I once told him his eyes were the same colour as the canals in venice, a great observation for a lightweight half ways down a test tube of house vino. Cliched as it, venice has a little brocade room filled with plush pillows and quilted throws in my heart. A vintage bath, over filling with luxurious bubbles, a familiar powdery scent akin to that of a vintage clothes shop. Shuttered windows open out on to a maze of bustling waterways framed with narrow paths. At night the array of venitian masks and lights twinkling on the water send the most solid of characters into a deep seductive trance. Hand in hand high giggles of love invest in single red roses and pass under a medley of bridges followed closely by the red streamers of the gondoliers hats- barely visable without the help of a single swinging lantern. In the morning the rich smell of italian coffee wakes you. ‘Ooooeeee’ the gondolier sings as you turn the corner, head resting on warm strong shoulders, onto the main canal. A vibrant colourful swoop of awe, love locked on a red iron bridge, a lemon and strawberry gelato dripping down your fingers, a sense of luxury but freedom and desire; that is venice.
People make expectations for others, they make things boring. I always enjoy those who dont follow expectations and just do what they want. Like finish college with a first, turn down their masters fall in love and go to chili and learn to scuba dive.
Everyone assumes I want London without my ever saying but truth is I dont know what it is I want …So I
keep doing the paperwork hoping something else appears…
London. The prospect creates a confusing little principality in a permanently confused mind. “A great experience”. “Experience”. “Ambition”. “A chance not to miss”. “Opportunity”. “An achievement”.”You’d get a job anywhere after that” (is it not the anywhere people strive for, it is in the top5 in the world, is most other places not lesser?).
All well and good, expected to be desired by most, maybe rightly so. But why doesn’t my mind dance for it and is this wrong? Its all just ‘grand’ in my mind, but do we emigrate and leave what were sure of for something we might like? Why somehow in my mind does the simple unambitious life triumph it? Am I broken? Unmotivated? Is it a bit of peterpan syndrome? Why does it feel like uncertain runaway?
Family I have placed on a pedestal, love, little trips and travel, good music, a nice job (with a homely family feel), baths overflowing with products from lush, fluffy socks and reruns of friends, catch up coffee and new hand cream.
Maybe this wont always suit but should we leave what could be allowed make us content for others dreams and ambitions…? And more importantly do we leave those we love, even if they tell us to go and grab the stars ..
Photoset with 2 notes
Last day as a student, First time to travel alone, first time in a black London taxi and first proper interview … 2014, a year of new (:
This is my dream
The time is 23:59 .. The time is 00:00, just like that it was gone, 2013 was gone and the speaking clock had confirmed it, out a spooky window fire works crackled and warmness inside laughing, a cork hit the ceiling sent my heart racing. A new year!
Its dark I walk over the bridge at the canal, I’m cold, a silly childish party dress on, no coat, the sky gives out to me. I pass a man on the bridge in a long dark coat his head swivel’s to look at me he smiles, he terrifies me he has more teeth than any man I ever saw. His eyes are yellow. He is trying to remove something from his pocket. I pick up the dress, its heavy; I run, Im barefoot, I’m breathless, there is trees everywhere, thunder is bolting in between them, its loud, I’m disorientated, my hair becomes undone, my feet are full of thorns and glass, I pain, my stomach ripples with pain, the dress is wet and heavy I can’t carry it anymore, I fall in the mud, a man with skeleton hands in a suit passes me; a scissors in his hand covered in blue blood. I can hear a baby crying a shrill weak cry but I don’t know where its coming from, I shout for him to help me but I have no voice. The man with the teeth comes back. ‘Its gone” he says, ‘he’s gone too’. He lifts a knife in to the air the light bounces of it, I don’t plead, Its gone, he’s gone.
I wake a warm hand on my back, a guardian angel to share, Its okay, he’s here. I sleep.
Go away, come back, what are you doing here? what am I meant to do here… hmmm
I wanna make a patchwork quilt and become more and more wrapped up in cozy warm and I think it will be more than enough motivation to do someting anyhing proper and good (:
And I told him about it and I felt a little lighter but all this missing hurts x
I still sleep with the nemo the monkey and rex. I kept the monkeys hat for the winter ..I shout caw at birds sometimes…I wear the jerseys to bed and never could take that picture out of the frame x
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