bronte

we will be with you and hold you till you're quiet, i know it hurt's to let go

Shocking News

One day you will wake up. You will eat breakfast. Depending on your hygiene standards, you may even shower. You'll go to work, and yell at several people over the phone. Lunch with the boss. Stressed. You'll be stuck in afternoon traffic and you'll call your significant other to tell them that you'll be late. Your children will go to soccer training. You'll enter the living room, with a nice cup of tea and then flick on the news.

And then, that's it. Your past. It's gone.
Reporter: Today at 12.03pm, Robin Williams has died.

THERE. WILL. GO. MY. CHILDHOOD.

--- Thus I propose a suggestion. Let us create technology to immortalise this man only. For ever and ever. Amen.

UNSW

I can see myself walking through the gardens, here. Listening to old voices and reading and reading and reading. Drinking with Benjamin.

Things will be good.

Roses Grow.

are you there where the good ones go? can you write me a letter? could you visit home?

I knew a man. He was known by his middle name. John. He was strong. Gentle. Tall. Broad. All the things a man should be. He was smart and loved and loved and loved. I have photo's of him in the army. Working on the planes he loved so much. He met his wife through his work, and passion never left either. He had a baritone. He sung harmonies with me. Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like pretty Sally, she's the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley... I used to sit on his lap and watch Wheel of Fortune. Sherbet lemons. Crosswords. Not allowed to touch the walls. Two minute noodles. Dinners on trays, so you could eat at the lounges.

"Sally.. You have warm hands today." - his eyes would twinkle.
"Sally.. Cold hands. You're just like your mother." - he'd hold me tight. His eyes would twinkle anyway.

They always did.


I haven't grasped that it was him in that coffin, you know. It was just a box to me. With flowers. Roses. Like his garden bed. It grows, and I wonder whether the flowers have forgotten him.. Are you too busy reaching for the warmth of the sun?

you could sit at the foot of my bed, and sing reassurances.. because I'm not sure of anything.

20

So my safety nets been fraying at the edges for a while now. The holes are getting bigger. And with one big punch to the face, and a couple of exams while they're at it, it'll break completely.
Nerve-wracking hey?

Lets see if someone will employ me, eh?

A.L.E.C.

No, it's not some boy in year eleven. It's Awkwardly Long Eye Contact. Recently, so many forms of awkward eye contact. Having trouble counting. There are two in particular.

I know a boy with beautiful eyes. Wide. Soft. Warm. And I find his gaze comforting. But he never breaks eye contact. I mean never breaks eye contact. Sometimes I wonder if his eyelids work properly. Or whether he's just making sure that he doesn't miss a single detail of what's being done. Maybe that's why its more rewarding to hug him. Because I'm not being so intensely viewed. Like surveillance, almost. Without the judgement.

The second event I have been thinking about none-stop since lunch. I had been playing the piano in Braur hall, and the room had been slowly filling with lunch-eaters. I stood and talked to Bec. She was distressed. This was eased, and some light hearted humour was exchanged from both sides. It was then that a lot of things happened quickly, and in slow motion. I reached out to brush the back of a friends hair. Male. Just got a haircut. You know the drill. He pulls me into a side hug, although a little more affectionate than normal side hugs are concerned. We hug like pros, there is no room for awkward hugging. It was over his shoulder where everything slowed down. For a couple of seconds. I gazed out across the expanse of the hall. Usual suspects filling the surroundings. Apart from one group I was shocked to find there. An individual was looking in my direction. He was looking at me. Watching how I was interacting with my friend. And then turned away. I wasn't quick enough for the shrug off, I had to run over to his group to ask a question. He didn't look at me. And he didn't speak to me.

I hoped for more eye-meetings across homeroom. I hope that I can make coherent sentences next time I speak. But I can't guarantee. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't have the wrong end of the stick. That's all I hope. Or want.

I wanna catch my death of cold, cause I'm scared of growing old. Don't return the love I gave.

You're still my favourite.