Wolf.

Cold metal against my cheek. Steady. It instils a weird sense of calm into my caffeine, tiredness soaked shaking body( I keep on testing the espresso as I dial it in, waiting for and wanting the giddiness it will bring)
I lean there, for a matter of seconds only. When there is no one to see.
No one to know. A few days before ,I had to walk off the cafe floor. Hid on the stairs. My heart thumping. Knowing the time was coming. Knowing there was nothing more to do. Nothing more to say. No more trying. Only honesty left. Living laced with guilt, at loving and not loving.
Inevitable. The threads that tied everything, too strained to cope any longer.
I drift between guilt, and that sadness that only comes from loss...and an unbelieveable lightness that is born out of freedom. Alone. I walk around Canary Wharf past midnight. Knowing it is something I need not explain away...

I'm funny. Playful. All smiles and sunlight. No one would guess...
Then the radio plays a song. And I can't seem to catch the lump in my throat.
It's too late. Carole King (my aunt has the same name....)
I gulp. I look up at the ceiling. I make a joke about being soppy.
Soppy... Fuck. I feel like someone has an iron clawed grip around my heart. Breaking me, for breaking him.
His soulmate. I shake my head. Fear or damage. Or just "one of those things" one of those things that occurs when two people think they have something they don't. Or they get complacent. Or. Unable to accept that, that "missing something" will always be missing. No matter how much love exists otherwise.
Or can I simply, not keep loving someone who loves me.
Like some kind of curse perhaps.

Whatever it is. Let it be me who has to hurt.

I can take it.

Glass.

The beauty in the sunlight soothes.
 Everything else this morning is rain.
I brought a storm, I feel like a beast.
and now I wrap myself up in the warm breeze.
Breathing in blossom. My eyes ache.
A hand upon my shoulder would shatter the shadows
Holding me together so precariously.
"is it a relief?" Someone asks me later in the day.
There is no relief. It is only done.
I am singular.

But then. I always have been

Where The Secrets End.

I find myself stealing away from familiar streets. To feel that little bubble of fear as it bursts into adrenaline and races through my cosseted veins. Safety. I feel. That somehow I am allowing a precious treasure to slip from my grip. Delighting in it. I wonder if it's just demons tempting me into murky waters. Doubting my ability to decipher messages of sabotage for those of ambition.
Before work in the morning, I leave the train early just to get lost.
Not caring for exhaustion, lack of rest has settled now that I have left mere tiredness and passed into delirium. I have to be alone. Most people only cause irritation. No matter how hard I try to be saintly.
I cannot shake the feeling of wanting to place my hands around various necks and...
I'm frustrated with "discussion" all I want is silence. Why must everyone speak so much?
"What do I know of real exhaustion?! " I exclaim...silently. Back, standing on the train to work.
Old Street...Angel....my eyelids quiver.
Fuck. I really am so tired. Waves of it wash over me. I lose my focus. Get a little giddy.
Then get a little sad.
I see it- that I wanted to feel spent. That I embraced this over-work. 
No, I don't let myself drift into that area for too long...
"Hmm...maybe that's where some of this exhaustion is coming from?" I let myself see briefly an answer I will not let sink in. I don't know whether I am sad because I'm tired, or so fucking tired because I'm working so hard not to accept this little whirl of blue that cuts through me ever so often.
Lost in music when I walk. Distraction whispers through every tree and every graffiti painted wall.
Photos, I need to take photos. I'm busy...I'm busy all the time.
I can't even take a fucking bath. I sit there as the water drains and have the time to see it all.
My selfish flesh shivers away. And I just don't give a shit anymore. I cry and it hurts. Hurts so much that I can't allow it. That's the whole point of all this bloody distraction. - I'm a bastard.
So, quick showers it is from now until this thing is resolved....
I scroll through pages and pages of rooms, flats I can't yet afford to leave to.
I wanted a home. So I made one. And now it's all ripped to pieces.
I wonder upon the myriad of stories my mind weaves for me. Loneness. My body seeks it out.
When I run, all the trust I have for my own bones seeps out. My marrow is built of secrets.
For a year, maybe- we had it. He had me. And yet. My head involuntarily hangs writing the line.
I tried. Tried to let all these layers unfurl. But these demons bubble up. And I know that something in me needs to be broken- or released? I know that I can not merely put this down to us being wrong for each other. Or maybe it's just that I have to find a way to blame myself. It comes as naturally to me as breathing. If only he had wanted to know what had happened to me before him. If...if...if.
I don't think any of it matters.
Secrets. All these secrets pull at our threads. And everything falls apart.

while we exist.

today is my father's birthday.
I think of how he used to post cards on his website for each of his younger children's.
every year. each birthday he missed.
I wonder if he still does.

I have his picture in my pocket.
hoping he is happy.

knowing he is not.
for when, was he ever happy?
all my childish might, wishes him it.

I ignore the stutter of my heart.
what else is there to do.

But, love enough for everyone who's lacking..
love enough to fill up this hole.

Kittens.

