Grey Shadows

Shadows of buildings cast over from the grey light of English rain, pouring doubt on the faces below. One glance above, trickles of rain dance mockingly on each cheek. This is the moment hope peels from eyelids escaping in the changing wind. They are alone, in a sea of beings each soul here is sectioned by their recalls of loss. Unable to see beyond the darkness of the air, the weather fuels their fear, multiplying the venom. They are frozen, chilled by the winter breeze and immobilised by the woes of life.

Another hour, our fickle forecast unveils the sun.

Hanni Lane

Another view.

He wrapped me in safety. Love was further from me whilst I remained entangled in his grasp, the certainty of his touch keeping me distant. In the hours I was with him I was ecstatic, only when I left was I rational. It was new. Numbed by the stilling nervousness that pulsed through my limbs, ripples from the swelling movement of my heart, I was confused. If this were love, how could I risk leaving? I wanted love so much. How could I risk letting it slip? Looking back on who I was, lying beside this stranger I felt I knew... I can see it was alright. What I felt was new, not love.

Hanni Lane

Where are we headed?

Where are we headed? If lucky we see the world through clouded lenses, at least as a child. With this view we are entered into a blissful ignorance. Society is kind, our thoughts so far from harsh realities. Perhaps childhood is prolonged into adulthood, the bud of knowledge growing far from polluted air. If not, the curtain is pulled down rapidly at the termination of youth. Shocked by the tarnished tableau that beholds your fresh gaze, you stay open mouthed. This moment though tough, is a gentle stab in comparison to what prevails. Living with the understanding of the world's reality, with little knowledge of how to change it, or even the small universe that circles yourself; the knocks of adulthood can be hard. Where are we headed? There is a delicate uncertainty to the future, one that haunts me each night; preventing me from sleep. It lingers over me each morning, so I awake exhausted. It sits with me throughout the day as I bite my nails with frustration. Where are we headed? Further away from the safety of childhood, into a world unknown, exciting and petrifying.

Fickle Standards

I listened to him talk, my head motioning agreement at the end of each phrase. Occasionally I could feel myself speak, mouth widening, I could feel myself there. I did like him, yet each word he spoke sent me further away. I would find myself fixed on his features, evaluating their proportion and positioning. Overall he was attractive, that free, rebellious type; oozing with charisma. I could imagine myself swept away, our bodies entwined on some remote island. Yet my thoughts could drift in two directions, the first elaborating on my fictional romance, the second picking apart his imperfections; leaving me with a dream of what I could have and the guilty destruction that I created. I stared a little at the rambling man in front of me; just an empty case whose contents I have picked through before he could confess them to be his own. He is not a fool. "Fickle" he named me...my short tempered standards; they guide me to the highest heights. Yet it is a lonely journey that is not quickly finished.

You are you.

"You are you" she tells herself, hoping that those words are enough to challenge doubt. Staring at the fierce expression that reflects back, disgust mocks the mirrored girl. Acne stricken in sections, her focus is cast away from her eyes. Perhaps had she stared a little longer in her pupils she would have seen herself, seen all her beauty. Perhaps had seen examined her face from afar, she would have seen all her features. Perhaps had she watched herself through another gaze, she would have seen a girl. Instead, as though a pin in a bowling ally, she awaits the criticism that her thoughts declare. Praying they will tire and avoid, hoping they will miss or be light, dreading the heavy strike that sends her tumbling down. "You are you" she repeats a little too late. 

Her hands rise to each temple, stroking down on the broken skin. Tears tremble at the lids; uncertain of falling, they wait. Another glide across her face, she leans in closer; all vision directed to her skin. Caressing the fragile surface with her fingertips, she feels the bumps from within as well as the surface. This time her gaze is drawn to the waiting tear at the edge of her soul. "You are you" She says, before it dives. 

A Spring Moment

The morning breeze rattles through my hair, awakening each strand with a stroke. As though merged into the stillness of the natural surroundings, I can feel each section of my body move. My toes curling at the cold wet ground beneath my feet, fingers clenched tight to warm each other. Daffodils storm across the green pane of land, spreading yellow in two straight lines. There is a peace in this moment; solitude has found itself a companion in my company, sitting content upon my lap. Another gust of wind sends my dark locks swinging across my face, this time opening the clouds to reveal the sun. Brown leaves are turned golden by the morning light, cold feet are warmed by the glowing soul. 

Here I can contemplate, allow my mind to swirl in its own madness; peaceful chaos. Worries that will resume as I exit this bench, are unwelcome in this gentle moment. Although they may remain distant in my thoughts, there is no hostility in their manner. The air here is sweet, fresh with morning dew and earthy scent. Drop. Rain has come to join me, casting darkness over the white sun. Drop. I am no longer alone with solitude, but thrown into the land of mystery. Rain, the gentle reminder that excitement exists past my thoughts. 

Another breeze once again reveals the sun, the English rain sent away for another spell. Again the garden ahead is cast with light, shadows filling their space below the trees. Morning begins to fade, the day set to follow. Eventually time comes to join solitude, the ochre mist ahead igniting the natural clock. No longer can I remain lost in the peaceful bliss of this enlightened morning. I rise, ready to resume the day and return to solitude tomorrow. 

Wide eyed night

The grasp tightens as the late night moon rests. Deep in the consuming darkness of the final hour, fears settle on my mind. I can hear stupidity mocking my thoughts: "don't be foolish" it rings out, but my trembling fingers still rattle. It is in this hour that my mind circulates, compiling all woes and dilemas ready to assess. It is now that my sanity lies dormant; having taken the late night farewell and  slipped off to bed. Thump, my heart sounds into my stomach. A little movement pulses through my toes, the remainder of my body struck with fatigue. I can feel the tiredness begging to release, but the tension will not extinguish through my wide eyes. Late night thinking, by the morning you'll be gone.