I Remember The Day – A Poem About Love, Life, and Loss

This is a poem I began writing a few months ago, and worked on for a while. It was something I’d look at every day for a while, and change ever so slightly. While I’m incapable of ever being completely happy with anything I write, I am quite happy with this.

It’s entirely a work of fiction, a sort of short story in poem form. I don’t really know what my thoughts were when I started writing it, but now it’s a sort of study of the way love changes throughout life, and the way we grow and learn to love differently. Of course, a large portion of it is are things I haven’t experienced, and so I’m only going by observation, but I like to think this is a relatively realistic, although perhaps overly dramatic, kind of life to be led. Who knows? This is a poem, about love, and the different sorts we come across. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is kinda long.

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Letters To My Future Selves

Dear 18-year-old me,

You’re only two years away, but if the last two years have taught me anything, it’s that a lot can change in 24 months.

I wonder; are you where I’m hoping to be, when I become you?

Did my plan work? What about it failed?

I’d like to know how many people you’ve met that have really made you think. That have really made you wonder, and change your mind about something.

How many people have you met that have changed your life?

Probably none. Two years isn’t a very long time to have your entire life changed.

Ooh, have you fallen in love yet? I’d like to think so, but then again, it isn’t that important.

Are the people who are your best friends at 16 still even in your life?

If not – why not?

Was it your fault?

If so – apologise.

Have you learned to drive yet?

I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t.

Sternly, me.

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These Are Restless Times

A few days ago, I was just going about my daily business, reading posts, listening to music, trying to stop my cat from leaving me, etcetera etcetera. It was a mediocre day, and I was feeling thoroughly mediocre myself. How uninteresting and boring my life seems.
I came across posts about politics, of course. Mainly Trump and his stupid freaking wall. Posts about people’s personal lives – their birthdays and boyfriends and best friends and demons. Posts about projects and things people are doing, challenges they’re undertaking, mistakes they’re making. Posts about life, how to do it and do it well, how to ensure you get good grades and good hair and good everything.
It was all very unremarkable, as I said. Very mediocre.
Not that the posts weren’t great, I’m sure, but nothing really caught my eye, you know? As I said, I was feeling very mediocre.

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National Wish-You-Were-Writing-More Month

It’s November.

Yes, it’s taken me a while to realise this, I know, but, nevertheless, the observation remains correct.

And, as writers across the world know, November is NaNoWriMo, in other words, The Month Of Repeatedly Smashing Your Head Against A Wall In Desperation And Anger.

NaNoWriMo, for those that aren’t aware, (please know that I have never been more envious of you than in this moment), stands for National Novel Writing Month. Yes, that’s right, hundreds of thousands of absolute morons like me are attempting to write a novel in a month – that’s 50,000 words, in 30 days. Which means 1667 words per day. And remember, just because a novel must be at least 50,000 words, that doesn’t mean that many are. In fact, most novels nowadays are closer to 100,000 words, and while the objective of the month is technically to write 50,000 words, that is quite simply not enough words to tell a satisfactory story, and many of us (including me) will not settle for less than an entire novel.

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