Mitchell's Mustard Blog

October 12, 2017

Confession of an angry man

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:57 pm

‘I have options’.

I’ve never been the easiest person to get along with, my armour is incredibly hard to penetrate. I don’t give anything away easily, my mind is a locked box of troubles and turbulence, tears and anger.  The inner me wants to see things burn, see myself burn. I’ve been like this since I gave up drugs. I’ve learnt to bite my tongue and swallow the blood. Sometimes I think I fear confrontation but in honest truth I fear never knowing which way it may go, how far I will go. I fear saying or doing things that can’t be taken back. I went through depression for a couple of years and came to terms with my troubles. We shook hands and agreed to stay on our own sides of my skin but every now and then I find myself questioning my decision. Maybe I should embrace my inner anger? I’m not too worried if people don’t like who I am, but I am worried that I won’t like who I will become. To meet me I have a calm and placid facade, jokes and tomfoolery. But like an old penny, I have another side, a side laced with melancholy thoughts, an anger that resides, kicking and screaming to be heard.    

But, just like that old penny I always remind myself that there are two sides, there are options. At any given moment I could go in swinging, frothing at the mouth, but I am thankful that I can compose myself. Walk away with my head held high while I extinguish the fire that licks the back of my teeth. I have options.

I understand that the voice inside that wishes to see my world in flames isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but I do hope that he eventually finds peace in the decisions I make because one thing he will never take from me is the other side of that old penny.

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May 18, 2017

What about Charlie – The Chase

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:31 am

Oxygen was burning his lungs, he could feel the heat prickle under the skin on his face. This late at night it was harder to navigate down narrow Trinity Street, it was quiet apart from the sound of rushed footsteps and Charlie panting for air, aggression and revenge kept him running. His vision bouncing past the shops and scattered street lights, desperately trying not to trip on uneven patches of cobbled pavement that hid in the shadows, knowing that would end the chase. Up front he could see the silhouette of the man he was pursuing, plunging in and out of light from the shop windows. He was running on the same amount of energy as Charlie, both men were running on fumes and adrenaline. Charlie was grateful for the lack of tourists out late at night, Trinity Street was a haven for tourists but at this late hour it was only the homeless in doorways that could be counted as a witness and that wouldn’t stand up in any court. The man passed an alleyway full of shops on the left, the overhead lights made him easy to see and Charlie was gaining on him, pushing him harder and giving him an extra boost of energy. He was deafened by his own gasps for air, his vision seemed slightly blurred but he knew he needed to catch up, he needed answers. There was music and light coming from the church on the left as he passed, he hoped that no one had noticed these two men pass in a hurry. The street opened out into a wider road and the man stopped for a split second to make a decision on his route, he could carry on straight forward past Kings College but it was a long and straight road which meant there would be more running to do, he could take the dark passage to the right, or take the road on the left onto the Market Square. To Charlie’s delight the man chose to turn left, he was tired and needed to slow, if not stop soon. Going straight on was not an option for Charlie, his body wouldn’t allow it. Going down the passage on his right would have meant little running but pitch black alley ways to lose the chase. Market Square has an island of market stalls in the middle, to the left of Charlie was a row of shops, following his eyesight clockwise the side of the square opposite was also occupied by shops. To the far right of the square was what looked like a big hall which took up a full side on its own, on the last side of the square was St Mary’s church, it was the one way road next to that which Charlie had followed the man down onto the square. Split second decisions felt like minutes passing as Charlie was close on his tail, they both clambered through the empty market stalls of wood and metal. The stalls left derelict by their owners until the following morning. As tired as they both were they battled their way through, under and over metal framework. The man tipped the occasional stall over to cause more work and frustration for Charlie, he knew he was gaining on him which caused his heart to pound. As one stall led onto the next the tarpaulin roof had breaks in which let in the light from the moon, catching the moments of light in the darkness maze of the frame-work made it harder to see what obstacles were in the dark on the next stall. This caught both men out which slowed them both down, catching their shins and arms on loose metal that were hidden in the dark. Charlie needed to get close to him before they reached the other side of the market stalls or he will manage a huge lead that Charlie feared he wouldn’t make up. Catching sight of a metal pole waist height Charlie managed to jump and land without any obstruction just as his target stumbled out of the last stall, Charlie was right on his tail, he could hear him pant for breath as well as hearing his own. The man’s fear was obvious as he scrambled across the road nearly landing on his knees, no time to make a decision on direction, straight forward was the path taken. He fled down a large path between the buildings at the corner of the square leading onto another road behind the huge hall. Charlie was close on his tail but his legs and chest burnt like never before, he had to fight thoughts of giving up by picturing the deathly expression that this man had left on her face. They went through another alleyway next to a pub to come face to face with a group of girls dressed up standing outside a club having a cigarette, they screamed as they flew between them, Charlie shouting his apologies as one fell over. They went up a few steps taking two at a time, past a raised coffee shop on the right and funnelled into a side entrance of Grand Arcade shopping centre. Charlie knew it would be closed off at this time, as he turned the corner into the building there were bars up to prevent entrance. To his right there is parking ticket machines and a bland wall, to his left there is two lifts. The lift furthest away had its doors closed but the closest ones doors had just started to slide closed, It’s the only place he could have gone Charlie thought as he launched towards it. As he entered the lift just in time for the doors to close the man was standing there with fear over his face, they stood for a few seconds staring at each other, they were thinking what to do next. It was deadly silent in the lift whilst both men seemed to hold their breath, Charlie had never really thought about what he would do once he had caught him. Suddenly the lift beeped to say it was heading up, Charlie glanced at the buttons and notice they were going to the top floor. Every wall in the lift was covered in mirrors so it was hard for Charlie to not notice how worn out and old he looked, he could hear his breathing again. Charlie breathed in and it felt like fire, he pictured her smile then launched forward and punched the man in the face.

