Watch me smile.

My photo
I'm little, red headed mess, more hair than mass or sense. All I really want to do is make something magical and show the world and have it be proud of me.

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

A Flightless Bird.

I've found out that there is only so much lying in bed crying while listening to the playlist you made especially for these times before the sun streams through the curtains and stirs you, forcing you up and washed and changed and eating crunchy-nut clusters and milk from a plate before you can cry "I love him though!"

Cleo, Faye and me in the sunshine.

Yes, there is a point where you just have to go out, get really drunk on not that much and open up your heart, because theres nothing at all better than a tiny bit of sunshine at the end of October.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009

Bright Lights And Angels.

I have a theory, and so far it hasn't failed me, that if I don't look up into his great brown eyes, I'll never feel the terror of let down again. Sadly, this involves looking down, averting my eyes to watch somebody else, or preferbly his nose or his rosebud lips or his usually windswept hair while he speaks. Even his voice is alluring, leaving me beguiled at the end of our conversations. I sometimes wonder if he may be magical, but everytime I look up into his eyes, this sadness overcomes and drowns me, and I realise that hes just another awkward teenager who has no idea he broke my heart.

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Could It Be Magic?

What say you and I grab our acoustic guitars and run away? Theres a wide green meadow stretching through my mind, the mist clearing as we enter it, just you and me linked at the palms, interlocked by our fingers. My best friend forever and always. We've escaped the ones that shattered many a vital organ. When they one day wake up and realise that it was us that they wanted all along they'll trek to our overgrown topia. By chance, we'll be sitting on a bowed branch siniging Meet You There in a beautiful dissolence on their part in realisation.
And to think, we thought we'd escaped heartbreak.

Saturday, 17 October 2009

This Is Why I Love You.

Only one chat-up line has ever made me say anything more than "Fuck off, please" to a boy.
Lets set the scene, a disgusting grey sky is being mirrored and multiplied on every piece of glass down Liverpool Street, making an endless silver skyline. Sometimes I wonder if I just wasn't meant to be happy. This is what it does to you, the lonliness. I get so paranoid that I can't see through my wide eyes, my vision shatters into tiny little crystals, sending the great silver sky flying at salt-tinged angles of destruction.
"Excuse me?"
I have no idea why he was there, but he was. His soft voice broke through the mist and revealed him to me.
"I think you dropped your smile."

Thursday, 15 October 2009

If You'll Be My Star.

I have so much, I'm not even joking, I no longer have a minute for a nice post or a social life, it makes me sad. I shall do a BIGBIGBIGBIG blog on Saturday hopefully, yah? Expect something beautiful with hopefully an embarrassing picture of Sophie Gresham dancing.

Sunday, 11 October 2009

He Was A Star Collector.

It started at the pit of my stomach, a deep full pain of two words I was too afraid to say. It was there so long that I named the butterflies inhabiting my stomach Voldermort and Tom. They came alive everytime the name was mentioned, the face was seen, falsely spotted in a crowd. They danced and battered their way up through the rib cage where so many breathes had passed, these words writhed scatchily through the throat that a last borrowed Locket wouldn't soothe. When they oozed down my tongue and spat out of my unwilling mouth. They fell, meaningless cinders upon the now empty room.

Friday, 2 October 2009

A Penny In The Rain.

I always thought there was some kind of onamatapoeia to heartbreak. Crushing an eggshell in your hand, breaking into hollow chocolate, dropping a thin china plate onto the floor and hearing the clash as it falls apart in the spilt second in which it hits the ground.
When my heart broke, none of these sounds applied. It started off with my texttone, two sharp dings. The pressing of some buttons. A raspy intake of breath in realisation. A knock on the floor as my knees buckled. "Crap," I whispered.