Glasswings

Colourful thorax (mine) attracts but

Bright colours mean danger.

They rarely settle.

Hand touches knee touches hand,

Your touch on my shoulder,

The first words ever spoken.

You breathe butterflies

That settle, fluttering, in my stomach.

I would rather breathe you.

From afar, I am hoping-

Caught on you,

Butterflies streaming from your lips.

Butterflies spread butterflies spread butterflies:

Pieris brassicae, vanessa atalanta, greta oto.

We met, once, in nature's dance, but-

I am yet to cocoon,

Whilst your wings hardened long ago.

Egg, larva, pupa, grown.

What was it like,

To emerge from your chrysallis,

Into this brilliant world?

Stretch your wings out, tiny dancer.

This world is your oyster,

You a pearl of your own creation.

A butterfly belongs only to itself:

The rest of the world must only be entranced,

And never hope to capture.

Your wings are like stained glass; beautiful and painful.

I would tell you that but

There are butterflies in my throat.

Bright colours mean danger.

I have always been too quick, or not slow enough.

Too much, or not enough.

When you fly away, go gently.

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A Letter To A Girl I Could Have Loved (Or, Why I Wouldn't Have Saved Icarus)

I, for all my attempted powers of persuasion, know for certain this: had anyone been able to stop Icarus, prior to his maiden voyage, it would certainly not have been me. For one, because determination is determination, and once you have got that far you likely won't stop; secondly, more importantly, because I wouldn't even have tried.
Who am I, to stop someone who could, potentially, reach the sun? I, though seemingly stubbornly grounded, would be lying if I declared I had chosen this way. Don't we all dream of wings, of flight, of that greatest and brightest star? I could not have called that ecstasy to a halt.
Maybe a more weighted soul would disagree- point out the risks, the ultimate and inevitable finale. Would that knowledge have found me to be a murdered, if I had chosen not to forewarn? Your Honour, I plead not guilty, on mine: that I am a dreamer, like Icarus- and our minds work not the way of yours. Icarus and I- we know what it's like, to be blinded- by potential, by goals, by the sun- to spare a thought for impending doom.
And even if, even if- Well, we are all fated to infinity, are we not? At some point, we must all fall, into a ceaseless being. To vanish into starstuff, full of promise and exhilaration, in a stupor of glory, fire and eternity rendering limbs and wings to carbon- better to have that, than a mortal slipping away. If nothing else, Icarus had that.
Are you wondering why I'm telling you this, questioning my motives, my language? Or is it clear as light of day, as the sun above? I'm telling you the story of us, sweetheart: not even short-lived, but never to be.
Let's say, for a moment, that I had been there: that I had tried, and succeeded. That Icarus and I walked down from the hill, leaving his wings at the top. Could he really have returned, to a life in the reflection of the sun on the moon? Once we know what could have been, it is hard to return to a life amongst the other.
I could not have saved Icarus. I would not- could not- have tried. I would have said, instead:

'Fly, Icarus; go on, but remember me, won't you? 

The ground-bound warrior,  forever entranced by fairy flight'

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Dear the Wizarding World of Harry Potter

I've lost track of the number of times I've tried writing this letter. I just can't get my words to come out the way they appear inside my head. I'm kind of really tired, but I want to finish this before I go to bed. I've been trying to write this letter for as long as I can remember, and today seems like the day to get it done. Today I am 18, Harry Potter- or the wizarding world, or whatever it is I'm really writing to- and that's kind of important. I didn't really think I'd get to be here. If you hadn't be around, I guess I might not be.

I know I'm sounding melodramatic, wizarding world- there, that's almost short and snappy, we'll stick with that. I know I'm sounding melodramatic, wizarding world, and like I'm fishing for attention, but I'm not. I believe in being honest, and I believe in giving credit where credit's due. I may not know how to write this letter, but I know that I need it to be honest.

You were my Room of Requirement (get ready for the Potter metaphors, because I'm sure there will be an abundance coming right up). That is to say, you appeared right when I needed you; less like a space for the DA, and more like Dumbledore's bathroom, because I didn't know I needed you. I was- four, maybe? Little. Young enough not to really remember it. The Philosopher's Stone came out in cinemas, and we went to see it. Then we went to the library to start reading the books, or at least, for my dad to start reading them to me. I already said I was little. However, it seemed like everyone else had the same idea. The only book they had was the Prisoner of Azkaban- so we started with that one, and read the first three in reverse order.

That was one part of my life, wizarding world. There was another part of it, that wasn't so great. I'm a young carer (or I was; now I am a young adult carer). For as long as I can remember, I've been caring for someone with a mental illness. Mental illnesses are pretty damn scary when you're an adult and kind of sort of get what's going on. When you're a kid, they're a million times worse. It's all crying and being lonely and scared. It's confusing, and you have to grow up pretty quickly, and you just want to make everything better. Of course you can't, but you can try. I've been trying every day of my life, wizarding world.

