Your chest hurts after the two of you fight, then you feel wretched at the hurt he anchors to the shore again.
You want to be understood, but the words and your overthinking mind both get in the way to betray who you really are.
Your hurting so strongly that your chest aches and your blood boils, as you feel the weight of it all.
His anchor won’t remain in the sea for very long, so don’t throw yourself into the deep waters of emotion;
there’s no need to lose yourself.
It’s only another fight.
You are both humans.
Soon you’ll both return
to your journey on
the sea of your lives.
Sometimes, when she sits on the step, she thinks about places. Places connect us to memories, as does music and scent.
She thinks of the cool water of Nelson Bay and the pretty lighthouse on the hill. This connects her to her sister.
She thinks of the grey days with coffee on every corner, a European feel, and a charm only Melbourne emits. This connects her to her home.
She thinks of young days with a hammer for macadamia nuts and corkscrews for coconut eyes in Mareeba. This connects her to her origins.
All of these memories play behind her eyes, as she looks to the red dirt full of cracks under the Australien sun.
The photo is of the place we hammered macadamia nuts as kids.
Hills of green can be seen far and wide, although, down here forever is blind.
The sky is shy today, as he decides that we all need a decent dose of grey without rain.
Winds flow through the castle which once housed our family and our loved hearts.
The sky knows what my heart feels, but he’s always been good at knowing this.
I’ve travelled far and wide to try and escape the pain I feel missing you, but I cannot keep going forever.
The sky tells the rain to hold off. The rain tells the sky to fuck off. How like a married couple these two are in retrospect.
Walking along the Kyle, I know the time nears. How wonderful that after 100 years of your moods, you and I will meet again.
The rain begins to fall. It looks like the rain won that argument. Perhaps I will too.
This world wasn’t meant for the weak, but am I really that strong?
I see you in another land with a pink smile and shining eyes, but is that really you in there?
Sitting in my room with mould on the walls and a cold chill that seeps through, I’m reminded of poverty.
Yet, when I look out the window I see the highlands calling. The streams and mountains call from somewhere ancient to tell me it will be alright.
As I look at the mirror black, I see a face I barely recognise staring back;
yet there’s familiarity in those eyes and in those lips.
Undecided yet hopeful, I run outside and towards the hills.
It’s not awful to run, but the sky is so beautiful and grey today.
I wonder when you’ll find me standing by a bin in some random street waiting to touch you again.
You stare into the mirror hoping for something different. This is you and you know who you are now. It took the broken pieces of your past to come together, just like this mirror, for you to see clearly. You look into the mirror and say, “Well, a bit of foundation will do.“
The cliffs tell stories to the sea via the waterfalls, which cascade down in stages. The sea finds the cliff’s stories amusing and interesting, for the cliffs are always so melodramatic and ironic. Sometimes, though, a story really touches the sea. She becomes wild and weird.