I am 22;
staring at the mismatched cups
arranged in my kitchen cupboard,
wondering if I'll ever have great big matching sets
of plates, bowls, forks, knives, spoons
and cups

I am 22 and in love,
wondering how I got so lucky
-throwing myself backward,
through time,
to the person standing at my front door
one whole year ago.
Heart-hammering in their chest,
a fresh-cut key in their hand,
still raw with heart-ache:
An empty flat,
and a new life
behind a locked door.

I am old enough now
to recognize the shifting cycles;
to know that every August
is painted rose gold like setting sun
-and to know that February
cannot claw and tear at my ribs
lest I let it.
I am old enough to know
that I can start over -
without fear, without shame.
But young enough to leave bigger things
to chance:
                 love
                 happiness
                 hope
                 promise
these are answers I don't have

And I don't need to.
No,
I am 22,
brewing coffee in chipped cups,
planting kisses on a forehead,
arms, hands, sides, cheeks, lips,
dancing and jumping
when the world lifts around me.
I am 22,
and the world lies open before me.

My mother would often suggest I sleep on it.
Presumably mulling over all the possible outcomes whilst dreaming.

We were raised with anxiety, my mother was a live wire; adrenaline primed our hearts to avoid judgment, or catastrophe in an uncertain future.

At this very moment I am  living in the now, and in love with all living things, no-longer afraid; no longer clinging to the illusion of control, in an uncertain future.

It's days like this
It's worth remembering
It's not the end of the world
It's the bittersweet beginning

It’s been over a week now,


To be exact, it’s been twelve days.
If we are being really honest,
It’s actually been twenty nine days.
But, in reality it’s been so much longer.

You hopped on that plane,
That I had hopped on before.
Neither of us knowing how different it would all end up when you came back off the other side.
We are two birds who emigrate the opposite way from each other.

Crossing paths for only a day or two,
Spending the rest of the flight remembering what used to be.
You soar one way, I soar the other

‘Real friends, they never leave you’,
If only that was true,
To have a reason would make it easier

Us humans, we are just like pieces of drift wood floating down a stream
There is no saying if we will cross paths again,
Or only have a few fleeting moments together

As your wrinkles grow,
You realise that life is too fleeting to be mad anymore

Instead, you look at the moments from behind
You mourn the friends lost, the memories missed
You put down the album and let it drift away

You have learnt to forgive
Every now in then,
You dream of your paths crossing again,
But then you look around and see what you already have.
Sometimes the thoughts pour in and you wonder,

Will they leave me too?
The thing is in life, you just never know.

is it the way you smile,
the way your booming laugh
infects me and encapsules me

is it the smile, the corners of your lips
taking the shape of a heart,
washing me over with inexplicable endearment

or maybe it's the way your voice
controls me like the tides,
making my body tingle as you wish,
silvercapped tongue that toys with my mind

perhaps it's your body,
the way your silhuette was designed to
make me feverish and aching for it
to endlessly yearn for your touch,
or yearn to touch

i ponder and try to outline which of these things it is that has me captivated

intoxicated by your whole being,
i'm left wondering

What would I do if you wanted this to end?

I would smile. I would hug you. I would offer you my reassurance.

Then I would leave you there to melt off into a puddle made entirely of the mess of me, sliding around in up and down directions scattered and strown like the pieces of my heart.