger other memories, there have been bits and pieces spilling out of other boxes. Not in overwhelming amounts, just yet. 
But in all the quiet moments that I yank myself out of, I am painfully aware-
that there are people whose fingertips I can still feel underneath my skin, whose breath I can feel against my ear. 

I am okay. 
I think. 
Or I will be. 

I would've liked to, or tried to, talk about this given the chance. But instead I've been sad and upset and adamant on not acknowledging why. Of course other things piled on- like being ill and fretful and it's easier to cling on to something more reasonable. (Kind of more reasonable anyway. It's all relative isn't it?)

All I've been able to say out loud is how much I need a cuddle. Or how it's a cry-in-bed- sorta day. Or how I get terribly needy when I'm ill. All of which is true. 
So I've done a mix really- 
Cry myself into a few sleeps (some fitful and others sad), wishing I could be held, and not wanting to do this alone. 
Even though I know I have to. 
Even though I know it's a bit too late. 
Even though I know that now, by this point, some part of me will shirk from a touch that I might actually need. 

I think, this weekend, I just really needed
To not be as alone as I was. 

But I'll be okay. 
I'll be okay.

I'm okay. Really, I am. 


"Who's afraid of Virginia Woolfe?"
"I am George.... I am."

Sunday, March 9, 2014

All the bits I ought to hide better.

I get far too upset with myself for needing a cuddle/needing someone, as much as I do.

Especially on a day like this-
When I've just gone between throwing up, crying myself to sleep because I don't feel like I'm recovering quick enough and being buzzy in an achey sort of way from all my medicine.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Every. Time.

Happens every time
Doesn't hurt less

And despite what you say,
You'll let it repeat.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


Look where we time-warped ourselves to babe?

Sunday, March 2, 2014


Teach me
How to be here for you

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Holy Sonnet 6: Death, be not proud

By john Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.