All posts filed under: writing

Because sometimes we need a thousand words…

Flock of birds tattoo on shoulder

Tattoo… me

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Tonight I’m going to the ballet with Su, and I’m really excited about it! We are going to see La Sylphide, a very old ballet set in Scotland. I had never heard about this ballet, but one of my colleagues had free tickets and she couldn’t attend, so I took them instead. Let’s see, I might write about it on Friday if I think it’s worth a post… Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the ballet is awesome, but since I won’t be able to take notes, I might not remember enough details to write about it; that, and I also know nothing about ballet! I saw they were asking about tattoos in today’s prompt on The Daily Post, Tattoo….You?, and asking what our tattoo means if we have one (and what we would get tattooed if we don’t have one). I don’t know how much I’ve talked about my tattoos (or showed you!), but since it’s a topic I really like, I thought I would write about it. Did you know I have five …

Who are you going to believe in?

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I know these past days (weeks) I’ve been a bit on the lower end of the happy scale. I’ve either complained a lot, or disappeared completely. Oops! One of the things I’ve noticed (and I’m sure it’s happened to many of you) is that when you don’t feel great, when your health isn’t what it’s supposed to be, your mind decides that it’s the best time to go in for the kill and really fail you. You start pointing all your flaws out to yourself, or you lose all your self-confidence, or whatever it is that gets your kicks, so to speak. It’s like we enjoy putting ourselves down when we’re already pretty low. Whenever I have the flu or a bad cold, and I’m in bed shivering, with temperature, coughing, sneezing, and overall in not a pretty state, I always notice how weak I’m feeling, and realise how fragile the human body is, and how little I can do to cure myself once I’m sick. True, eating healthy and all that should help prevent …

It’s a big world out there

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It’s a big world out there, and we only get to see a tiny bit of it. There are so many stories waiting to be told, so many secrets waiting to be discovered… As I commute everyday on the train, I look out the window and I marvel. My journey is only about half an hour, but there are so many people whose paths I cross, so many buildings and parks on my way. I wonder what their stories are. I wonder what the buildings hide inside their walls. Every morning, I look at the sky and I feel like I’m travelling far away. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I’m going on an adventure, maybe to an exotic place. You see, the sky is the same everywhere you go, with more or less pollution, but still the same. I wonder at the clouds, and how they’re formed. I know how clouds are made, but I wonder how it happens. How is it even possible? I probably smile without noticing. On my way …

One more day

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He couldn’t take his eyes away from the sight of his hands, covered in blood. Blood dripping steadily to the floor, almost hypnotically. He turned his hands around, as if not believing what he was seeing, as if he was confused, and tried to wipe them against each other, unsuccessfully. A low moan brought him back to the scene in front of him. ‘No, please,’ he almost begged, closing his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just die?’ He looked down to the girl lying on the floor, and cringed at the sight in front of him. She was looking at him with terrified big blue eyes, eyes made even bigger by the pain she surely was suffering. ‘Why don’t you just die?’ he whispered, a tear threatening to start falling across his cheek. ‘Please…’ she managed to say. Jenson wasn’t sure he would be able to strike her again, but she needed to die, sooner rather than later. He cast a quick glance at his watch, whose crystal was smeared with blood. Ten minutes to midnight, …