   He stumbled back and fell to the floor of the lift, cupping his nose as blood trickled down his chin.

   “You’ll learn to regret that” the man said with glazed eyes.

   The lift stopped and the doors slid open behind Charlie, in the split second that Charlie took to turn and look out of the lift door the man had produced a gun from his belt line. Charlie knew nothing about guns but his initial thought was the bigger it is the more dangerous it can be and it wasn’t a small gun. He stared at the gun, noticing the chrome reflect the lift lights, indentations down the side of the barrel, maybe a model number. It looked heavy, maybe that was the reason the man’s hand was shaking.

   “Slowly walk backwards out of the lift, keep your hand where I can see them.”

   Charlie did as he was told, backing out of the lift into the open air top floor where it was empty and quiet, looking over his shoulder he could see that the only other exit was across the other side, too far to run. He held his hands above his head. He hadn’t asked him to do so but that’s what you always see in the movies, it seemed the right thing to do.

   “Turn around, walk over to the edge” Charlie obeyed the mans orders.  

 

The Cambridge skyline was beautiful at night, a show of lights from the cluttered heights of surrounding buildings, church steeples and college towers. Each with their own significance, a reason to be lit up. At this height the wind whipped around his body, trying to pick him up and carry him to safer ground. Pulling and tugging at his clothes, distracting his thoughts. Looking out from the edge of this car park, Charlie remembered visiting these lit up buildings with Abigail. She had wanted to visit them, understand the history of these buildings, look at their beauty, but he never really appreciated them until now, too late. He had turned his back on the man, the gun. He stood at the edge of the car park looking out.

   “I loved her, loved her more than you could ever dream of!” The man’s voice came as a surprise as it broke the silence.

   Charlie took a deep breath, controlled his aggression, he didn’t want to sound emotional or in fear.

   “Clearly, there’s no better way to show a women how much you love them than to . . . . .” he still couldn’t say it. “To do what you did”.    

   “She deserved it, that little prick teasing bitch” He replied through gritted teeth.

Charlie could hear his footsteps as he slowly worked his way toward him, felt the cold of the gun as it touched the back of his neck. Charlie felt numb, his body wanted to give up, his mind slowly starting to agree.  

