Thursday, 24 May 2018


Standing outside of the main room, waiting, trying to feel relaxed, she simply felt the nerves eating at her sanity. She’d not had an actual invite but, at the very last moment, a person came through for her and here she was. Waiting. She’d selected the most appropriate dress, for the evening, long, backless, with that tempting hint of cleavage ready to impress. Matching shoes, the complimentary small purse and bag concoction that was seemingly in that week, as well as the suitable hair combination of curls and glamour.

Deep down, from all of the years and past events, she knew that she was a good looking woman, modesty being removed from the equation, but that still didn't stop her from the worry, slight anxiety, as well as the constant nagging itch that something wasn't right. She’d often wonder why she couldn't just go with it, be how she was, but after years of side comments from previous partners it just couldn't be that way.

The doors opened. Light throwing itself into her eyes, as they quickly acclimatised, she stood still until the others pushed through the double doors. Last, as usual, into the event. A sudden rise of panic hit her mind but she inhaled, then exhaled quickly, as she ignored all of that and placed one foot in front of the other. This was it, hardly the most exciting thing in the world, but a room full of people did often agitate her into a wild bundle of panic.

Walking into the room she glanced across, taking in the surroundings. Fancy chandeliers, wooden floor, around 30 tables, plenty of people chatting and coughing, with a distant piano playing beautiful music. Table 27, apparently, was her table. She could feel the eyes looking at her. She was a woman, after all, so men looking at her just seemed to be ignored as you get used to such things, but in this instance she knew that women were also looking. Judging, not accepting her choice of dress, accompanying hand bag, or even her style of hair. She really didn't play that game. Women should support each other, not tear each other into strips of a catalogue defining how, where and when they should look or be. But, as she knew, she simply ignored all of that and kept her head held high despite the inner struggle and thoughts.

Her roller-coaster mind kept on going, thinking, demanding attention, while her outgoing person simply smiled and said hello to each person that caught her gaze. So far, so good. She hadn't fallen over, walked into anything, snapped a heel or kicked anyone’s bag. Turning her thoughts around she started thinking positive thoughts. She was here, in the room, glowing, happy, smiling, looking damn good, despite feeling a small bit of guilt for thinking that way, but the truth was just that.

Reaching her table, feeling like a marathon had just been undertaken, she knew where she was sitting as there was only one chair left. As the people at the table looked in her direction a gentleman, who would be sitting to her left, jumped up and pulled out the chair. She’d thought that those days were long gone, the gentleman, the guy that knew the importance of a woman, given way to the politically correct madness. That was nice. Appreciated. She nodded and said ‘thank you’ as he moved the chair slightly forward as she sat.  ‘Let the grilling begin’, she said to herself and no-one else in particular. From her right side a waiter appeared with a wine bottle and that, especially that, would be appreciated right about now. It was bad enough attending such an event on her own, but with no wine? Madness. Utter madness.

As she glanced around the table, knowing that virtually every single male had, in the first ten seconds, noticed her cleavage, then her face, she gulped down the wine as she was sure no-one had noticed. They were chatting, amongst each other, laughing, bonding, as she quickly listened to each conversation. Who was kind, who was showing off, which of them were like her and more. From across the table, the loudest male, with probably the largest ego and smallest ‘package’, piped up, “Now that we all know each other, how about the new lady at the table?” She could feel herself turn a slight shade of red but, before she let that control her, she quickly replied,
“Me? I’m here for more of this!” to which she leaned forward, grasped the wine bottle and filled her glass. The table laughed,
“Cheers to that,” he replied.

She knew, now that all of that was over with, that the night would be an absolute blast.

Wednesday, 16 May 2018


Opening the bottle, sombre, reflecting while simply being tired, she poured the wine into the crystal clear glass. It had been a very, very long week and, above all, she was glad that it had reached the end. The same, as she closed her eyes, could be said about something else.

It had lasted two years, with the first 4 months being glorious, a blast, something that she’d always miss. But, as can be the case, that blast eventually descended to a place that she’d seen before. The arguments, the drama, the he said and she said maze that seemed to send her mind into such confusion. It wasn't worth it, it never was, but that’s where she was. Until yesterday. The roller-coaster had ended.