For a moment, I wished I were normal.
That I lacked this intensity. This awkwardness.
This obscure way of seeing.
An easy girl.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Isn't that what other people want?
Christ, I look at myself through the eyes of people- who see only the words...
As though those thoughts are worth thought themselves.
Those people who think my insides must be blackened.
Who look blankly at my perculiar little whimsies...
At how funny I find mortality and darkness.
Regret has me here. Cursing my weirdness. And the way I let words...
Just spill out. As though I believed they would mean anything.
That they would be understood.
Held.
I did believe. Or,..more I hoped.
And in some manic moment I leapt.
And somehow, I floated. On this cloud that told me I had done what should be done.
My heart felt lighter for the expression...the honesty. Warm in the feeling of love.
Just in the giving of it.
But now here comes the drop, the fall.
Because here love feels like nothing at all.
And I wish to scrape out the insides of ventricles, and veins.
Flush them of their leanings toward idiocy.
Ahhh, perhaps what I need more than anything, is to change the way I look at this

To stop thinking that because love is unrequited it makes me stupid.
Foolish. That it is because of some fault in me- that I am not loved.
But it was full of possibility, beauty and hope- regardless of it's worth outside of my being.
I loved him because I wanted to love him.
 " what use is love wasted?"
How can it be a waste if it was strong enough to make me courageous?
Why should worth be judged on return?

And moreover...
Fuck being normal.
Peculiar is awesome.
...
And videos of kittens make pretty much anything better.

Little Bear

Little tiny stars run across a map of the world I hold in my hands. We discuss escape between us at work. Routine is a bitch. We were not designed to only see as far as our own noses... "I thought to myself on the train this morning...is this the way I want to be living for the next 30 years ?!"....
"That idea can fuck right off...."...I keep my patience.waiting for the sun to return so I can lie in the grass amongst daisies and dandelions. Thinking of the way I used to close my eyes to its glare and be amazed that I could see the veins of my eyelids as I attempted to stare straight through them. Warm and red...it used to make me giddy with joy....I tell myself my mind can be that quiet again. That unencumbered by worldly weariness.
That finally I've come full circle back to that place where I can lay there and not have my mind race- with fears unknown. With the fear of merely being fearful.
"Rumination"....the word sprawls itself out across my brain. Lolling, haphazardly...
I'm grumpier than a big fuck off bear that's just been woken from hibernation.
It's the middle of the night...
(...I started this at- rumination- then I went off wandering into something else....)
I have this weight of words twisting tension into my shoulders...frustrating me with an inability to extract them into something that makes sense.
They sit, at the base of my skull. Bubbling.
This headache needs sleep.

Like a plaster, rip it off swiftly

My heart slows down. Things creep back to some form of normality- or should that be reality? I'm a  little windswept.Perhaps. I look harder to find beauty, harder to feel all the wonder.
That's the way these things work. I know the stages...the foolishness,the realisation. The nausea. I feel sick at my regurgitation, at my inability to close down my brains reactors. At the strength of my grip.
I create mental plans, mental in all the senses of the word. My favourite involves me going to live with monks on a cliff in Laos. As though it were my entire soul that some how needed redemption.
As though some how I could wipe my mind clean. "If only I could get far enough away from myself" I think...
I wish I was shallower. Wish I was the sort of girl who could distract herself with shoes or fucking...jewellery, or other people. Perhaps I need to cultivate a drug habit...or become a bird watcher...a collector of stamps...I guess any new obsession will do- it's all one and the same is it not?
They all need a certain amount of madness. To feel anything with any great passion...you must allow it to consume you. I'm currently being consumed in entirely the wrong way and I loathe it with every ounce of respect I have for myself.
I scour the web, for flights...or trains...to anywhere I don't have to know anyone. Because here I tell no one anything anyway...everyone important is too far away. And I know how stupid this all is. I feel like I'm just randomly pushing buttons to see if one will stop me feeling what becomes increasingly more annoyingly ridiculous by the day.
But that too...as I know (of course) is just the way these things go.
This thing cannot leave without taking a little tiny...minuscule piece of me with it.
It's done with. And I must let it go now.
...ok...so, when I say "now"...just...do it.
..umm...now...
What a dick.  Why is time such a bastard at being timely. Why does this have to hurt. I'm fine...I don't want to hurt mother fucker...what is love anyway. I hardly even notice it's there.

And... "Now!"

Oh fuck it.

Flight.

I have stayed in bed a whole sixteen minutes longer than I should have. I can only see the screen if I keep one eye closed at a time. I hear the sound of rainfall but I wish somehow it was louder, more aggressive. Eighteen minutes...Nineteen...
Twenty...
There really aren't enough thunder storms anymore...
I want to stay here, throw the cover over my head and just stay here.
There's not even any reason for it... ( I'm sure there is, somewhere hidden.wrapped up well within cartilage and bone.) I count the planes that fly over. And check flights to Berlin, trains to Paris...
I re read my book yesterday and discarded half of its contents.
Funny how I'm oh so restless. Yet I can stay in bed staring at the ceiling hissing at the idea of getting up and taking a shower...how much effort it feels like that would take...
Thirty minutes....
Music will make it all better.