Whilst I am on my soapbox, talking to the world that is most important to me, I would like to make it known that I do not bemoan being a carer. It is difficult, but I am not angry, nor is there any blame or judgement. It is rewarding. It is full of lessons, and unexpected blessings, and most of all love. If I could grant good mental health to the people I love (and to the world!), I would do it within a second. However, if I could not make the world happy, then I would not, instead, choose not to care.

Anyway, so there was that. A whole lot of stuff that I couldn't really understand, but couldn't avoid. And then- and then there was you. A magical world full of adventure. My Room of Requirement- exactly what I needed. Lesson one: you taught me how good books are for escaping from the world, when things get too much. I used you for that purpose a lot, extending your influence on my life far further than the pages. Things weren't always too fab at school, and it got a bit lonely. But it was okay, because, I wasn't Becky-the-weird-girl-on-her-own-in-the-playground anymore, I was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her year and best friend to the Boy Who Lived. The concrete of the playground became moving staircases, and playtime after playtime was spent in magical lessons- not by myself anymore, but surrounded by hundreds of students, just like me. Magic.

No matter how scary and dark things seemed to get, you were the light switch I could always turn on (Dumbledore would be proud of that one, right?); always waiting for me with open arms. When I was sad, you held me; and when things were good- I don't want to make it sound all doom and gloom, there were far more good moments than there were bad- you were there to rejoice with me, too. 

My mum and dad- ever supportive and nurturing, ever fantastic and fabulous, ever every superlative ever- cottoned on to the fact that this was a love affair, and not some two-second fad, so helped me to explore. We went on trips to places used in the films; I played in cloisters, pretended to ride a broomstick. I had robes, games, figurines. For me, your world was as real as humanly possible.

Somewhere along the line, anxiety made me it's nest, and it hasn't given me up since. An anxiety disorder, they call it. It's something that a lot of people don't really understand- I'm sick of people telling me to get over it, or be positive, that they understand and that it'll be fine. You never told me any of those things, wizarding world. You were just there. You didn't need to ask questions about why the thought of death made me panic, or why I was suddenly certain my family would be involved in a car crash, or why I thought everyone hated me. You were the complete opposite to CAMHS and therapy, where they tried to make me talk and work through things; and yet, in your own way, you were just as helpful, if not more so. It wasn't just comfort I found in your pages, it was lessons, too. I learnt some of the best things from you- about hope, and friendship, and love. Anxiety will always be my personal Dementor, but because of you I know exactly how to cast my Patronus.

Individual members of your world had lessons for me, too. Ginny was my first feminist icon, refusing to be put down because she was a girl. As someone who enjoyed school, did well and suffered teasing for it, Hermione was my perfect heroine. Luna helped me to see that weird was not a label, but a valuable trait. From Ron, I learnt the power of friendship, and from Harry I took strength and courage. There was a lesson in every one of them.

When the Order of the Pheonix came out, it took me two seconds to fall completely in love with Nymphadora Tonks, and not very much longer to learn the section of the book in which she appears. I can't recall it word for word anymore; but I have a picture of Natalia-Tena-as-Tonks right next to my bed, and my dream magical power would still be to change my hair at will (though I do a good job of that without being magic). Tonks was partly the key to discovering my sexuality (cos let's face it, in a parallel world, we are SO married)- but, more importantly, she was the key to discovering me. And who gave me that world? You did, wizarding world.

As I got older, things got more difficult. I was just fifteen when I first started to hurt myself, out of anger and self-hatred and loneliness and sadness. By the time I was sixteen, I didn't really want to be here at all. Those are hard things to admit to, wizarding world. As I tried to save each and every person I loved, they were the Grindylows, trying to drag me back down. I don't really know where they came from either; Grindylows are complex creatures, and there's no point in wondering whether there was any cause or effect. What matters is that, with friendship, and love, and support, I managed to kick them off. I have scars from their tentacles, but I am stronger now. The Grindylows are always going to be there, in the depths of the water, and some days I can feel them tickling my feet- but I know the incantations I need to use now. If mental health is a Triwizard Tournament, then I am determined to reach the cup. You helped me with that, too; even if I didn't reach for you in those times, the words and lessons that you gave me were there. I am on the road called recovery, and I am taking a Fred and George approach of finding something to laugh about every single day. Oh, I am so indebted to you, my love. For those battling such Grindylows, I would like to take this moment to remind you that you are stronger than them; that there is always light to be found, even in the darkest of times, and that I am always around to share with you a little of what the wizarding world gave to me, if you should want it.

On a much lighter note, in there somewhere, my younger sister was born. She does not need you like I did, wizarding world, and that makes me more glad than anything else. However, even she is not immune to you. Having watched the Goblet of Fire years and years ago, she has decided she wants to be a dragon tamer (or possibly a ballerina) (or possibly both). I hope you save Charlie Weasley's job for her, because if there is anyone in the non-wizarding world who will achieve such a dream, it is my sister. She has more determination even than the characters you could offer, and she makes me proud every single day.