    “Do you want to know what her last words were?” he said laughing. “Ohh Charlie, Charlie I’m sorry” he teased in a high-pitched female voice. “That’s when I cut her throat because I was sick of hearing your name, Charlie this, and Charlie that . . . That all she used to go on about . . . Stupid bitch didn’t see what was right in front of her!”

   He tapped the gun against the back of Charlie’s head a couple of times.

   “Are you listening to me?” He asked.

   Charlie ignored the question. He stared out across the city, controlling his breathing, trying to save his energy. He looked over the edge, down six floors to the concrete, it could be so easy just to end it all now he thought.

   “Hey!” The man smashed the gun against Charlies head again, this time with force. “What’s wrong with you, I’m trying to tell you about how your girlfriend died, are you not interested?” He yelled. “Some boyfriend you are!!” Nudging Charlie with his gun again.

   The more Charlie ignored the man, the more irate he became. He could hear it in the mans voice, his movement, he was starting to pace back and forth behind Charlie. He had started to mutter to himself, Charlie couldn’t make out what he was saying. The more he paced the more distracted he had become. Charlie was feeling calm, his breathing was back to normal. He now just needed to wait for the man to make a mistake, a moment for him to take control of the situation.

May 13, 2017

Bruised

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:14 pm

He had come home from school with another bruise, another one to add to the collection. This young boy full of charisma, charm, and joy when encased by the families four walls ached physically and mentally without a peep. His mother could hear him quietly weep in the morning whilst getting ready for school, which in turn made her cry for answers, but he was proud and strong and a shrug of the shoulders was the answer to all. He often came home with rips in his clothing, when doing his washing she would find blood stains on his sleeves, his explanation was yet another nosebleed. She watched her young boy battle in silence, the more pressure she applied for answers the more he closed up and became aloof around her. She had spoken to the school on numerous occasions but they explained that without her son coming forward they couldn’t pursue. A promise to keep an eye out for him was lost in communication because he had come home again with a cut on his head, an accident he had explained. His eyes told another story, a silent uncomfortable story. Over the last year his character had changed, her brave little boy seemed to fear the outside, and worst of all, fear the inside. His brave little smile had left, his charisma had been removed, joy was a thing of the past. She confided in friends and family, ‘troubled teens’ they’d say to put her mind at rest. But she could see the screams behind his eyes, the damage to his body, the way he flinched at movement.

  She had heard him weep again in the morning so she confronted him, no prisoners, she wanted answers. Where had her charming and enthusiastic boy gone? What was happening?

  As she broke down, so did he. He was curled in the corner lost and fearful, she had scared him. She knew she needed to apologise . . .   

   . . . But it was too late, that day he had taken his own life. She wished someone had listened, wished she had worked harder to get to the truth, wished her little baby boy had opened up. But, all the wishes in the world had expired. Stood by his graveside she cried for today, cried for tomorrow, and feared whatever followed.

