I'm sorry that I can't fill that void for you.

I slept on your shoulder from Central to Penrith today. I don't even remember blacking out. I must have really needed it. Whether 'it' indicates sleep, or you, I'm not even sure. Even though I wrote the sentence. I'll leave it open to interpretation. A post modernist approach. I believe they've dubbed it the 'death of the author'. You can do what you want with my words, that I painstakingly write, and criticise that in which I did not intend. Perhaps it's for the best.

Things that I have not intended have made me happier. I did not intend meeting Mia. I did not intend on joining Mike White's group. I didn't intend befriending Bec and you were the greatest unintended event I have ever stumbled into. I think. It's hard to know yet. All I do know is you make me happy. Your shoulder is comfortable. And I am content.

Coastal Landing

I'm hanging on the edge of my seat. Perched. Listening hard. Waiting for something to break the silence. For words, that I've been waiting to hear. It feels like I'm underwater. All this content is washing over me. My ears are plugged, my brain waterlogged , and it hurts to open my eyes. So I stumble blindly forward with my hands, reaching out for anything, hoping that I'll make it to the surface and I can see land. End up washed up on some beach. With my fingers crossed that I'm on the sands of Hawaii instead of the stones of Southern England.

And still I wait. Wondering whether I should dive in and open my eyes, or swim to unknown coasts.