More recently, I have begun to see the importance in fighting. Like Harry fought Voldemort for killing his parents, I am fighting stigma and hatred, for hurting those I love- my beloved sister, my beyond-amazing parents, every single one of my family and friends. I want to see a world where there are no words we cannot name; where we can talk freely about what pains us, love freely who we want, and live freely. I want to get a tattoo of the word 'fight'. According to the dictionary, that word is to do with violence. You and I both know, wizarding world, that to fight is to live; to fight is to overcome the things that try to pull us down, whether that be Grindylows, or Dementors, or Voldemort. I will fight for love and equality; and when I place my flag down, it will be in your name.

I am Tonks, with my ever-changing hair and refusal to be called by my full name; I am Hermione, both clever and a friend; I am Ginny, fierce and loyal, and Luna, forever unique. I am a fragment of everything that ever made me, and you have more claim in that than most. I am not just Harry, but the wizarding world in it's entirety*.

I feel like I've reached a natural coda; to conclude, I want to tell you about the castle. A couple of years ago, we went to your museum- or to your experience, whatever you are calling it. For three hours, I lived the dream entirely. However, one of the best moments of my life will always be when I walked around the corner, and saw the castle. My mum, walking in front, said the look on my face was what made the entire trip worth it. For me, it was like coming home.

Yours, most faithfully, most thankfully, most entirely,

Becky

*But mostly I am Tonks, let's face it

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Writing Stuff Yayay

You know when you're not really sure who/what you're writing about, it's kinda just a big mixing pot of everything? Yeah, that.

I've started craving the time before I go to sleep- when it's all quiet, and calm, and it's me and no-one else. Then, anything can happen. I can hold the thought of you, uninterrupted, close to me, the same way I clutch one of the many stuffed toys, when I'm feeling lonely. Feeling lonely and thinking of you seem to correlate, which sounds like it should be a bad thing. Instead, it's almost pleasing. Rather lonely, than wrong. Rather lonely, than the million worse things I could be. Rather lonely, and holding tight to the thought of you smile. I think of it all, every tiny piece of you that I can, creating a mosiac of the fractured memories, piece by piece by piece. Maybe, if I can build it up enough, I can make it real. I always fall asleep before I'm finished, though. It's almost a shame, to sleep, as exhausted as I am. It's wasted time, when I could be thinking of you. I hope for your voice in my dreams, but to no avail. Instead, I must make do with the fractured moments I receive, waking up to think momentarily of your voice, pulling myself a little tighter in, a comma around that same stuffed toy. Moments of you, then back to sleep- before waking, finally, to the day, and the thought of more snatched moments.

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Ten Things You Should Know

Sometimes my creative writing is purely fictional. A lot of the time it's not.

Ten Things You Should Know

1) On the last day, when I was a nervous wreck, I thought 'well, what's the very worst thing that can happen? There is nothing today that can go wrong'. That's what they call 'famous last words'. I still can't call it anything, but at least I can thunk about it now.

2) I keep finding new triggers. I didn't realise how much more nervous I'd become. Each one takes me further away from you, but each one is a reminder that, sometimes, distance is not just a good thing, but a necessity.

3) Break ups are freaking awful, mostly because most of the time I'm fine and doing well- but you're still at the back of my mind. It doesn't take much to bring you to the front. I'm okay, I'm well, but I'm smothered by the curse of remembering, too.

4) Despite what you think, I wasn't disappointed about not seeing you. I miss what we had and who we were. That feels like some forever ago now, and it's not the same as missing us now, or missing you.

5) I still believe in love. I just don't think I'll easily believe the next person to tell me they love me. I'm sorry if it hurts to know that. You kind of brought it on yourself though.

6) I'm marking out my territory again, renaming the constellations that were once ours. It's painful at times. Mostly it's a relief. The air smells like spring, fresh and hopeful.

7) I still don't believe you. I still think the least you owe me is a proper explanation. I'm not going to get hung up on it though.

8) The day I got my jacket back, I buried my face in it and it smelt like you. Then I put it back in the bag and refused to touch it. Three days later, I sprayed it with my spray, and hung it on my chair. I'm waiting for an excuse to wear it again.

9) No one quite gets it. Nearly, but not quite. That's okay. This is mine, and only mine, to get.

10) The best thing right now is reclaiming me. One day I'm going to change the world.

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Amy

Amy, will you sit with me, until the morning light?
Would you let me hold you close, throughout your darkest night?
Amy, let us set down here, upon the golden sands
The lapping waves, the gulls above, the thought of other lands
Now, tell me of your troubles dear, the burdens that you bear
And know that for this night at least you've someone just to care.

I cannot save you Amy dear- I cannot even try
All I can do is hold you hand, and watch your life flash by
But Amy, when you feel the urge, for your sake please don't shoot
For just one night don't light it up, don't sop forbidden fruit

You didn't have to burn yourself to set the world alight
You didn't need to guard yourself, or always have to fight.
Oh Amy, did you ever think there was another way?
Amy, did you ever know you'd have to face this day?