March 4, 2017

Thermometer face

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:42 pm

With Captain being a little poorly we had arranged his first ever visit to the vets, The idea of getting this brut into the carrier case made me nervous. So much so, I sat in the garden and smoked two cigarettes planning the execution of such task. He’s very much a mummy’s boy and with Mallory being at work this was down to me. I sold it to him as ‘the adventure of the two furry boys’ in which he just stared at me wondering why I wasn’t stroking his belly. I picked him up, the moment he clocked that we were heading closer to the carrier case all shit broke loose. Half his body was in, I was pushing against his backend to give him no room to escape. He knew he wasn’t going to win this fight but he also wasn’t going down without swinging. Once he was in, I placed him on the table. BB circled him, flitting her tail and tapping away on the table with her twinkle toes. She was either assessing the situation for a quick impromptu escape route or she was teasing him like a sibling would. All the food, cuddles, and toys are now hers. My money’s on the latter. As I left the house I was carrying the case in my arms instead of by the handle hoping that this would calm him, after a few minutes of clinging on claw deep into my wrist he finally calmed down and accepted his journey. When we had arrived at the vets waiting room he had buried himself in his blanket, only his little furry face was visible, his big scared kitten eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other watching all the other animals awaiting their fate. When his eyes met mine I could read his expression ‘Beardy, I don’t like you right now.’ After ignoring another of my reassuring pep talks we were called into the vet’s office. The vet enticed him out of the carrier case and cuddled him for a couple of moments, her pep talks seem to work better than mine. Placing him on a table she weighed him, listened to his heart, all the usual check up itinerary ticked off. There was just one thing left to do, I bent down to hold his eye contact and held his shoulders as instructed. His loving eyes staring into mine as he had finally forgiven me and realised there was nothing to fear. She then took his temperature. His smile disappeared, his eyes widened, a look of panic and confusion splashed across his face. ‘What? . . What are you doing? . . But why?’ All of his pride had just fallen off the table and rolled out of the room. ‘Beardy, I want to go home, now!’ His facial expression could not be mistaken. I didn’t even have an issue getting him back in the carrier case. By the time we made it home he’d had enough, he took his treat, swore at me in his language and slinked off to sleep for a couple of hours.

December 17, 2016

Forever Sleeping

Filed under: A Little Something, Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:56 pm

As he lay motionless I placed my hand on his side, never have I felt something so cold and empty. He looked the same, but different. His golden coat looked grey, a misty outline of life laid to it’s lost meaning. My hand missed the rise and fall of his chest as I sat crossed legged next to him. I pulled at the neck of my school jumper as a distraction from the tears that fought my childlike pride. I knew I needed to leave but I wasn’t ready, I hadn’t said everything I needed but I still couldn’t find the words. It’s expected apparently, loss binds you up and you rush to say the right things rather than say what’s actually on your mind. Sitting here in the hallway of my family home, too young to understand how to feel and too naive for what happens next. Brushing my hand over him, feeling his greying coat between my fingers for the last time. Stroking him and rearranging his hair so he looking clean and neat, I didn’t want him to leave feeling unkempt and unloved because he couldn’t do it himself anymore. I leaned forward and rested my head against his, my pride gave way and let my emotions take over.

   “You’ll always be my boy, I love you”.

   Those are the words that I found, those are the words I’m pleased I said, those are the words that will stay with us forever.

   He had given me a childhood of love, a companion, a hairy four legged brother. It was a hard way for a young boy to say goodbye, a vision that will stay forever. I have so many fond memories of his character, his presence. Laying with him for hours with my head on his chest, the power of his existence beating against my ear. He’d follow us like there was something to gain, but in hindsight I think he felt like he had gaining by just being with us, by our side. The one thing I shall never forget . . For us he was our brother, our family member but we had the luxury of other things in our life. We had friends, jobs, school, the outside world. . For him we were everything.

   It was painful, the way you left us. It changed me, made me view things differently. There’s parts of me that wished we had never found you forever sleeping in our hallway, but there’s also parts of me that wouldn’t change a thing.

