Write from the heart and worry about the details later.

Wednesday 27th of November 2019

I imagine a world where there are no expectations on me. In this world I fill scrapbooks with pieces of the world I wish to disseminate.

The thought of this makes my eyes sting. This still, silent world where the only expectation is from me, but not on me.

I move through this world like a sidhe, connected to the world but also separate from it. Collecting the world to show people what it can be, what it can mean, what we can do.

I’m tired of this depression, but what would I be without it? It’s been my friend for too long. But I dream of happiness, I dream of not being alone with it anymore. I dream of love.

I put my wishes into a balloon and let go of the string. It floats above bamboo gardens, through the bubble of our atmosphere and into the starry space of the universe.

The world upside down, my head under the sofa. The world rights itself and I’m where I always am.

In a dark bookstore I sit and smile, I talk, I fill the room, my fingers touch and hands embrace.

There is love for me, for them, for love, for life, for the books around me.

This is my wish, to be who I always am, to swim to the surface.

I built a cocoon around myself and now it’s smothering. Time to break free and become the moth I’ve always been… of night things.