Close

things are feeling just a little bit weird at the moment; things lack a certain closeness that i've previously only found within my little family. 

there are laughs, giggles, and heart-to-hearts, everything happy and bubbly and yet... superficial. these people that i have chanced upon have similarities and the same wants, needs, and likes but there is something there, a barrier that prevents us being close. 

there's a physical need for comfort

for a hug

a hand to hold.

not romantically, as wonderful as that is. 

Comfort.

i long for those quiet intimate spaces

another person at the end of the phone

at 2am,

voices soft, laughter hushed. 

the quiet as you fall asleep

miles apart but feeling closer than ever before. 

I long for those miles to be reduced

to millimetres,

to hear those whispers

accompanied by your breath in my ear.

i want to be held

i want to be

close.

things fall
                   a
                     p
                       a
                         r
                           t.

and i feel like i'm constantly and consistently trying to piece myself back together

whilst everything is still falling

lost

i am lost

unsure of the things around me

weighed down under the colossal mass of things i cannot control

why does everything have to change

why does everything have to hurt and why, just why

do i feel everything and

nothing at all?

The Urge to Write/Ramble

Hello

It's been a while. It's weird typing on a new keyboard... I keep making typos.

I want to write. What I want to write, I couldn't tell you. I feel stuck in a rut, unable to explain myself properly or put things into words. Hell, I'm even forgetting words.

Maybe I'm not as cut out for this as I thought I was?

Big changes are happening. Big changes have been happening in all of the time I've been absent. I feel like I'm returning to a dusty room full of notes and memos and lists... That's what my blog, this place that I worked so hard to create, has become.

I haven't not been writing - just writing different things. Or trying, at least. I've been contributing to some music sites/blogs with some reviews and such. It's been a dream... But I don't feel entertaining, I don't feel my personality coming across and it just doesn't feel me... Or good, if I'm honest. Reading back the things I've written, they're average. Not great, not cutting edge.

Now I know we are our own worst critic/enemy/downfall but still... I literally just have a lack of words... So why do I call myself a "writer"? I don't do cool things, I don't put effort in... Or it doesn't feel like it in this second.

Why the hell do I think I'm going to survive getting a degree in journalism?! Wish me bloody luck there! I don't even know why I'm writing these thoughts down. I guess in the hopes that someone will find them? Who even knows? What I do know is that writing helps - it's the advice everyone gives me when I'm stuck in an emotionless rut so why not give it a go? Chuck a pretty picture alongside the forlorn words and call it art or something, why not?!

I'm not a journalist, I'm certainly no blogger... So what the hell am I, other than a lonely human searching for comfort and a release from these immobilising thoughts? How do we stop critiquing ourselves? If you find out... Let me know.