The day started, the same day as the day before, with kisses exchanged, him tapping her bum as she flew in, then out, of the shower. He was playful, she’d give him that, had the gift of words and the smile to melt butter, but no matter how his eyes often looked at her it simply wasn't enough. The kisses didn't hide the words, those small words, that often made her feel inadequate. The words that didn't afford her the smiles that she used to hide her feelings.

She knew that she wasn't different, not assured special treatment, as her friends often told her stories that would make any hair curl no matter which GHD she used. But she often asked herself if it really was supposed to be the way it was. Deep down, it wasn't, she knew this. Felt it. Realised it on the occasions that she noticed how some men treated their ladies. It wasn't difficult, it wasn't impossible, but that depended on whom she selected.

They’d met, those years previous, through mutual friends and he seemed to head straight for her despite the various other people. His smile, that smile, assured her of his confidence but maybe, just maybe, that bravado hid the person that he actually was. She also pushed her best face forward but, when relaxed, she wasn't an ogre or maniacal demon. She was herself, the woman that her Mother and Father had brought up, with respect and manners.

Either way it had ended. Simple things, small words, singular moments, all collecting into a near meltdown in public. No doubt it would all be her fault, with him using the moment to proclaim his innocence, but that wasn't the case. She wasn't perfect, she never would be despite trying for him, with her hindsight being crystal clear. Her opinion, at times, being completely ignored, was also one of the bigger failings. She was clever, some would even state that she was street smart, with that term being straight from the eighties. But that didn't matter, didn't figure in the great scheme of things.

She’d had enough, ended it right on the spot, taking back her self confidence and some pride. Obviously, as she gulped down the remaining wine in the glass before a re-fill, she’d have to deal with those mentioned emotional bruises. Heaven knows how she’d been affected by the way she allowed him to make her feel. She’d lost far too much weight, gained weight, yo-yoed a few more times, before finally finding a place that didn’t care how many times his side remarks would appear before a night out.

Cruelty came in many forms, many ways, the smallest of glances, the longest of words, the lack of kisses or, even, the silence of a phone never ringing. That, thankfully, wasn’t today, it wouldn’t be tomorrow, or the next day or month after that.

That was, today, yesterday.

Monday, 14 May 2018


I can feel the ashes, falling, breaking into smaller parts of the person that I once was. The heat, still looming throughout everything in front of me, starts to fade as I rise. I know that I shouldn't be able to stand, that I should stay where I've fallen, but that’s not the emotion that I'm supposed to be, the person that was created from the many years of life. All it takes is one step, just one, which I make as soon as my body allows the instruction to reach my muscles.

Another step, the heat starting to fade, allowing a further movement away from the destruction of my own making. I'm aware, I've always been aware, of what’s going on within my surroundings but sometimes, those moments, I let the world take control and run away with itself. Silly me, oh silly me, why on earth do any of us let the world take control of our destiny?

It burnt to the ground, this life of mine. Maybe you've been here too. That moment when the cup falls from your hand, smashing to the ground, sending pieces across the floor. It wasn't the drop, it’s not the crash that damages you, it’s the thoughts after when you have to clean up the mess. That’s the damage, that’s where the fire consumes you. Destroys you. Burns everything to the ground.

You question, you question again, trying to rectify, find that resolution to combat all, but that seldom works. You have to burn. You have to cry and scream. You have to experience the break, the down, before applying that band aid.

It’s difficult, beyond imagination, that our lives are held together by strands of time. We've pieced together a life of moments. We share with someone, possibly anyone, while protecting ourselves as much as we can. None of that matters, when we really think about it, as we’re trapped within our very own lives by the realistic fear of doing something else. Being someone else. Heaven forbid that we actually wish for change. I fought with depression, the dirty word that most of us have experienced, yet seldom have the strength to speak of, without realising that the people that sit beside us have been through something similar.

But that’s then, this is now, my footsteps becoming more of a walk. I stumble, the heat and destruction nearly a memory in the distant past, as I attempt to run. That’s it, one foot in front of the other, widening the gap between each step. I'm running, tears streaming from my eyes, never actually realising that I could escape to a new place, a better place. The freedom hits my face, the touch as soft as the purest feather, reminding me that there is such a thing as sunshine from the utter darkness that we create within our own souls.

