Notes From My Pockets

Just for a change, I’m going to post a few excerpts from my notebook. I keep a little book which fits in my pocket and when I find nice words, I pick them up and slip them between the pages for later. Here are a few:


I smile and tell myself along with everyone else that I am fine but I know that things are far from fine. I know because I cannot write.

x   x   x

I loved going home even if I didn’t always look forward to it. It cleared my head.

 I trusted them to keep me right even when I didn’t want them to, knowing that they could and would patiently untangle the twine of my thoughts even if they didn’t understand them. But of all, they were not afraid to warn me of myself and as much as it hurt, I am the better for it.

They kept me right and I kept them too. That is why I called the place home.polaroid 01

pexel 02I suppose it is easy for those looking on to mistake my acceptance for coldness. I am not one to rage against the dying light but to wait with patience for dawn and eagerly enjoy the constellations laid bare in the long hours between.

Why struggle against what you cannot change? The the beauty then becomes forgotten in the futility of the fight.

x   x   x

Who can tell the innermost workings of the heart? Even my own, at times, surprised me.polaroid 02

x   x   x

Aylsham was a sweet little town full of charity shops and cafes. The music shop across the road sold ukuleles, reminding me with longing of my own little Tanglewood back home.

polaroid 03x   x   x

As I stared back into the eyes of the lost child, it came to me that there never had been monsters at the bottom of the garden; the ghosts had always been in the house.

x   x   x

The thing about changing is that you never feel like it’s you that has done it. It is so gradual that one day you wake up and everyone and everything around you has become different while you were sleeping.

pexel 04



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