September 23, 2016

The things I would tell a younger me

  • Don’t start smoking . . It may seem like everyone else is doing it but smoking will stay with you longer than most of those people.
  • Be yourself . . I wasn’t happy with who I was until I reached my 30s, it wasn’t too late but I could have been happier earlier.
  • Not everything your parents tell you is true . . They want the best for you but sometimes their opinion can make your playground smaller.
  • Be respectful of others feelings . . Everyone has a personal battle and some of your actions can affect others in ways you couldn’t imagine.
  • Appreciate the people close to you . . One day they won’t be there anymore and the things unsaid will haunt you.
  • If you believe in something, fight for it . . If you let it slip through your fingers then chances are you didn’t care about it that much.
  • ‘There’s always tomorrow’. . In most cases that’s bullshit, you’ll only keep putting it off, get it done!
  • Learn to agree to disagree as early as possible . . Everyone has a different opinion on things, most aren’t worth falling out over.
  • Some days you’ll feel like you’re alone, you’re not. . Talk to someone, open up and trust people. Your pride can take the day off.
  • Stop shaving . . You look much better with a beard. Stop complaining about the itchy stage, man the fuck up.
  • Don’t fear doctors and dentists. . They’re here to help you (and make you skint). Your health should be a main priority.
  • Don’t be negative . . Stay away from negative people and energy, that shit is incredibly  contagious. Don’t be part of the chain!
  • Drugs . . Do what you have to do, just be safe. Don’t be peer pressured into taking anything you’re not sure about. You can easily find yourself in a black hole that will chew you up and spit you out.
  • Learn a new language, or musical instrument . . You will try to learn both later in life and find them both near impossible.
  • Never think any idea is too big. . If you want it, go for it. If you fail then at least you have tried, that’s better than most. Shoot for the stars!
  • Nothing good comes easy. . If you want something to work then you have to be willing to roll your sleeves up and work for it.
  • Balance your work and personal life. . There is a fine line between the two and it can tip either way. Do you work to live? Or live to work?
  • Be polite. . Just because a lot of people around you have no manners, doesn’t mean that you should act the same way. Two wrongs do not make a right.
  • When your Grandma is ill, go see her more often. . Say the things you want to say, hold her hand, tell her you love her. Saying it to a hole in the floor isn’t quite the same.
  • Research tattooists properly. . Have a good look around before you settle on a tattooist or you’ll find out halfway through your second tattoo that the tattooist line work is a little off because he has a glass eye!
  • Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. . Or you’ll find that the people who befriend you or fall in love with you don’t actually know you. Don’t lie to them and don’t lie to yourself.
  • Girls that like bad boys. . Don’t even bother! You might have your father’s mind and mouth but you have your mother’s heart and emotion. You will never fall under the ‘badboy’ category.  
  • Don’t get too involved in others bullshit. . Be supportive but be careful or their bullshit will eventually become your bullshit. You have enough weight on your shoulders, you don’t need theirs as well.
  • And finally. . Believe in yourself. Don’t put yourself down, there’s plenty of other people out there that will do that for you! Be kind to yourself, and for god sake smile more.    

July 14, 2016

His Loving Touch

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:09 pm

“Fuck. . . I’m sorry” he yelled.

The words that echoed around the walls as she lay looking up at a crack in the ceiling, it wasn’t the only thing damaged in this house. His voice had changed so much over the years, it had lost it’s edge of calm, of love, and reassurance. It had become angry, just like him. Soon after it would turn to desperation while she cried nursing the new trophy of their altercation. The kind of trophy you didn’t want on show, hidden under her make up rather than proud on the mantle piece. This had become her life. Another day, another bruise. She was strong, had built up a tolerance to his knuckles. But this time was different, the type of knock that puts your world on it’s side, pulling you into a plume of darkness, the ones you have to wake up from.

“I didn’t mean it, darling. I didn’t. . . It was an accident” he pleaded.

She flinched from his skin, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. This smell had become resident in their household, a long time gone were the scent of flowers and peace. She stay laid where she landed, he collapsed back onto the sofa. His presence of anger turned to adolescence, holding his troubled mind in his damaged hands.

“You have to forgive me, my love” he begged.

She had never feared him before, she knew the telltale signs as to when she should keep her distance, but never actually feared him. But she lay there fearing the next moment, the next day, and the next time his anger touched her skin. Her nausea could have been from concussion, realisation, or their unborn child.

“Help me, please help me” he sobbed.  

The thing she feared the most was that she didn’t want to be there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either.    

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   

November 20, 2015

The Junkie Boneyard

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:19 pm

I will always remember the day I decided to turn a corner . .