Amy, Amy, don't you know? Your time is running out
The dancing queen who shone so bright, fades out without a shout.
Amy, Amy, here it comes: the sun and turning tide
'Amy Winehouse, twenty-seven, this very morning died'

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Seeds

I wrote this many moons ago (okay, so maybe just over a year ago or so!), but I don't think I ever shared it. In keeping with the theme of the piece, life is a cycle, and right now it's relevant again. Hence, it feels appropriate to post it now, more than ever. Enjoy :)

It's life, isn't it: that things start, grow into themselves, take their course, then- ultimately, infinitely- reach their end. See, for instance, the sunflower, with a metamorphosis both terrible and beautiful.

To start, the seed in question must be lucky, to have fallen somewhere it can thrive- to have escaped being eaten, or lost, or destroyed. However, surely this goes without saying? A sunflower at the pinnacle of life is incredibly lucky, that's a given.

From there, a sprout forms, breaking the confines of the striped cell to put down roots in the very soil of the earth. Once anchored, growth can begin, a burrowing through the close safety of the birthplace and into the world above.

After the green bud has poked it's head up and out, it's attention is caught by the sun. It yearns to get as near to it's hero as possible, to emulate it in every way. Simply put, it dreams: and it follows those dreams. The stalk propels itself upwards, the petals- sun coloured, of course, always sun coloured- unfurling in silent praise. Once done, fully grown and in it's prime, then it can be happy, marvelling in it's accomplishments. It has emanated the sun in the best way possible, and it can settle into the life it has waited for, a life that seems will last forever, just like that glowing orb. Reader, when you stand in a field among the sunflowers, it is the sun itself that surrounds you, and it is infectious: don't you, too, feel that this state will never end?

Of course, there is a problem, with being in a state that feels as if it could last forever, and that is this: there is no such thing as infinite.

When the summer is over, the sunflower falls, tumbles, withering into something unrecognisable from it's former self. It has no choice in this; it must simply take it as it comes, trying not to feel bitter at fate, trying to resist the captivating memories of the golden days, threatening to overwhelm.

But at least it had them, hey? If it's better to have loved and lost, then surely it it better to have risen to the heights and fallen, than to have bypassed that completely? Better, to have been the sun, been the sun...? For without that, are you not- unlucky? And sunflowers, we have already agreed, are lucky. Better to have felt the pulse of the world, so you can keep it beating when the earth is dark.

For though they have fallen, this is still not the end: the sunflower is decaying- a grim word for a natural process, of reducing to the building blocks of life. Once there, they are part of the earth, part of the pattern- no more. No more? They never have been more than that. They are all they ever were, and they will continue to be: the way of the world is that nothing ceases. Take the water cycle, that relentless circle of lakes to vapour to rain to lakes. Take the sunflowers of next year, standing proudly like the sun, made of nothing less than their ancestors. This year's crop may have had their days of prime, but they are not gone.

And that's life, isn't it? We rise, we reign; we keel, and yet we continue.

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Nearer, Ever Nearer

Over the Christmas holidays, I visited the Titanic exhibition by Liverpool docks. The whole exhibition was incredibly thought-provoking; however, the part that stayed with me most was hearing about the musicians, who continued to play right until the end. Supposedly, the last song they played was a hymn- 'Nearer my God to Thee'. I used the lyrics to form the basis of a creative piece, my tribute to those incredibly brave individuals, who, for me, sum up hope and humanity.

Nearer, Ever Nearer

“Many brave things were done that night, but none were more brave than those done by men playing minute after minute as the ship settled quietly lower and lower in the sea. The music they played served alike as their own immortal requiem and their right to be recalled on the scrolls of undying fame”- Second class Titanic passenger

The end approached.

Sunset had occurred hours before; it was the darkness that enveloped them, the stars and moon that watched, silently. Did anyone watch them, in return? Not the musicians. At the count, they picked up their instruments, began plucking at the tunes that had been their lifeblood:

'Yet in my dreams I'll be

Nearer my God to Thee'

For others, the way was lit. The lifeboats were dropped- women and children first, then men. Inadequate even in capacity, they were sent half-empty. Not that that mattered to the band, continuing their task of mercy, heading towards- what? A reward, granted from the steps of Heaven? Whether they thought of that or not, whether they doubted, whether their faith was lost or strengthened, still they continued:

'Yet in my dreams I'll be

Nearer my God to Thee'

Even as they sank lower, the icy claws of the water grasping at more and more of hope, the same strains played strong. Was there hysteria? Could they be heard, those simple airs, above the screams and fright? They say that Death turns even the strongest into someone to be held- yet those men couldn't, for they had to hold. Objects once made of string and wood became much more, became the only lifeboats those left would have. Maybe the stars, too, appeared greater than their sum of carbon, turning from fire into angels, beckoning to the angel-song below:

'Yet in my dreams I'll be

Nearer my God to Thee'

Lastly, finally, the darkness gave way. The end came, as hearts, lungs and minds were frozen. The water that had taken so much took it all; stole their breath, their lives, thrust them into an eternal sleep. Upwards, upwards, surpassing those very stars that had looked upon them all the while. And yet, with their final act, those individuals had closed Pandora's Box, leaving their final requiem to the world- a lasting act of hope and humanity- and still, their song will be:

'Nearer my God to Thee'

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Butterfly Grieving

Some days, the current is stronger than others-

Some days, I can feel it,

A weight at my ankles:

Your grip at my wrists

Did you ever know the hold you had on me?

