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Sometimes, on a clear starry night, I look up and find myself awe struck by the magic that is reality up above me; the ever alluring fabric of the cosmos gleaming with endless mystery… I wonder if there is anybody else that gets gobsmacked like me, that feels the tug of the stars on their heart like me.
Curiousity will probably be the death of me with answer less questions beaming down from such relentless angles.
Sometimes I do my best the forget all I’ve ever learnt, and I stare at things as though I’m seeing them for the very first time. Like a child working it all out for the very first time; making an assessment, with no real knowledge base to draw upon.
The curse of curiosity leaves the mind in a blunder of wonder, endlessly seeking and always asking: is there more to it than this?


Crossroads and such


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Thoughts once quoted by another read: “So which way shall I go? Right, where nothing’s left? Or left, where nothing’s right?”
Life has a tendancy of presenting one with numerous different paths to take, often all at once, ultimately leaving us with a choice to make. Choice can create change, or it can keep us comfortable. With the various opportunities staring you in the face how do you decide which ones you waste?
You must know your goal, your hearts desire in order to find the fuel for your fire. You need to know what you want and yern for the most, in order to be aware of which opportunity you cannot allow to go to waste when it finally presents itself. For if you do not know, the opportunity of your life time could arise simultaneously with many other “choices” and go completely unnoticed until you realise the biggest mistake of your life was not paying attention to what it was that made your heart beat…

I suppose that after all of the colourfully painful, often truly agonizing days and nights that this grief has battered my tattered body with, the sum of the pain I am left to face is and will always be this:
A feeling of breathlessness, as my heart sinks with nostalgia and despair every time I remember you are no longer here, thinking back to the days I had my best friend by my side; my first love by my side. You taught me the way, you gave me unconditional love just because you felt it. I know I will never feel anything else like it. But with the way everything ended, when I think back to the happiest days of my life, with the love of my life I experience a moment of true bliss; before the tragic truth of reality takes hold of my heart and turns me inside out, but thankfully I know this pain could never dent the love that we shared and continue to share; without you here I still feel certain that our bond will always be there babe…



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When hearts are beyond broken, just mearly specks of black smouldering ash scattered on the pavement to be mixed back in with every day dust again… When we feel a numb, deadness in our chest following the pain of every bright, beaming sensation of love that we were blessed to have felt turn itself inside out to become the exact opposite of itself – when there is no such thing as a ray of sunshine coming from that source ever again. Only a devastatingly real hell remains whenever we wish to visit that place again. We can relive certain happy times in our minds but only to be left to refocus and evaluate the reality that is actually left before us when we snap out of it, once again. Our worst nightmare is our reality. The worst case scenario, becomes the scenario. How many times can we slap ourselves in the face with a reality that was never meant to take shape before we lean to far over the edge and seal ourselves a new fate. This pain will never leave me, like you once said. Yet when you went the pain took your place and as long as I’m without you on this plane the pain will forever remain. Like the pain I gave you, your heart gave out when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. In your head you had to leave you weren’t debating anymore no love-no life. I would do anything to do things differently, to show you all of my love when you asked to see it, but no matter how intense it gets nothing fucking changes I can’t get you back I can’t fix anything this cold, evil reality remains and I have to just deal with it, when all I want is you back here with me back home with us where you belonged before it all went so horribly wrong…

Master the art of letting go


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I now see that what we want or feel we deserve doesn’t always coincide with what we get or the way things are simply meant to be. Even though we are often tempted to mend certain things; if it ain’t meant to be, what we will continue to see will be pain that won’t cease until we muster the courage required to leave the broken piece of that desire to rest.
Can you ever guarantee yourself a chance to truly find your inner peace?
Clinging to that pain too often seems to send us insane and it’s a shame how hard we can struggle to simply let it go.


I reached a point not so long ago where I started to hate cigarettes; every one I smoked disgusted me just that little bit more and I started thinking if I didn’t want them, then I didn’t need them either. I don’t know what happened but now in the mornings I’ve gone from one cigarette to two. Two in a row was something I’d never normally do. But I like the nothingness that comes with sitting outside with the mind of a newborn just starting the world for the first time; again. The second cigarette is just something to pass the time with. I guess the longer you spend without someone the more you need things to do to fill the gaps that are their absense. Things that keep your hands busy, and your mind ever moving; distracted enough to avoid that base thought of what you’re really missing… That empty feeling of who you’re really missing, that never seems to leave.

A certain ideation


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It becomes a ‘spur of the moment’ type of decision, and bit by bit as more time passes; you seem to get closer to that moment. The more times you give it your attention and then brush it off as something not worth doing, the more it seems to gradually appeal as the logical decision to make. When you haven’t had a really good time in a long time, when you haven’t had that really good true friend for an even longer chunk of time; you kind of start feeling your time here is insignificant however it ends up being spent.
That initially unappealing decision, doesn’t look so bad after all. Then the more you look at it the more familiar it becomes; the more familiar it becomes the more it makes you feel comfort. A unique sort of comfort and so you sit with it. Then you start thinking things like “why not? … It’s the final decision I’ll have to make, the act of doing so will certainly feel different; but no more so than the act of living when you feel this different and unknown by everyone you know…”


The rawness is back again and has become something I see only when I feel it. It fluctuates and is fleeting, prolonging as long as I allow it. Growth a continuous possibility so long as I utilize the pain like a powerhouse and let the sheer shock of it jolt up my spinal cord to maintain a light in my brain. The everlong ache of it physically brings about the sensation of my insides being sternly pressured, an uncomfortable pressure as if my skin were being pierced by a blunt butter knife. It’s ache is somewhat enjoyable. And I do not know if I mean that literally or in a more self destructive sense.

What do we know


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I don’t know why we write… I mean, I know we each have our own array of various different reasons behind why we write when we do, and from the most complex to the very simplest of reasons too. But I think that what we write about says a great deal in itself with regards to why it is we’re really, truly in the act of writing.
I don’t wish to go too in depth with this but it’s just that sometimes when I go to write I wonder what it is I am writing for, and I find that when the reason is something external from myself such as the spread of knowledge, or the intent to help others or even to just put my say out there for the world to possibly appreciate; the external reason tends to create a written piece less personal, and somewhat less genuine than a piece with say no reason other than me simply trying to understand and express a point to and for myself. I think that expressing and addressing ones curiousity in public posts that are for anyones eyes to be seriously exciting… To have even the slightest possibility of another’s eyes investigating the written word of your hearts mind with the ability to judge, criticize and even add an opinion on is something I find to be seriously thrilling in all honesty.
I can’t speak for everybody but I do think that creating the idea of any possible audience whilst we write alters our creative flow by the way in which we wind up directing, and/or sensoring that which is born from within: pure creativity, which should really remain untouched and unaltered from inside out in order for it to harbor the same flow and be ever potent with the very strain of energy that gave it life.
The best, and most genuine creativity to me is the kind that is omnipotent- the kind that is truly felt when it is absorbed into the heart by the eyes of an observer.