Settling into a jog, heart nearly bursting after being silent for so long, the adrenaline pushing me again and again. I'm free, finally, the smile across my face feeling exhilarating and pushing me further. This is a new life, a new me, a place that I can build with simplicity. No need for clutter, no need for anything other that my own peace. As simple as I can make it. I'm not leaving this world with all of my possessions so I can forsake many of the things that I think that I want, instead, working with what I need.

My heart is alive, I'm going to tell the world, from the highest mountain. Even if no-one can hear me, even if no-one replies, I'm still expressing my feelings and throwing positive energy into the void. If only we could all rise from our ashes, the broken places that hold the failed promises. I know that we can all do this. I know that we can all be… more. I'm free, my hands are open, embrace me, hold my hand, so together we can fight the words that none of us hear.

Monday, 7 May 2018


There’s moments when I cannot control how I feel, the rare time that my defences are down, down all the way to the very floor that I'm standing upon right now. I'm fully open, scared, vulnerable, wanting to feel and nothing else. My mind is all over the place, the very emotions I control finally grasping control of the foundations of my life. It’s wondrous, it’s making me feel alive but, at the same time, it’s not a place I often visit.

My female heart is beating, that little bit faster, the circumstances of the moment dictating my resolve and the seconds are like the beating of my said heart. I know that it’s probably not the time to say this, when I'm filled with grief, of loss, but I just want to throw myself at you, to be around you, in any single simple way that I can.

If there were ever a time that a woman makes love, it would be now. Right now. There’s no point in delaying the outcome as time is valuable. The time, as mentioned above, won’t last forever. Grasp me, hold me, let me hold all of you. I’m going to drown myself within your life, that body, kissing all of your lips as I just want to feel. I’m sick of staying within this mind of mine and just want to feel.

Emotions be damned, emotions be withheld, I’m in that mood and it doesn’t happen often. Love, make, love, do, love me as I’m sure to love you. I’m lost, help me find the way, I’m open, keep the door that way, invite yourself in as I’ll be around all of you. I’m so scared right now, unbelievably scrambling for something, someone, to hold. Embrace me, race me, never reaching the finish line.

I know that I'm hurting, I know that I'm in pain and the thought of using another is not what I want but, it doesn't matter. I need something. I need more. I need to feel before I close myself again. Please, help. Me.

I just cannot find the words for something that’s deep inside of me. I cannot control this part of me, I cannot hide the feelings I have, despite doing a very good job of doing so. I know that you’re not a detective but some things, at some times, I have to spell out to you.  No-one has any idea of how I feel, they couldn't, as every single desire and wish is there for the taking. I need to wrap myself around you.

But this is not the case, I sit here alone, screaming silently. I’ll close the doors, soon, in a few hours time, maybe tomorrow, but they will close. No-one gets to see my heart often, although it’s there and it’s a kind heart, but I’m not talking about that side of me. I’m talking about a woman, bonding, holding, feeling, giving my energy to another in a way that cannot be faulted.

I’ll not tell you this, of course, as I dare not. I’ll write it, I’ll think about it, while holding my grief and unstable state together the best I can. After all, when all is said and written, I dare not open myself to anyone least of all the world. That's what it means, to be vulnerable.

Wednesday, 2 May 2018


All my friends told me so, the words of wisdom being pushed aside like the rain on a car screen. Wiping them all away, simply not listening, destined to head straight towards that brick wall of fate. I told myself, even witnessed the words resounding into my own ears, that I wouldn't
fall, but seldom do the wishes of others come true.

I know that I'm down, heart waiting to fail, scampering around like a lost child, but that still won’t stop me in this endeavour of mind. Just a few simple words, the never-ending gaze of yours, meant that I was hooked quicker than a fish within this very sea of life.

You walked in, on that day, with that fancy walk of yours. The confidence simply embraced every single man within that room and place. Normally, I’d ignore such things, being the person that I am. Calm, a relaxed view of the world, letting most moments deflect themselves from my view but this was different. Your eyes, the way you handled yourself, knowing, the attitude that spoke of a world where you sat on top, riding the way that you liked, owning all that you could see. The world was yours and it would never, ever, beg to be let go.