The truth is

That even the warmest water gets too much

Whilst the coolest steals your breath;

The coolest pools are full of salt,

And chlorine, cleansing, is a poison, too.

Just one glass of you could drown me.

Why did I think to ask for more?

Don't tell me that the water's inviting-

I'm trying to turn my back.

Please, don't ask me to dip my toes:

Toes, leads to ankles, leads to legs, leads to chest,

Leads to head.

I'm underwater

And you're smothering me.

Except-

You're not, you're not!

The memory of you is:

That's all I have left of you now.

Did you mean this, when you set me free?

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A Month of Conflict

Dear November,
You've been an interesting month, haven't you dear. You brought me the best night of my life, as well as some other truly great times. However, you've also been a month of trouble and illness, and I'm afraid it's all I can do not to hold that against you. I don't really want to dwell here, November. It wasn't your fault, we've just never got on, and old feuds are hard to lose. Thank you for the good times, though, November, for they were far beyond words.
My first goal was to put some exciting plans into action. I am so pleased to say that all systems are go on this front November (though I realise that nothing has been released to the blog at large). Lots and lots of work still to do, but I am hugely excited, November.
Secondly, I wanted to look at universities. This hasn't happened as of yet, due to being incredibly busy. However, I have no worries that I will do this at some stage; thinking about university has been a good thing recently.
My third goal is another where I haven't made as much progress as I could- to get back into my musicianship. My goals were to practice three or four sessions a week, and to hand a theory paper in weekly. I'm sad to say that I haven't done this, November. However, I have changed my lesson time (for the first time since I began lessons, all those years ago!), and I am more committed to my music than I have been, so I'm taking that as a success.
Penultimately, I set myself the goal of getting all my schoolwork on track. Due to the trials we've faced, this one hasn't been possible. Instead of beating myself up about this, I'm accepting that it's been a difficult month, and that I have time yet to achieve this before it really matters!
Lastly, my self-care hasn't been as good as it could have been. I know that, and I've faced the consequences of that. There's not much more to say on this front, November, aside from that I have been trying, and that I will continue to try.
That's it for 2014, November. I hope to see you next year, and that we will part then on better terms. Farewell x

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Closure

     Take all the memories. Untack the photographs, one by one by one. Trace your fingers over each smiling face; remember the moment when the flash went off. Cheese: frozen in time. Flick through your old journals. Re-read your scribbled notes, your additions and highlightings, all those times you thought you'd never want to forget. Close your eyes- picture yourself back in each moment. Collect up your keepsakes, all the things you've scattered around the place- that hat, those postcards. Hold them to your chest, memorising the shape of each one.
     Now. Gather the items together. Lay out a piece of fabric, place your bundle in the centre and bring the edges up, shrouding the items until no more of the past can be seen. Take a length of ribbon and wrap it around, making sure the contents are secure. Fix it in a bow at the top.
     Pack up your collection of memories and begin to walk. Go as far as you can, as if by walking you'll leave all of it behind. Travers until night, then make your way to the top of a hill, somewhere you can see everything, but at a distance. Look out at the lights, a million lives going on that you have no part of. think of everyone you miss, everyone you're losing. Assign them each a light. Look for the furthest set of car tail-lights you can see. Stand there, focusing on it as it gets further and further. Breathe. Take it all in, inhaling the view like oxygen to your heart.
     Kneel down. Remove your bundle from wherever it's stored, and place it on the floor- carefully, like a baby. Pull the covering tighter- mother fixing child's blanket. Then, do what no mother should. Cover it in lighter fluid, or alcohol- whatever it'll take to destroy it. Strike a match, and hold it close. Stand back, quickly.
     Watch your past light up the world.
     Once you've made ashes of your past life, gather them up. Hold the dusty powder in cupped hands, waiting as the remnants of warmth escape. Imagine it as your memories taking their last breaths, the lifeblood slowly slipping away.
     Almost there. Take your lantern, and fill the small basket with the ashes. Dust your hands off, leaving no trace upon yourself. Once it's full, light the small flame. Hold the lantern as the hot air inflates the surface above. Observe the flickering of the candle- something so beautiful, yet so dangerous and untamed. Symbolism.
     When it's ready- not a second before, not a second after- let go. Let go. Let it fly, over the faraway lights, over the head of each and every person you've loved, carried by the carbon present in your veins. Watch it until it's gone: everything you can no longer hold. That's your life. Fix your eyes on it, unwavering.
     Once it's out of sight, disappeared like the headlights from minutes ago, turn away. Do not hesitate. Do not hold on a moment longer than needs be. Put the lights, the people, away from your mind. They are not there anymore. Start moving. Move on. Do not stop. You are done, now. Go on.

