last night.

we laid in the grass in a field outside of town and we didnt mind that it was getting colder or that the grass was a little damp against our backs, because we realised there was so much more to care about than that. we stared up at the sky which stretched across us in a giant dome of black and navy and purple and swirls of grey cloud, scattered with a hundred thousand specs of glowing dust. the moon was huge and so close it looked like we could climb the trees and reach out to it, it lit up the field so we could see eachother perfectly, casting long shadows across the grass. all our bodies were lined up close and warm and we talked and realised how infinite space was, and how we were looking into the past. and we waited and waited in excited expectation for the meteor shower theyd promised us, and we gasped and clapped and screamed when the stars started shooting across the sky. we saw the satellites in orbit, making their slow way across the world, and the planes flying fast up high, flashing red and blue. we pointed out the constellations in patterns above us. and when it was over, we stood up and hugged eachother as we stood in the moonlight, because there was no where on earth we’d rather have been.

Good Morning.

first posted on tumblr a few weeks ago.

Feel the edges of your consciousness slowly ebb into focus. Your breathing picks up as you drift into the waking world; you feel the sun burning red into your closed lids. Your head is full of flickers of words and colours and faces of the dream that you are leaving behind. Your thoughts align themselves and you realise you are awake. You also realise that you are thinking of him. You fire a round of curses at your subconscious for letting him be the first thing you think of when you wake up. Because you know, you KNOW that you are probably the furthest thing from his mind right now. Roll over in the soft white sheets. One is tangled around your ankle. Looks like you had a restless night. Sit up. Slowly. Tucking the hair that hangs across your flushed cheek behind your ear. Your bare legs are covered in imprints, red creases across your skin from the bed sheets. The light that is shining onto you through the smeared window panes is coming from an odd place in the sky. Ah. A glance at the clock tells you it is 5am. You get up anyway. Your hot bare feet leave marks on the floor and then evaporate. The view from your window is lovely, the world is hardly stirring. You open it and lean out, breathing in the breeze which stirs over the light warmth of the day ahead. You can’t help your eyes glance across the street and wash over his apartment building, resting on his window. A shot of adrenaline surges into your heart and creeps through your veins. He is there, like you, leaning out of his window, surveying the early morning city. Your eyes meet. Your heart yearns to reach out across the meters that interrupt you and touch him. You’re wishing for the impossible. He turns away from the window, and a tear rolls down your cheek.

Feel the edges of your consciousness slowly ebb into focus. You groan. Still half wrapped in dreams. You roll over, disorientated, and land on the floor. Awake now for certain. Great, you think. The first time in weeks you manage to get anywhere near a decent night’s sleep and you end up on the floor. You sit up, and without really meaning to, think two thoughts. You wonder what the time is, and if she is awake yet. You groan again, mad at yourself for letting her be the first thing you think of when you wake up. It’s never going to happen. She is too beautiful, too fascinating. You stand up, rubbing the crystals of sleep from your red eyes, as you stare into the rays of light shining through your dirty window. A glance at the clock tells you its 5am. Though the warm, empty bed is tempting, you make your way to the window, curiosity over ruling laziness. You walk to the window, shoving aside piles of dirty clothes with your foot as you go. You open it and lean out into the morning air. The city is stirring with movement, understated and quiet. A few people walk the street below. Taxis take the early morning news reporters to work. A man unlocks his newspaper kiosk. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool on your skin. If you were home, there would be dew on the grass, you think with a sigh, gazing at the world below you for a few minutes. You’re kidding yourself though, if you thought the reason for coming to the window was to look at the street. Your unwilling eyes wander up the building opposite, and rest on her window. A shot of adrenaline surges into your heart and creeps through your veins. She is standing there, so beautiful it almost hurts, hair ruffled with sleep, face bare. Your eyes meet. You long to climb onto the sill of the window and jump across the meters that separate you, to hold her in your arms. You’re wishing for the impossible. She’s probably wondering why you’re staring at her, thinking you’re some kind of freak, you realise. Your heart tears as you turn away from the window.

regret

theres nothing quite like the feel of it. its almost guilt, shame, twinged with the knowledge that it, whatever it was, was your fault. you made a mistake. no one else, you. you feel loss, loss of what could have come to pass but never will, because of your actions. you put on those heels and stamped on the face of your future, misguided into believing it was the right thing to do. you should have known better.

through walls

muffled, the sound bounces. it travels through the empty chambers of this house, it echoes off family photos and furniture. notes ring out, reverberate off the glasses, the mirrors, the chandelier. they are carried on the air up the staircase and under the door of the room where i sit. the room i have slept in, night after night after night, for the last ten years. in this room, i have grown from a child to the person i am today. the world has changed around me, the passing of time the only constant my life now. i think of the day we first came to this house. us, wide eyed children. them, proud parents. we set upon making this house our own, many long hours spent in the wilderness of the garden, running through grass which was higher than my head. the days passed idly by me then, though too intoxicated by the world was i to realise their passing. they continue to pass now, but now the transition of days means more. it is as if a clock is hung above us, counting down. second by second. day by day. and then we will be splintered.
the melody sad yet lovely, the emotion of it heightened by the slightly out of tune piano and your occasional stumbles. your fingers move fast across the ivory. though not as fast as they once did. i imagine your brow furrowed as the song progresses into deeper, harsher, bellowing notes. they are loud, frenzied, they shake the room around them.

and then,
silence.

No one will read this.

But incase you do, here's what's going down.
Strangers of the world, you asked to read my writing, you asked for a place you could view it instead of searching through the overcrowded scrapbook of Tumblr to find it. So, Strangers, this is what I have created. Especially for you.
This will be a display of my work, as opposed to the interactive journal I jot down pointless thoughts, funny things and beautiful images into. [Tumblr.]

So. I hope you enjoy. More so than my photography, you are going to be seeing further into my brain, my thoughts and my emotions, my fears and my hopes.