Time Draws To A Close

My thoughts are scattered raindrops abandoned sweetly on the windowpane. Random, varied, not unpretty, not all easy, left there to quietly dry away. Perhaps dew is a better medium because it is more constant. But perhaps choice is not an option.

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Not you

I’ve grown up and nothing stings like knowing you were a choice only for a more childish past.

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I Find It Delightfully Peculiar…

That the Brits can get away with swearing without being crass. Or with being cheeky without also being well, crass. It’s just one of those wonderfully unfair things of the way of the world. Perhaps it’s in the accent, which, incidentally, I have the biggest soft spot for (once upon a time someone would deliberately sent me into fits of giggles with the cutest Brit accent). I am unabashedly biased and tickledtobits at the sound of a wicked, wicked somesuch, until someone pointed out that it’s all good up until the point it’s heard in porn.

No, I’m not going to provide any examples. Those of you who can’t think up one, you probably aren’t meant to know anyway. And to those who can, surely you agree it does still tickletobits – for all the wrong reasons.

Either way, you got to give it to them – those tea-sipping, dry-humoured, sarcastically witty, stiff-collared propers certainly have a much more enviable vocabulary than like, you know.

Then again, you would if you knew the pain of being at loss for words.

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Vapour

Will it always be this way, after all this time? Why, when I already know that the facts are the direct opposite? Even knowing, it doesn’t hurt less.

As if I never happened. Dispersed into thin air, a breath never breathed. Others now seep steadily and steadfastly, into the space I once was.

It’s not fair. Time is supposed to be a healer. My time, it seems, has only played at mock-medicine.

Even after all this time, it doesn’t hurt less.

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Facing reality is sometimes a real pain. And all the more as time draws to a close.