Horizon

Frustration. I dreamt that I bumped into my youngest brother in the street last night...or rather,early this morning...yesterday morning...My words are so tiresome, I read back through the weeks and months,and years...finding spelling mistakes, grammar errors...kicking myself for not being even close to as intelligent as I wish to be.
The dream. Does it mean anything, it means nothing-not really. I haven't seen him in 13 years,or maybe 14...it's my other younger brothers birthday soon...it's just my subconscious playing tricks. Leading me into gloom out of habit perhaps. There are so many little boxes I cannot help but keep opening up.
Sat on the train this morning, staring out of the window. Watching the seagulls swooping ,enviously- "what could be worse than losing your children?" I thought. The perils of the commute to work without a book... "But his children aren't dead..." I have to concentrate on the shard in the distance. Change the music...breathe. Getting off at Bank I think " maybe it's easier for him having none of us, rather than just me..." And just like that...into the crowd, my mind clears. Like a bin turned upside down.
I don't know whether writing has helped me put my thoughts into some kind of order.
Or whether the sense of ...harmony(?) I have is due to experience...age...or this overwhelming sense that nothing actually has any real meaning-any use. We try to find importance in everything.
I can't quite fathom it. The more that I read the news,...or just walk down the street...watch people's faces. I do not become desensitised to the gore that we create as people. It gets worse. Hurts deeper. I feel this helpless tension grip my muscles. As though there is something I must do.
I was 8 when my first younger brother was born. He was around 8 when I last saw him. Funny the way the world works. Funny the things we cannot change- the things that make no sense.

Tonight's film, Blue Valentine.
Perfect.

The Cut/My Heart Is A Dodo.

It is not as if, I have never lost before...true, it must be said I have never taken many risks. Not with anything other than my own body. My own mind. I don't... "Put myself out there...." I hate even the sound of it. Perhaps it's mere snobbery... But, I guess that is too easy an answer. It's just... Well, I suppose the reality is also simple. I never liked to create trouble. As a kid I wanted to be the easy one.
The one no one needed to bother with. I didn't cause ripples. I did all I could not to cause any waves. Any movement at all. I waited. Always waited to be told what I should do. Was quiet to the point of awkwardness. Opening my mouth to speak without a question to prompt it... I would wait...wait with a lump in my throat. The miriad of things I left unsaid... That I broke at 15....was inevitable I see now.
It didn't come from no where. It wasn't even the murder of my friend. It was. Just the little things.
When it gets to the point where I stand with scissors in hand at the sink I always know something somewhere needs to move. Life has become stagnant...so I cut my hair...because I can...it's only ever been so frustrating that I contemplated shaving my head completely..once. Because I piss myself off.
Sitting on my hands. Waiting for some invisible force to tell me what I should do.
Tired of the way my face stares back at me from the mirror. Tired of keeping myself upon a leash, I begin to look at all I do as though it were all a waste. Wondering when this amazing thing that is going to define what I am will be done. As I stand at the windows at work...drawing coffee cups...teapots...nothing that matters...it all seems so easy. Easy and pointless. these words. are just of this moment. Another night another film half watched as I speak to myself. I have sunk into the sofa. I peel myself away and go pace the kitchen. I'm not having enough fun. that's actually pretty funny in it's self is it not? Just work, then home, then work again. I miss walking around in the darkness of the city. I worry that I do not have what it takes to do astonishing things. Or that I have not reached a level from where it is within reach. That it requires me to break more. Suffer more. Is that still the way I think this thing works? No...no, that girl does not exist any longer. I do not seek destruction.
But him. It creeps back to him. And the way in which I have learnt to love. Without condition or reason.
I have loved him for longer than even the most illogical hearts have loved.
And I always felt it ridiculous. When I first realised how I felt I literally laughed out loud at myself in disbelief. Thinking that by then at least, I should have known better.
That seemingly harmless kiss upon the head as he left the shop one day. I'm sure he had'nt a clue...
But it struck me down. Behind the til where I stood at work I was dumbfounded.
Fair to say that he came along at a time when I was more than a little...dead inside for want of a better or more poetic way of putting it. I was finished.empty. But doing a really good impression as far as I could tell, of a girl who was doing just dandy.not making waves... I didn't want to feel anything. Least of all love.
 Some how I found myself wanting, with such strength the whole soul of another human being.
Though why that shocks me I haven't a clue...and why it matters, sitting here. Talking to no one.
...I search through previous acts of stupidity for clues as to what part of my psychology needs to be smacked out of me.
But I am being unkind to myself. Forgetting that I taught myself to be this way.
As a child it made sense. That sensitive kid who learnt that what was in her heart was too intense.
Should be hidden. I never learnt how to blend the two together. The real world, and my sappy over feeling heart.
It feels as though it's somewhat like a fledgling bird...and every leap leaves me only on a lower branch longing to be back in the nest. Worried that it is in fact a penguin or a dodo even...that lives inside my chest. Not made to fly.
Over dramatic fool... Though I half believe it to be true.
Perhaps, there in lies the problem.