Even Though I’m A Woman

I’m missed those faces, even though I’m a woman now.

I walked away because I love you more when I miss you, but no less I love you.

No luggage weighing me down, its presence halted by the sunset from a duller day my steps fleed from.

My mind over filled, a release of words welcome as friendly faces were greeted and old haunts revisited.

The Chinese restaurant with a welsh name and the little supermarket that hid between the shops.

I was Home, but as a different person that before and I saw it in their faces. My confidence fully renewed despite my dwindling faith and a  rather bold decision sat in my hands. This time I was free of anything but hope, and hope came with the sunshine I walked into in the sacrifice of the rain that followed.

I embraced the change; I came to accept the person I am now.


Falling in Love With Summer

I’m flicking through pins and websites and travel blogs. I just can’t decide.

I feel as though the world is before my feet, endless places waiting for my love to fall on the sunset bathed sidewalks and glistening lakes; Rainy days that bring the colour out in the most gray of places and the hottest spells which highlight the beauty of vast fields.

Venetian canals to the towering structures of cityscapes. Where I go I do not know but I am no less exicted, thrilled by the idea that my feet for a little while don’t have to touch the ground, resting on trains and planes and numerous lands that aren’t home.

In three weeks I can dream the biggest dream so far.

Optimism is my wanderlust in wait, 


Colouring-in Weather

”The clouds are looking a little grey” he said. So I pulled off my sunglasses that made the world filtered like one of his instagram shots and slid them over his eyes. ”Better?”

”I think so. But now the contrast is off, the clouds look orange.” He chuckled as I sighed giving him a disdainful look.

”I can’t change that I’m afraid, this isn’t your phones still screen of your world. I can’t make it brighter or more dim; that’s just how it works” I looked down to the sea, sat on the harbor wall, watching the tide recede for the afternoon, children with ice creams melting over their fingers wide eyed at everything around them while their parents fussed over maps and packing up cars. I was happy to bask in the fleeting patches of sun that filtered through the clouds. What more could I really need when my mind was busier than the shell-studded beach and my body had been over-worked in my recent attempts to make it less fragile.

I noticed him looking at me then, something I hadn’t seen in his face before and no sooner had it appeared than it was gone…I probably imagined it but this had been too long a silence from his words for some larger event not to have occurred in his universe.

”You know, you look so far away some times Iz, like your eyes are seeing a world between the waves. I wish I could see it.” I looked at him then, the boy who had been my childhood friend, growing up wandering the shore finding adventures with the tide and the caves that dotted the bay. I hesitated before I spoke my next words but no less they had to be said; ”I can show you if I like, but you must take off my glasses, you must put away your phone and you must open your mind.”

He considered my words before nodding slowly and handing me back the glasses which I put in my bag, looking at me intently like I was about to teach him something most profound about life that he was struggling to see himself. I shuffled nearer…only slightly and rested my hand over his ”Jai look into the water. It reaches the shore and then recedes, it caresses the tip of the beach for only moments a day and more than that it is guided by something beyond the earth we were born unto…don’t you think among it’s glistening surface and mass that makes it something magical? I just like to imagine the magic it’s made of. The days it has seen beyond our own considerations of how we came to be and then in turn how each part of it is changed by our lives in some way. We swim in it, we drink it, we become it’s living memory and every grain of sand ,un-moving, is every part of our human history. If we kept only a tiny trinket of it we would hold in our hands a segment of the greatest peace of literature ever written in a language we can only imagine to read. That’s what I see.”

It took nothing more than my words, gently said with a careful consideration, for that look to return to his face, his face drew closer until the moment I had imagined since the day I realized that growing up with him had given me the time to love him like no other could or ever would again. His palm traced across my cheek un-disturbed by a gentle breeze as his hesitant eyes met the warmth in mine and he placed a single kiss upon my lips. I could have waited a lifetime for that moment, to replay it in my head like I would when I got home that night staring at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. Magic was in time, in lessons…in love. We’d never leave it behind if we kept our hearts open and allowed the truth of their words to drift out of our mouths just like the moment the sea touches the tip of the beach.

I held his hand and the silence fell, but this time he saw as I did, this time there was a balance. This time we would remain so blissfully involved in the world until it turned chilly. He never asked if we could colour-in the weather again.


A Goodbye Wrapped In Brown Paper

I wrapped your t-shirt so neatly, like it were a thing of any delicacy not something in which on countless nights I slept in.

I fold the odd sock you misplaced and the second t-shirt that merely sat among both other items in the bottom of a basket until I discovered them again finally unearthing the depth of my own possession.

I’m with another now. Not one who will ever share a t-shirt or even lend a jacket in the cold, quite the opposite. But for now I accept what were and what in a lighthearted entanglement uncertain of any longevity, beyond an evening or two, is.

And so I fold your things and say my final goodbye to them, the toothbrush long gone along with your scent on the clothes I long since washed as you faded like the jeans that are sharing a lack of presence in my life.

