I'll call him trust

If I give you my trust, will I be betrayed? If I call you my happiness, will I be dismayed? I don't know whether I'm telling the truth or a lie at any given time. Feelings of reality are blurred and smudged by my ideologies. Sometimes I hold back, sometimes I cross the line.
I'm never sorry, though, that way there's nothing to forgive. If you make mistakes I must make them too, but I'd rather make mistakes with you than make them all alone and have no one to confide in, to laugh with. If we stand shoulder to shoulder, we'll be a better barricade to the looming waves, but I'd rather stand in front of you, facing you, and take the hit. At least that way I'll be able to see you, clear as day in all your insecurity and vulnerability, and know for sure that you're still braver than me.

It's easy to be a coward these days; there's so many ways to hide.

Falls, Brawls and Pub Crawls

I have to lean against the lamp post. I try and play it off as casual and relaxed, but they must know. My legs have given up the fight to stand, they're trembling and shaking their fists at me, trying to get my attention. There's no time to think of trivial things like health though; my mentality has long since deteriorated, and I knew my body would follow. It's a god damn sheep, following my mind- the drug addled shepherd- into the belly of a whale. It can still call 999, I guess, but no one will pick up.
I should go pick up.
No, there's no time to think about my health. I still can't decide which is more deserving of my attention; the excitement or the nerves- both need it undivided, but I'm still undecided. Maybe I'll forget the lot and give over all my thoughts to this cigarette which is stuck to my hand.
I can't shake it off.

The Alarm Sounds

The alarm sounds. There's too many awkward moments. I never have those. Everything is comfort to me, I am comfort, I'm made of bloody feathers and fur and soft blankets.
Except I'm not really. I like to pretend.
You look at me. I like that look, that face, but it'll never be enough, it'll never be him. I turn away so as not to get sucked in. It works, I'm free again and I know I can plough on through.

I'll move away one day. You'll forget I was ever here and I'll be having this exact moment with another person, in another place, in another time. I'll be their confusion then, but not for long. The everlasting, ever moving blip on the radar.

False alarm.

Homeward Bound

Thud, thud, thud, thud- the monotonous drone of wheels passing over miles and miles of track, the anti-climatic hum of taking on speed till the thuds become so blurred that you can’t tell one from the other. The dreaded clattering noise, an untiring sound- it’s all happening just below my feet. We begin to rock side to side in jerky movements, the train tilting to latitudes that convince my heart we'll topple over. The platform runs out and drifts away into the distance, not waving, not saying goodbye, no tears in its all-seeing eyes. It’s happy to watch us leave; the last train of the day. We leave it resting in sought after silence, as we take the ritual sounds away.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Love As Always

No matter the distraction, I will remember this day. Not as a single day, but a recurring event.

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of my mothers passing. Passing is a strange word for it. It gives the impression that it's a mere obstacle to overcome before you are released into the sweet serenity of eternity. If you believe eternity is sweet.

I met some of her old friends. Wise voices with big shoes to fill, that come across as successful and praiseworthy, and oh so alike to my Mother. I hope it's not the size of the footprint that matters, it's how far it's travelled from the last step. Isn't that what makes it courageous.

I'm glad that I'm not part of that world, and that I wasn't raised with set homework times and a curfew and parents who stayed together. I brought myself up with just twelve years of mothering behind me and I feel I'm doing better from it. I enjoyed the juvenile torment of a stepmother. It hardened me and without it I would have no strength at all.

I haven't proved myself yet. I don't have a 'proper job' and I don't plan to get one. I am a dreamer and an escapist and I trust I will always be. There's no better way to go through life than to enjoy it and humour yourself and others along the way.

I think, and it is a confusing thought, a disagreeable one, that sometimes the best thing a mother can do is simply let her child be - unbiased and unchanged by their own beliefs.

I know one thing for sure. I am my own person, and I forever owe that to the absence of the person who would've otherwise shaped me.

I am me. And I've turned out to be the same person as my Mother.

So here is to Wilma Tracey. The mother, the friend, the life and soul. Taken before her time. But never really gone.

Love as always
x

Going, going, ever gone?

Decisions.

Decisions, she said.
Are we making the right ones or the wrong ones at any given time? Sometimes I feel I've chosen the worst possible path, failed at every turn, hurt people, lost people, and yet ended up somewhere better than I had ever hoped for. And sometimes when I make simple choices, the ones no one really ever thinks twice about, it brings about this pain, this heartache, this regret, and I know I should've chosen something else.

I miss her face, but when I see it, it's this still frame from the past. A print. Not the original. I look at her and I know her, but she doesn't know me anymore, and never will. It's a shame, because even if I've turned out different because of it, I would've liked her to be here, to see it.

When I get married. When I have kids. When I sing. When I get wiser to the things around me. I wanted to share that with someone who wouldn't ever leave because they were scared, or because they wanted to. Unconditional love only really comes from a rare handful of people in your life.
I fear I've lost mine.

So decisions, wrong or right?

It's always both.

She told me so.

Gloaming

It's getting dark early again.

I'm one of those unfortunate people who's mood is influenced and swayed with the world and all it's ways. When the sun shines I get up early and go outside, just to be caressed by the warmth for as long as I can. I used to imagine my happiness was solar powered in that sense; the more I could soak up, the longer I would feel giddy and on top of the world.

Then the sun would make other friends on the other side of the planet and forget about me. I'd see less and less of her. My days would start in the afternoon and by six at night I'd want to slink into my covers, longing for the encompassing rays of normality. I'd sip my hot tea with too much gusto, as if I could close my eyes and pretend the sun was heating me from the inside out. But every time I opened my eyes again, I was reminded it was just tainted water and grain after grain of sugar.

The days are shortening again now. I await the sinking feeling, but it doesn't come. Is it running late? Is it masquerading itself? I search a while, I don't know why, and find nothing. My smile remains right through the day, from my waking alarm to my very last thought and beyond, into sleep. I've started to hunger for gloaming, where the light dips but the mood remains the same and the people take charge of conversation, with animated smiles attached to each name.

I guess the world and all it's ways aren't as influential as they once were. Either that or I'm no longer a child who can be so easily reigned.