Nothing can compare
to the smell and feel of an old book.
Hidden away in a old store.
The smell of dust and age
that lays on the pages someone has held before.
the places it has been.
From coffee shop tables
to trains
bedrooms
maybe even a few floors.
More stories to the book than that
of which the words that lay on the page.
Folded corners and other kinds of stains.
No nothing can compare to an old book.
You can keep your ebooks and kindles
thank you very much.
You cannot recommend
what I might find
in that old store.

Sleep deprived.
Its 2.30 in the morning
and im smiling to myself like an idiot over someone else’s love story.
Sometimes I fear the closest I will ever get to the feeling of love or being loved will always be found in written words or acted out in movies.
Pure and typical escapism at its best.
Always trying to find a way to have something you always crave for deeply.
When the world is telling you no
you need to be a strong independent woman and all you do is end up relying on others for this sort of love they can give you.
Which you cannot give yourself.
It’s rather sad really seeing as the truth is we all die alone.
We humans always crave something we cannot have
when we have what we believe is everything we end up being wrong.
Money cant buy you everything.
Love can’t get you everything.
Having a lot of friends doesn't necessarily mean you are liked and will be remembered.
So if you could live as a strong independent being would you?
Or do you secretly like this graving for attention, affection?  
Yet at the same time it hurts just like having that last piece of cheese cake when you know you shouldn't.
You will feel worse afterwards for breaking your so called diet
But you really want them few minutes of pleasure that you dearly miss.
When that cheesecake rests in your mouth.
Until the last bite and then its gone
and all that is left is that feeling of regret and guilt.

The heart is a puzzle to many
But think of it as a jigsaw piece.
Certain ones fit.
Certain ones break.
And certain ones piece everything together
And make it complete.
And just maybe for the pieces that broke
Or didn't quite fit
We found ourselves taking something away from it.
That lets us get a clear picture of what the puzzle is
So then eventually we will know what the puzzle looks like
We will know who why and maybe when
we will find that perfect piece.

A hunger I long to fill
But not with wine
Or food.
A longing stare
Eyes that meet across a room.
A flutter.
A laugh.
A cry.
A glance in the right direction.
I ‘m drawn to you in a way the paper burns as soon as it touches the flames.
If I go to close I know I will cease to exist
To go on further more.
To wither away like a rose
As I change colour and my petals fall.
This love was not meant to last
It will just perish like another flower like another rose.