I tried to be passive, nonchalant to your advances, but there’s only so much resolve a man can work with before breaking. I’d said no, a hundred times, a thousand times, within my own mind yet, when it came down to actually saying the word in real life… I failed.  I gave in. I embraced everything you had to offer. I dived in, drenched myself in your very core, wrapped you around me until I could take no more.

That’s where the trouble starts, where the story becomes a dramatic slice of mystery. How much is enough? There’s such a thing, in life, called a roller coaster. The ideal situation would be the highs, with no lows, but that’s not life, especially with you. It’s more like a roller coaster in the bedroom, with the up and down threatening to spiral out of control into the real world. You see, it’s madness to assume that a man has no limits, but when faced with such a woman that knows none, it can leave a person broken.

The emotional turmoil, the deafening silence, then the moment where you’re demanding. More is never enough, more is what you always want, but how much more can a single person ever provide. You want me to flow like a river, never ending, twisting my fingertips across your skin, never finding that your thirst is ever satisfied. It’s endless, boundless, faultless and more.

You’re temptation to a level I’ve never seen, hardly felt, but never prepared for. One-minute cold and then, the next, scolding temperatures threatening to burn the very senses from my skin. I would run from you, if I could command my body to move even one inch away from yours. I’m trapped, the web being your lips, the spider being those darn hips, with your smile making me your easy prey.

All my friends told me so, the words of wisdom being washed away as your lips pressed against mine. Wiping away all of their words, destined to head straight towards you, knowing my ever-present fate. I told myself, even witnessed the words resounding into my own ears, that I wouldn't fall, but seldom do the wishes of others come true.

Monday, 30 April 2018


She sat, in near silence, apart from the normal ambience that she’d become accustomed to. That didn't matter, it didn't even feature, in this place. A loud cough, from somewhere behind her, broke that small bit of concentration that she was holding on to. She knew what she wanted to do, could possibly do, but that was before her nerves started to play on her thoughts.

The smoke, being an outside garden next to the Hacienda's Taberna, also didn't really bother her. This was a private area, for Especial guests, to which she was thankful that she’d received an invite those months previous. She’d heard about the music here, the special melody, played by the mysterious man that they’d mentioned over and over again. He was silent, held himself in such a way that demanded attention, from any woman nearby.

Sure, of course, she didn’t believe in such things. There were handsome men, confident men, but hardly anything to bring home or to indulge with for more than a night’s circumstance. She’d seen it all. Heard it all. Played the games, enjoyed the tricks, desired the cravings and sent them all back.

The crowd, all sitting, relaxing, confident in their conversations with each other, began to calm with a few stragglers still at the bar. She heard the laughter, from jokes probably spoken in mild jest, but she wasn't here for any of that. She was here to hear the music and delight in the night’s offerings.

She looked down, checking her toenails, ensuring that the colour still remained. The little things, she knew, meant a lot. Confidence flowed from all corners of her world but, being prepared for as many situations as she could, ensured that extra slice of stability. Judging by the red dress that she wore, tonight, her thoughts were intending to control the eyes of every man in this place. If you had it, share it. She knew that there was nothing wrong with being a woman, beautiful, powerful, instantly demanding the time from her intended interest.

The bell rang, from behind the bar, a door opened and tonight’s entertainment arrived. Apparently, according to her colleagues, the friends in her life, this wasn't entertainment. It was an experience. Something to be remembered, even desired, not forgotten quickly and worthy of a repeat performance. This was why she was here, to enjoy the wine, to feel the music, to have her mind and body played like his glorious guitar. That, according to the whispers, was what she was going to get.

As he approached, walking slowly, the obvious confidence showing through the way he held himself, his eyes looking down. Apparently he, when ready, looked through the crowd and once he found inspiration, started to play. It was a forgone conclusion that he’d pick her tonight. She’d made sure of that. He sat, back sitting straight, on the edge of the chair. His left foot resting on a foot stool, guitar facing 45 degrees into the air. She watched as he shrugged his shoulders  for a short moment, his neck moving from left to right, with his shoulders eventually relaxing.

He looked up, through the crowd, taking in all of the faces in front of him. His eyes seemed so alive, intense, almost piercing through the people as he viewed them. Eventually, as expected, his eyes rested in her exact direction. She could feel her neck start to tingle, the effect of someone looking at her in the way he just did. A very small smile appeared, that you could almost miss, as he looked down at his guitar and started to play.

