I found the gap that friendship fills,

From the buttercups and daffodils,

I found life as you found youth,

We both knew of suffering, and of truth,

What we gave was a new start,

To tend old wounds, mend the heart,

A moment to laugh your gift to me,

A hand on your walk help set you

free

Now my eyes catch the yellow,

As I remember a good fellow.

Mine came like blossoms touching the ground,

Yours came like snow drops making no sound,

Mine held passion like a summer heat,

Yours was strong to bare the winter sleet,

It drifted in on the winds that tussled up your hair,

And it landed upon us when the weather was fair,

At first it was small like drops of rain,

But when it ended it left only pain.

Dear reader,

You have some serious explaining to do. That little vanishing act of yours, might work with some, but won’t get you anywhere with me. I think its time you come for a home visit because your moral compass is skewed, from my experience at least. I wonder,

is everything going to plan?

They say you can be (all knowing) omniscient and omnipotent (all powerful), I hope they’re wrong, because otherwise your a real piece of work. All the good ones are the first to be taken and the little shits live forever, justice is just another game for the rich, and freedom was a trinket you gave us.

If this message makes its way to you,

I’d like to say, you seriously need to change your act.

A word that is the answer of all.

An instant heal.

The rewind button.

Sometimes Sorry is all we can say to mend the pain.

This magic word we wish worked.

Its the lie the world keeps selling, because sometimes,

Saying Sorry is all we can do.

I’m sorry.

Every one,

I wish this was the anwer for all, that it healed your pain, put the rewind on.

The beautiful lie,

Sorry,

Is the saddest word of all.

Each door appears, creaking to open an inch, but it closes unexpectantly. It happens often, should I be surprised. Each opportunity to unveil a burning desire to prove a life-long passion, to belong.

Writing a form of therapy, I wish could become my life, to write, to create, to form a craft. But at each entrance to progress, to develop and the same obstacle appears. It’s a bind I cannot shake, a critic I can no longer take.

The thing I cannot change, my age, my home, the colour of my skin, or my heritage, or my apparent lack of it.

As I stake my pencil to the page, the blank canvas a reminder, of my failing from birth. Is it worth it, even taking the time to imagine, to fall in love with crafting a space that is product of the unbound mind?

When my efforts are left unchecked, unguided. Each research into connecting with others, falls away, to be smacked in the face by the application criteria.

I’m getting the feeling,

I am walking again.

The pencil turns, a smile returns, I write.

A Walk In The Wrong Shoes

Now bring from the curtain another self,

Smiling like the heathen himself,

Oh darkling how i've missed you,

Now Rolling with the pain and sorrow,

Bring back the vengeful tomorrow,

As you rise up from the ashes,

Crawling from the flame,

A force no-one can contain,

Its back to claim its reward,

The victor takes its place,

Old shaddows fill the face,

Spilled blood will reclaim,

As they cower in your name,

Oh darking. How I've missed you.

@coldfront

Dear reader,

You have some serious explaining to do. That little vanishing act of yours, might work with some, but won't get you anywhere with me. I think its time you come for a home visit because your moral compass is skewed, from my experience at least. I wonder, is everything going to plan?

They say you can be (all knowing) omniscient and omnipotent (all powerful), I hope they're wrong, because otherwise your a real piece of work. All the good ones are the first to be taken and the little shits live forever, justice is just another game for the rich, and freedom was a trinket you gave us.

If this message makes its way to you,

I'd like to say, you seriously need to change your act.

@ 1912writer

Revenge, a nasty word for a nasty deed, though as Katherine’s hand touched the leather handle of her sword, the word justice rung from her lips.

The gouging stare of the rebel’s face appeared on a nearby tree trunk, Katherine lunged. A rouge lipped smile disappeared as sunrise kissed the valley side.

@Polaroid

Dear reader,

Is it possible to fall deeply, I ask myself, the countless books and films all give hope, and promise that a messy, beautiful love may exist? That feeling of being consumed by another.

I admit I cry terribly and often, watching two hapless people who for all other purpose, have no friends or few interests in common, fold into each other’s lives and that’s it, I’m hooked. Believe me, my eyes crumble at any scene with a horse to the backdrop of a woman singing softly (the advert for the bank with the prancing horse, gets me every time).

All that is just floating letters on a crisp yellowing page, the dog-ended books that litter bedroom floor space, is as close to bedroom lust, and fantastical romance I’ve ever known.

So I ask, does it exist?

I’ve tried, I have. Following countless friend’s advice and pursed what the nightlife has to offer, which has produced its own brooding glances, fierce lipped kisses and tantalising dalliances, but please; the four-letter word, has remained elusive. I wonder what Emily, Charlotte and Anne would make of all this, would they laugh, would they subscribe to social media, too. That constant connection to a perceived version of ourselves and each other. Is it any wonder, there is the struggle for lasting connection with another, when we are so often out of touch with ourselves?

Let me ask you,

Can you educate me what is a modern love? Is it real? And what does it feel like?

How do you know you have obtained it?

Does it exist?

Kind wishes,

CornishGal.

# shaynabryer

#ChallengeMaker

#Trident

#coldfront

#ColdRamen

#JennShepherd

#TheDreamer

The precarious first step, the realisation that you are stuck in the mud, that you are no longer a teen, you are 20-ish (creative licence used), and drowning in the situation you have found yourself in.

That trapped sinking feeling in your stomach. That you are 20-ish feet deep.

The first step for me was not when I left school, or finished University or even when I was on the cusp of being made redundant. The realisation that I was drowning came when my long-standing family, friend who I had lost touch with for years decided to visit.

I had heard from my parents that he had gotten a girlfriend, gotten weighty and gotten a baby. All of these things repulsed me, the idea of commitment was a ball and chain that I almost laughed at, that I was free of such things.

It was when they came down to the quiet of our little baby-less bubble that I realised he was happy. It was when he asked what I was doing now that I realised, I had been stuck in the mud without realising it. I oodles in educational debt, no commitment, soon to be no job and no clue. That the sleepless nights and the headaches were symptoms of restless mind.

That evening the meal out was a nightmare, I never went out. I, as my dad commented was a “home-bird” this only added to the discomfort. As they cooed at the baby in the cot remarking of their recent venture into getting their own place. I could only nod and smile. The only saving grace was another friendly face, some guy from school-days behind the bar I had been crushing on, but would never fully consider.

We parted ways for the evening and promised to meet the next night, having completed the first reunion dinner, I turned to bed, as least I had managed to go out.

Then with another restless night, I checked social media armed with a name and face of my long-standing friends’ girlfriend. After about 10 minutes I found myself scrolling to the waiter of that evening only to be rejected by his relationship status with the waitress.

Having reached that first step, the moment of greatest enthusiasm with smallest follow-through, wanting to change.

#shaynabryer