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November.

Dear November,

I'm slightly late in writing to you, and I apologise for that. However, you have already been extremely busy- even now, I am fighting the want and need to go to sleep after an overwhelming day.

Anyway. Five days together, November, and you have already given me the best evening of my life. What an evening that was, November. Far, far beyond words. Since then, you have not been so great- partly because nothing could be, and partly because it is hard to come back to earth after such a high. However, I am doing my best, even in difficult situations, and that is all I can do. I know you are unlikely to be easy, November, if just because you are already set to be so busy. However, not being easy does not mean you cannot be good, and I have much to look forward to. In addition, I have the golden memory of Saturday and yesterday's new beginning to hold on to.

Onwards to some goals, November. Firstly, I would like to end this month having put some exciting plans into action- both getting things sorted, organising a lot of things and then being in a position to get the ball rolling.

My second goal is to have made further progress with looking at universities. Hopefully, this will involve looking more closely at courses and booking some open days.

Thirdly on my to do list, I want to continue with last month's goal of getting back into my musicianship. I wish to make determining my success in this easier, so am setting myself the goal of handing in a theory paper every week and managing at least three or four practice sessions per week. This may not sound like much, but it's a big jump!

Fourthly, I am going to set myself an umbrella bracket of concentrating on school work. Underneath this, my more specific goals are to revise all the content we've covered until I'm fairly confident, and to be happy with my English coursework.

Lastly, I am going to throw a self care goal in. Being busy is great, but it is also tiring, and to be the person I want I must make sure to look after myself. So, in terms of self care, I am aiming to take time for myself every day, and to do my best to get my eating and sleeping on track. In addition, I want to make a point of having 'proper' social interaction at least three times a week- making an effort to see and be with people.

So there we have it, November. Doesn't that look good?! My eyes are closing slowly and I really must sleep, so it is time to go. But here's to us November!

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Of Pumpkins and Ghouls

Dear October,
We have parted company now, you going your way and I going mine. I have much to look forward to, much to think about. For now, however, I wanted to take the time to write to you, to recognise the work we have done.
At the beginning of the month I set myself- the two of us, really- five goals to complete. I'll begin my reflections on our time together by looking at these, to see how I am doing with them.
Number one was to have sorted out my driving lessons. I am in the same place as I was when I last checked in on this, that I need to send off both a letter and an email. I will try to do that as soon as possible, so that though we did not complete this together, it won't be far off.
Secondly, I resolved to spend more time with the world's greatest dragon, my adorable little sister. Having spent three days away without social media, just focusing on her, I feel that this is one I've achieved. I want to continue with this, October, to ensure that she always knows that I have time for her and care about her, no matter what.
Thirdly? I wanted to get back into the habit of piano practice. This has not happened as it should have, October, and now we are here I am wishing I had made more of an effort. However, it is too late now. All I can do is strive to complete this goal in the future.
Moving on, the fourth goal was to start planning for 2015. I've been doing this both subconsciously and proactively. There's work yet to be done, but I should have an exciting announcement and details around this in the near future.
Lastly, to enter into the world of work. Without wanting to jinx things or preempt anything, this is a possible, and I have quite definitely completed my goal of at least getting the ball rolling on this one. Keep your fingers crossed for me, won't you, October?
Overall, I feel that we have made progress. There is a great amount of work yet to be done in each of these areas and more, but we are getting there, October. I am on my way, and I am grateful for our time and work. You have not always been an easy month to deal with; there have been some real challenges. However, as ever I cannot complain, for there were some beautifully sweet times too. In addition, memories mean that you will always be a month of unease I'm afraid, and I feel that I have done well in surviving our friendship, littered as it is with potential bad tastes.
Thank you, October. I hope to see you well next year. Until then, goodbye x

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Mid-October Reflections

Hey there October,

I had planned to get an early night; however, I've ended up staying late, working on the goals I have set us. Therefore, it seemed to be a perfect conclusion to the evening to write to you, letting you know how things are going.

The first goal is to have sorted out my driving lessons. Due to being so busy, this has been harder than it should have been. However, I am finally on my way- I need to send off both a letter and an email, and wait for the results. Driving lessons won't be something I've started by the end of our time together, but so long as I get things in action they will hopefully begin in the not too distant future.

Our second goal, if you remember, revolves around my ray of sunshine- my little sister. We have conflicting timetables, and it often feels like I am only home when she isn't, and vice versa. However, this week it should be easier, with us both being on half term. Next week we are also going away, and I am hugely looking forward to some quality time with her then.

Thirdly, I had aims to get back into the habit of practising the piano. As I said at the time, it is hard to practise a piano residing at home when I am so rarely home. Again, half term should make this one easier. I have also changed my piano lesson time and day, which should also make practise easier. Lastly in regards to this one, I am determined to finish as many theory papers as I can get my hands on before my next lesson!