I write you my last words, carefully poured over and re-written. The originals the best, re-scripted to consider my hand once more, to consider for a moment my ever aching heart, deep down I still miss you. I hope you understand I did what was best for us both…some day you will, when you decide.

Now I seal the box, words inside and await my wandering to the post office, no idle stamps being placed upon the space between the paper and the last things to remind me. I did not keep the letters I wrote you, I threw them out with the memories you tainted. I moved on, transient as you may believe, but in my mind I held onto those looks from all that time ago, more than a year past since our stolen time. I held onto the feel of your hand on my cheek and the spark lit by the magnetic skies that drew us together because I simply could not hold them in, like a breathe I had to exhale, so too did I have to breathe out to breathe you in.

Goodbye my almost lover, Goodbye my almost friend. 

So long, a hopeless romance.

To know that love will never end.


The Orphaned Stars

She sat among the midnight. Magnetic skies lighting her footprints in the ground and she strolled towards the Oak tree and sat below its branches looking up to the stars to take her elsewhere; Each so entwined but far apart…she knew how that felt.

She wondered about this place, submerged into the forest of night. What more could a forest hold so thoroughly than darkness when it so readily repelled the sun.

We’re all orphans really, no forever longer than a goodbye, no day longer than our darkest night.

I don’t think this shows us we are alone but that we are stronger than we could ever imagine; That each fleeting star by our side in our visible light and disappearing distance is just as much as something to marvel at as the sky which holds us. 

I bid the sky goodnight, the sight of my Goddess’ moon flooded by raindrops which invisibly soaked through me. 

I could no longer see the moon without the silhouette of a wolf in it’s shadows. I could no longer look upon a full moon without the cover of rain to dissolve my tears as one of their own.

Today I allow my march to slow in this place, because I won’t be here much longer.

These stars are just as much a part of me as the shadows that never dared stand in front of me, I love them in their orphaned plight.

This night is all I have.  


Crossing Lines Part 1.

I leap from the burning building, chased by the fire as the air left my lungs and I began to fall to the cold hard concrete below. Some part of me thought I may welcome the warmth, I was going to hell anyway. I left my hands in the coin of my fall and life had pulled me into its arms once more as a bruise or sprain was not to stop my feet running. 

I ran to her, the only one I knew whose gaze would await my steps, my knock upon her open door, already open. 

She always left the light on.

That’s the difficulty in life though, you feel as though it has dealt you a decent hand, but someone is there to call your bluff or place before your eyes a devastating flush that fills you with a rage you suppress. When I saw her there mirrored in the surface beside which her pale form lay I felt as though the fire had finally left me behind. There are no words for the emptiness a shattered bulb can leave when at your own doing she was torn apart. 

I was born unto darkness… I never knew a light until I saw the quirks in her step and the tears that only ever fell down her face when she could finally let go of the smile. 

She broke my heart with each tear but I would have given up the sight of her smile, I would have given up her knowledge of my existence, I would have allowed each of those flames to ebb away at my flesh until my existence was no more the the embers we are made from. I would have given all of this to have kept her alive. 

So here I stand, the bitter cold escaping my flesh and piercing my veins taking away the signs of life as I close my eyes but cannot sleep, cannot die and yet cannot lift my head to move my feet any further from her house. 

As he ran she was awakened:

I was sat at home thinking about how we met that day, I knew he’d never be good for me. He kept too many secrets…he just had these beautiful eyes I couldn’t look away from and there was something about him that drew me in. 

I was a librarian at the time, or that’s what I told him. It makes life a lot easier if you tell people you have a boring job, no questions, no need to tell stories and no interest whilst you purposely waffle on about what some kid asked you about a book; eyes glazed over. 

We met in the middle of a storm, sat in a Dentists’ office a power cut causing alarm among the patients, the two of us sat quietly watching the weather eyes glancing up once in a while until finally we met each others as the back-up generator flickered the bulbs between us. It wasn’t a love story, no hopeless romance or instant sparks just a hello; that’s always where it starts though I guess. We waited out the storm words never stopping for more than breath as I was his of fresh air, boring normal life and his mysteries ever present. Then I went into the office and figured I’d never seen him again.

Oh gosh was I wrong when a few weeks later a motorcyclist nearly ran me over and beneath the the helmet were those eyes. The rest of the day was a blur but it ended up back at mine falling asleep watching TV on my sofa after walking around central park. 

Then the day it all had to change arrived. 7am and a stranger knocked at my door, I knew from the rhythm, the harshness that it wasn’t him, but I always left the light on just in case so there was no hiding as I walked from the lounge cup of tea going cold next to the chair I had left. He was tall, his hair an off shade of brown and his fixed expression told me exactly where he was from. I’d met his type before, I knew his words before he spoke them.

My life as a librarian was over. I was being recalled. 

At This Moment In Time: The Last Of April

The conservatory is emptied of sound while its roof is increasingly rebelled against by an army of rain droplets on their course to whatever earth they may find between the concrete water features and porcelain plant pots.