 

The air was so heavy I could taste it, a mixture of mould and the unkept. The room was dark and dank, a patchwork of plaster and brick on the walls, urban artistry that occurs only from being unloved. The only thing that broke the silence was the creaking of ropes that held up the hammock I was laying on. On further inspection, this hammock was about five foot from the ground and held up by pulleys connected to two of the walls across the corner of the room. God only knows how it was holding my weight, also I’m hoping he might know how I got here, because I had no clue. In fear of moving too much I carefully checked my surroundings. To my right I could see the room was littered with cushions, candles, and sporadic limbs protruding and entwined with sleeping bags. Hoping these limbs are still attached to their bodies. To my left was a window, a battered and ripped blind masked the sunlight from outside. I could see dust dancing in the rays of light that beamed through the cracks. The window ledge was covered in dust, burnt out candles, spilt wax, and the one main thing that caught my attention, a bloody hand print. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ I thought to myself.

   I had been wearing the same clothes for 3 days, my skin felt like it had forgotten about it’s love affair with water. My jeans clammy from sweat, my skin sore where my clothes had started to pinch. My mouth was dry, my nostrils on fire, whether that was from substance abuse or breathing in the close encounters of the room, I wasn’t sure. Craving fresh air and a warm shower to wash away the loathing, I needed to move.

   Before testing the strength of the hammock I looked underneath to make sure if I did fall, I wouldn’t be landing on something or someone. There wasn’t even anything I could use to climb down onto for a safe dismount, there was no way I could do this quietly or gracefully. I lay there for a moment trying to execute a plan in my mind, I didn’t want to find myself in a position where I’d have to converse with another human being, I just wanted out. In one swift movement I was sat upright with my legs dangling below me. If I gently eased myself off the hammock I felt like I could land quietly with great precision, like a ninja. Oh how I was wrong. After breaking what could have been 4 glasses of water, knocked over a couple of candles, kicked a metal tin across the room, and standing on someone’s hand, I had successfully caused the room to stir. All the movement under the sleeping bags and cushions played games with my mind, I felt like I was in a scene from the movie Tremors, the floor looked like it was moving, I panicked, I did what every straight laced mind wouldn’t do, rather than run I sat down cross legged and closed my eyes. For a fly on the wall view this would have been quite amusing, the floor moving and crashing like waves around me as I sat cross legged in the middle, eyes closed while humming to myself to find the calm inside.

   I don’t know how much time had passed, but the room was deadly quiet again, and my heart wasn’t trying to leave my chest. Looking around me I could see all sorts of drug paraphernalia, the ones that caused me to think long and hard about my current circumstances were the used hypodermic needles that littered the floor. There was a fine line between a bohemian drug haven and a junkie boneyard, this was a glimpse into the latter and I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the smell, taste, and feeling of this room was. But I knew I didn’t want it to be part of my life. My current lifestyle was hanging above my head like a noose, so the decision was easy to make. With this new found motivation, I got up, I found the door, and I got out. I remember stepping out into the sun, feeling warmth. I walked up the path and turned back to look at the house. I had never been there before, and in more ways than one, I have never been there since.                   

No turning back.

          

October 11, 2015

Bricks and Mortar

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:36 pm

Dear you,

The reflection of the mirror never pays you justice. I sit there and watch as you get ready, knowing that you just can’t be replicated. Like that of a picture, beautiful, but never able to compete with the real spectacle. The glow, the desire, the overall being. I don’t know if this is real, so many questions. But none important enough to stop me admiring your presence. Believing in the tomorrow, the stars may not be aligned, but I’m working on that. I’ll roll my sleeves up and build the ideal setting. I’ll dig the tunnel, fix the bridge, pull your boat ashore. We are the river, not the drift wood. I’m not one for coasting, as long as I have strength, I’ll hold you high because I want to show you the sights. I have no interest in being your history, your regret, your once was. There’s no future in that, directionally driven and I wasn’t built with a reverse gear. Not born for games, the only match I’m looking for is one you can ignite, hold it under my heart so you can see me for who I am. In fear of the burn, but not enough to stop me from playing with fire. ‘Home is where your heart is’ they say, and I want you to be my bricks and mortar. Like a kite on a windy day, letting you down isn’t an option. We may dip, a little sway here and there, but there’s always the strength to bloom in the sky.
Because of you, I know that romance isn’t dead.

Me

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