Once a shared centre of attention, now a little alone, not as pure in its intention, to deliver the difference to make a win or to cause a loss. Twenty four by eight, and yet here it stands, here alone;… Read More
An ex exclaimed; you always love shiny and (k)new, I knew that making new was what I was here to do. Now insisted; I can be yours, your way forward to be new, I knew that to renew forwards had… Read More
What do we turn to when the black dog pops on to our shoulders?
So many people go to a song, a poem, a book; solace in the repetitive patterns of something comforting, something sad, something happy. Me, I always turned to musical melancholy or a trusted battered American novel, (Nobody’s Fool by Richard Russo or The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb or The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach) a story that I know I could open on any page and dive right into the life of someone else for a short period of time, comforting time that takes you away and gives the brain chance to find a new synapse to fire, a new spark that will help me find a different path to go head down. Read More