The last day of April and I open the door to it, the scent of the heat ascending from the concrete slabs; the garden furniture long used to these storms as the rain once more picks up.

I reach my hand through the door and allow a few moments to imagine that I am a part of it.

In these moments I see a spiders web. So fine it is untouched whilst the rain takes a moment to recall, so too do the droplets upon it fall to the floor as my hearing stills for a second spared of the hammering.

And just like that, as I write this and see the livened colour contrasted by the grey clouds my screen un-immune to the rain, I can breathe.

I have been waiting for a moment like this. Air once more fills my lungs as the clouds clear and I am nowhere else but now.

The rain falls full force and inside I know I hope for thunder but I don’t feel it.

At this point I realise I wandered through the garden to where I sit without shoes, as it stills I feel as though I may as well embrace it my speed no match for the beautiful weather I feel I have waited so long to see. My bare feet touch the pathway; the bitter cold I expect never arrives as I take steps towards the plants, the blades of grass and leaves decorated so gracefully even in the violence of a rain-cloud.  

My cameras immune system not strong enough even as the sun pierced through a cloud and I return to being seated in hope of a rainbow while the sun once more takes prominence of this land in her rise to summer. 

I know right now where I belong.

In the noting of a smile on my face in the middle of an April shower I find an optimism for the day,

My dearest wishes, 


A Lady I Admire

A video with a sense of freedom and mistake and all these real honest things wrapped up in a song with many feelings when you stop for a moment to allow its sound to filter through your core and echo off each string of your heart and cell of your mind. I admire Lana Del Ray endlessly because lately I can relate to the darkness of reaching a certain point in life not to mention being a very talented singer that has made it big with depth in an increasingly light-hearted industry.

”I believe in the kindness or strangers and when I’m at war with myself I just ride. Who are you? Are you in touch with your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life where you can experience them? I have I am f*cking crazy. But I am free.”

Tasteless Birthday Cake

As my mum returned from a distant relatives birthday meal she handed me a piece of cake. I am an open advocate of all things baked and appreciate the gesture but one bite in and there was not a happy expression about my face.

I’m sure the cake was beautifully iced with an appropriate amount of time dedicated to its creation.

But cakes should be an expression not just an appropriate amount of time. A cake can say a thousand things from the symbology of different flowers for ages and symbols representing the occasion or the knowledge of what the person you are celebrating likes.

While we add a beautiful expression we should not forget about taste. I will endlessly despair of a bland sponge, tasteless butter cream to heavily contrasted by the sugar fuelled icing above. A celebration is meant to be felt and tasted. I desire no calories from food that has no taste where it ought. It keeps, it ices but there is no joy in its eating other than a sickly after taste.

But on the matter of cake I digress other than to encourage you to put a little love, a little effort and a necessary amount of full-fat butter and essence happy whisked eggs into your creations.

The matter at heart is of the ocassion of birthdays and the difference as you age. I would much rather have a single messily decorated attempt at something made with love from someone I love than a divine looking or even tasting cake from a professional or more to the point a supermarket. As often as I can I have been known to bake and spend upto 5 hours painting cakes for loved ones. Not everyone can, in recent months my efforts have dwindled a little but I say this because everyone should at least once.

As I age regardless of a lesser presence of presents and gatherings I would love to know that each card had been read for meaning before being sent and each message thought through from the select few people I consider myself closest too.

Bland birthday cake staples an age, not a people but it’s just as bad as our crisis of technology when flavour becomes as much a thing of vision as our surroundings.

My optimistic philosophy on this most formally phrased occasion is that despite what you see and the disappointment you may feel at your own efforts not always appearing as good as the polished pinterest pictures, they probably taste better because you made them for a cause with it in mind instead of a visual expression to be placed and left in a visible realm.

Have your cake and taste it too!

Daisy x


Lost Connection

This woman hits a modern day problem with a nail on the head. Digestably intellectualising a problem we all face in the loss of connection from the growth and adaptation of technology. The last time I spent a day without my phone I can say for certain was when I stayed in a Buddhist monastery last September. Recently I have endeavoured to put my phone down a little more to read real books and exercise because although technology most of the time allows me global connectivity so to does it take me away from the beautiful moment I am in.

I highly recommend a family meal, a walk or time to read physical book phone free to refresh your thoughts. Even swapping the endless segments of conversation for an hour long phonecall. It’s easy to say there is a lack of time but when I thought about it Inspend more than an hour a day reading, replying or thinking about messages and this time could be spent not being distracted from the person I’m sat next to who wants to share some of their life or not feeling like as I share a little bit of mine that I am burdening another in some way with the depth of my conversation as they tap away on their keys and nod or smile absently.

I love human beings and only recently joined the age of apps and tablet computers. Honestly, if I did not want to keep up with the advances of humanity and in turn my own globalization collective of human companions I would leave it all behind. Alas the word community has changed dramatically but that doesn’t mean you have to!

Today I advocate little changes, real smiles and open ears to the world beyond a screen.

Daisy x