Onwards to point number four, some planning for 2015. I've been doing quite well with this- I've made the most important decision, and I've started to sit down and look at a calendar, something I've been doing this evening. There's a way yet to go, but I have time, and I think this aim is accomplishable.

Lastly, in September I started thinking seriously about entering the world of work. I decided that when we part, October, I want to have 'gotten the ball rolling'. This is the one I've been focusing on this evening- I've sent contact details to one company, and spent a considerable time working on my CV. I'm currently getting feedback on a first draft, and will then re-draft somewhat. Hopefully, come Monday, I will have a CV I can send off to apply for other jobs. That would be a very big, positive step in the right direction.

To finish, I want to make some general comments about our time together, October. You haven't been an easy ride, and you know that, I'm sure. However, I do not regret anything that has happened, both with you and in previous encounters with other months. The future is uncertain, and may well be rough, but I am sure in the decisions I am making. I am happy, October.
I must admit that, over the past few days, I've spent a lot of time in thought of our previous times together. There's been a lot of nostalgia there. At times I've wanted to fly away, to the past and to the future and to somewhere entirely different. I'm trying to take that in a positive way.
In addition, I can hardly say you've been bad. We shared the World Mental Health Day event, and that was a true highlight of my life. Recently we have encountered dark nights and bright lights- one of my utmost favourite combinations. There has been plenty of beauty, and hope, and love.
It's been good so far, October, and I truly will be sorry to leave you. I'm glad that we have another week together; especially glad as I have so much to look forward to this week. Let's make it rock October x

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(Wake Me Up) When September Ends

Dear September,

We've parted ways now. It seems like one moment you were just arriving; the next you had gone. It was nice to catch up, though. With the advent of the new school year and the beginning of autumn, you are all but synonymous with change, and at times that can make you a hard contact to have. That was no different this year, and we had our rocky moments. However, you left happily, quietly, and I am almost sad to see you go.

When I set my five goals, I wasn't sure what I was really setting myself up for. The last time we met, they would have been near impossible. Though I cannot say I return victorious in all, I can say that I have tried, and that is plenty.

My first goal was to extend my writing outside of this blog, through guest blogging. This month, I was published on PBG, as expected. I was also published on Paragraph Planet; it's not a guest blog, but it is a chance to have my writing out there, so to speak. Aside from that? I have plans for a guest blog very soon, another at some point, and I contributed to a PBG collaboration. All is well with my first goal.

My second goal is another in which I have wholly succeeded. My aim was to survive the initial 'assessment period' in my two new subject. It is the first of October now, and I am still a student in Law and Sociology. Victory.

Time played it's part against my third goal, which was to get a move on with applying for swim teaching jobs. I haven't had a chance to get my CV together yet. However, it has been at the front of my mind, and I have begun making steps to achieve this. It's not a goal I will drop, merely one in progress.

The fourth goal I placed in you, September, was to sort out my month bus pass, something that required a series of steps. Well, I now have an NUS card, and I should have both student bus pass and month bus pass by the end of this week. I am happy with that.

Lastly, but by no means least in importance, I wanted to get a difficult conversation over and done with. I might not have completed this one well, but I have completed it, so I can take comfort in the fact that at least it's done, if nothing else.

So you see, September? We have got along very nicely indeed, and I thank you for the pleasure of your company. It is time to move on now, away from the chatter of summer catch-ups and the smell of fresh pencils. Just around the corner I can see candles in pumpkins, and dark, beautiful nights. What a beautiful transition.

It's been a pleasure, September. Until we meet again x

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Hey There Autumn

When I emptied my school bag last week, I realised that the bottom was a sea of conkers. A load of them fall near my school, and I pick them up each day on my way to and from. When I reach school, a boy in my tutor hands me the ones he's collected, and they too get tossed into my bag. I didn't realise how many I'd collected until I took them out, and realised how much lighter my bag was. I left them in a pile in my room until I tidied, when I found a container. It's around two thirds full now, and I'm determined to fill it.

On Monday I found a top that I hadn't worn before, and wore that with leggings and boots. A teacher at school told me I looked summery, and I said 'no, this top is autumn'. It is made of a million shades of brown, interlinked with golds and oranges, the colour of leaves and sunset. It is a summer top in the way it is cut, but aside from that it is autumn.

Yesterday when I caught the bus home from my friend's I had to wait ages at the second stop. It grew chilly, and suddenly I found myself craving hot chocolate, which I don't usually drink. When I finally got on the bus I was surprised at how much easier it was to read my book- it was only then that I realised how dark it was.

Today I wore my multi-coloured jumper again; the one that needs chilly weather, because it requires a top underneath or it's too scratchy. It wasn't quite the weather for it today, a little too hot after all, but once I'd rolled the sleeves up it was fine. It's second-hand from a charity shop, but initially handmade I think- no label and a little shapeless, but beautiful and unique and something people always compliment me on. It's a good jumper to wear, even if it's scratchy.

