A Calendar Date: The World's About To End.

If the end of the world comes sooner than we originally planned. If the Mayans are correct. If everything combusts. If we're suddenly frozen in ice, or burnt alive in pits of fire. If we disappear suddenly, like we were sucked into a place of no return. If the wild horses run from the pages of the bible, and nash their teeth, and pull us to a place where we see only black. If there is nothing left to see.

I hope I spend the end of it somewhere important. With you. At a pretty lookout. Or by the fire. Or curled up somewhere safe. Where I know, that even if the world's on fire, I'm okay.

Swallow

Every time I think of you, it's as if I need to swallow my heart again.
It lifts and lifts and lifts.
Until I feel almost sick.
So I swallow.

Bear face. Deer heart.

Show Your Teeth.

I need to stop smiling so much.
It's making me look like an idiot.

Today We Were Explorers.

Today we were explorers in a big metal ship. Dust clung to the sides as we motored past seas of landscape. Filled with nothing. I loved that nothing more than all the other nothings put together. The touch of the lookout felt nothing like it had when I'd been there with someone else. This one fills the space. He gave it flavour. I laughed more than ever.

We parked and found our own hidey hole on the side of a cliff face, and you pointed out all the grooves in the walls that made them unique. Your eyes sparked like a small child, animated and completely captured in the moment, and I was happy. You tasted like gravy. Your hands were warm and your ears were cold.

We drove past the explorers tree, pausing. Momentarily.
It's really not all that impressive.

My couch was harder than the rock face we'd donned earlier. Battles raged on the tv screen and I couldn't help but feel content. Comfort comes to those with faith in mysterious ways. You were my comfort, because the couch was so very lacking. The words in my ear about lies you had told. The tight squeeze of the hand, and loud cracking of your back.

Today we were explorers.
Travellers. Sojourners. Foreign, but familiar landscapes.
Happy and timid and content and uneasy and so very very found.

Martin looks out on creation.

there was no doubt at all

Up on that rock, the smell was amazing. Wattle, shampoo and the gradually cooling mongolian lamb made me happier than the sun setting or the firmness of the ground I was standing on.

You are warmer than you could ever imagine.
Leaving no room for doubt.

Leave Me No Room For Doubt

I'm in between something solid and the comfort of old routine. I believe it's better than being in between a rock and a hard place. Then again, in this moment, I've never been more persuaded by, drawn to the rock. And I'm feeling an inexplicable urgency to figure my shit out, yet I want to stay in this moment for as long as possible.
I'm within, I'm without.

There are reminders around my house. A stray album cover, text messages and a partially folded blanket. A foreign-like fascination with Punk music. Big and little hands. Smiles. Winks. Finger grazes.
Leave me no room for doubt.


This is one of those places that you can know, before you find it. And you think, and you wish, and you pray, and you do all those little things that you do when no one is looking, and while you're hoping that you haven't been discovered doing some embarrassing ritual, you could consider that there is no room for doubt. That the rock or the hard place might be better than chilling in the middle all the time. There's only so many times you can change the paint colour of the fence you sit on.

Please speak slowly. Leave me no room for doubt.
-Lianne La Havas