All of these things might seem isolated, but they're not, they're part of a much bigger picture. The seasons are changing, the leaves are falling. Autumn is rolling in like the mist by Cassandra's castle, except it isn't really sad. It's hopeful- it speaks of jumping in leaves and puddles, and the world as seen through oranges and browns and reds. It's the nights drawing in, meaning long evenings to read and cuddle up and admire how beautiful artificial lighting can be. Soon there'll be the soft glow of candles in pumpkins, and then the brilliance of fireworks above our heads, sparklers in our hands. Autumn is here and it is beautiful.

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5 Minute Write

It's Sunday morning, and it's been a slow one. I woke up aiming to get loads done, but I got sidetracked searching for a set of pictures that I can't seem to find. Now I need to get out and walk the dog, but I'm procrastinating instead. Therefore, I've decided to give myself exactly five minutes to refresh a bit, before getting on with my day. These five minutes are going to comprise of listening to Sleeping At Last (my latest musical love, there will be a post about this at some point) and creative writing. Which will be posted here, because I haven't posted anything creative in ages. Enjoy.

Maybe it's an English thing, to have a life that revolves around the weather. You get so used to it, to sighing at the overcast skies, to cheering at the smallest glimmer of sun. Or maybe it's a writer thing. Pathetic fallacy. Maybe it's both.
The last good weekend, the sun shone throughout. It was hot in London, hot in my room that weekend, hot in Portishead. We got covered in mud, my cousin and I, had to wash ourselves off in the tiny bubble of water that fed into the sea that was really just gloop. By the time we'd caught up with the others, we'd dried off again. We wore daisy chains and rolled down hills. It was summer. The next day, the weather turned. Not quite a year of gloom, of grey skies and raindrops like tears. There were sunny days, sure, but the sort of sun you'd have to be British to enjoy.
Come the next summer, the weather had turned again. Bright skies, finally. No clouds, or at least, not ones that could cover the sun, because it shone too bright, too vibrant.

My timer's just gone off. Time to get up and about!

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Temptation

A piece of creative writing from a few months ago (27th February, to be exact). A bit rough and ready (as in, I can see things I want to edit but I can't be bothered to edit)- ah well. Enjoy :)

The pool water was cloudy once, full of chlorine and grime and skin and worse. The temperature was never right, always too hot, too cold, inconsistent with the blood beneath our skin. Not now. Now the water is pure, golden, a lagoon. Beautiful, it is, tempting. I want to dip my feet, just dip my feet- but that would not be enough, for once my feet were in I would want to go deeper, want to go to knees, to thighs, to waist, to breast. Before I could pull back, I would be submerged, raring to go. I cannot go, anymore. My ankle is tied with a lead weight called misfortune, buried within the tendon and bone that have caused me misfortune.

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Return.

i
     Though it was May, I kept thinking of snow and frost, of coats and hats, of red noses and weather stories. It was sad, I kept thinking, that she wouldn't be around to see that. I didn't expect her to still be around in the sun of two summer's later, smiling and laughing and not just a dream.

ii
     I said goodbye to her, the last time I expected to see her. In reply, she told me that she was staying. So she was there even when I returned- there were more weeks, there were more memories. I let myself fall that little bit more, and I had said goodbye for nothing.

iii
     I didn't pay attention to her, the first time. She was just another face in the crowd. Because of that, it didn't faze me once she was gone- that was just how it worked. Besides, I had no reason to care. It was only when she returned that I took notice; only then that I felt the relief.

iv
     We met, and I thought, this is it, maybe I'll only get this week. I couldn't see it reciprocated, couldn't see it lasting. But I got that week, and the next and the next, over thirty, and still counting.

v
     The earth falls asleep each winter, knowing that it will be awakened by spring's caress. The beach lets go of the sea, unable even to hold on, sure of it's return. I am made of the same carbon as the sand, I breathe the oxygen found in the earth. I have learnt of second glances, been given second chances. So why, then, do I remain so scared of loss?

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IDAHOT

For a breath-takingly amazing piece on the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia, check out BB's post. I'm not going to try to compete with that. Have some creative writing based on the day instead.

We are the people. We are your children, we are your siblings. We are your classmates, your colleagues, your friends, your acquaintances. We are the people you pour your heart out to at night, we are the strangers who smile at you in the street.
We are not the fags, the trannies, the queers. We are not the poofters who deserve to be shot. We are not your stereotypes- we are not your lipstick lesbians, not your metrosexuals. We are not your charity cases. We are not your conversation pieces.
We are struggling in silence, we are screaming for change. We are fighting, battles you will never have to understand. We are living, lives as complex and intricate as any other, our beings made of the same stuff as stars. We are breathing, in and out, in and out, the air the dinosaurs exhaled. We are loving, and loving, and loving.
We are one. We are individuals. We are here, whether you like it or not, and we refuse to leave.
We are the people. We are human. We are just like you.

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