As the first note played she felt a warmth move over her. Maybe she was accustomed to music that wasn't live, maybe it was the two glasses of wine, or maybe it was the way his hands moved across the guitar. His fingertips moved so fast, effortlessly gliding to where they needed to be, as the Hermosa music played. It was mere seconds, hardly even a minute, when she realised that her friends were right about this man. The music. She’d never experienced this setting before.

As the Musica played, she ignored the smoke, she ignored the people speaking behind her, as her attention was firmly held in front. From nowhere she simply wanted him to look at her again, just as he’d done a few moment earlier, but there was nothing she could do to gather his attention. His eyes were closed, head moving with the music, but that still didn't stop her from wanting more. She recalled her friends, in another conversation, wishing that they were the guitar. Those hands gently, firmly, whatever the moment asked for, playing her Cuerpo with ease. A woman could imagine, a woman could desire, especially in a setting such as this.

She reminded herself to stay calm, to relax, as it was only music. It ‘was’ only music until, right then as she tried to distract herself, he looked over again. This time she met his gaze and held it there, for a few seconds, before his eyes started to take in her entire view. Sure, of course, her dress did display more leg than necessary, but this was the place for such decadence. She wanted to be noticed. It worked. No shame there despite his eyes literally tearing away everything she had on. Or, at least, that’s what his eyes were telling her.

As the music continued, rising in intensity, falling into her mind’s abyss, he finished the few songs and placed the guitar to the side, carefully, ensuring the stand held it in place. She wanted him to talk to her, to look at her that way again but, instead, he returned to where he had arrived from. For a second, she felt sadness envelop her thoughts but, as she was accustomed, she quickly moved those thoughts aside and reminded herself that this man, this guitar player, had basically desired her. Tonight was about her. Tonight she was the guitar, the beautifully orchestrated masterpiece of feeling and desire.

Maybe it really was the wine. Maybe it really was the music. But maybe, just maybe, she’d return here in one week and listen to that Spanish guitar again.

Monday, 23 April 2018


Holding her head, with her hands, she looked at the floor as the tear fell. Time slowed to an indescribable pace, as it fell, with another following quickly after. It hurt. It had always hurt. But, as she knew, now was not the time for such tears and sorrow. “Just for a few seconds,” she whispered to no-one in particular, allowing herself the solitary solace of letting it all go.

She’d lived a lifetime, possibly two if she believed her regression therapist, of loneliness and couldn't, even wouldn't, believe that it could happen over and over again. It wasn't due to being this, or that, as apparently, she had the looks, the stuff that the boys wanted, so why on earth did she often end up here, alone, crying in a corner, barely able to speak or contemplate the same situation. Repeat, repeat, the re-occurring circular drama and strife.

Her hands dropped away and she leaned back against the cold wall, looking at the ceiling, then out of the small window to her side. Being honest with herself, truly honest, she’d played it safe this time and yet it still didn't work. He wasn't exciting, he wasn't a dish of delight or even made her laugh. Options seemed thin, possibly due to her lifestyle and circumstance, so she’d decided to try safe, for awhile, normal, boring, yet even that failed.

She could feel her eyes, puffy, make-up probably running down her face, despite buying the expensive stuff that could withstand such things, but just like some men, the description often lies. Thinking of the past, the passed moments of her life, she’d reached a place where it was now or never, that ticking clock, that everyone often reminded her of, those nagging conformists that never, ever, stopped nagging. She wouldn't listen anyway, no matter how many times she was supposed to do this, or that, with him or her.

Her lip curled, just a little, reminding herself of what she’d given to her ‘ex’, the man that, twenty minutes previous, had declared his never-ending devotion and love. Life changed so fast, she knew this, with one second stretching to minutes, while years sometimes ending within that very same second. It had happened to her numerous times, to her friends, to her Brothers, to her very own parents. She knew that she was living in a time of serene ignorance. The throw away society to which, of course, she wanted no part of. She didn't ask for a warranty with her man, as all she wanted was for him to work with her, until the day they both broke and left this world.

Rubbing her eyes, removing the tears from the bottom of her face, she started to resolve the conflict inside of herself. This is what she did, often. It didn't matter, it wouldn't matter, as she knew that they were both healthy. He would now evaporate from her life, she would move on, start again, but maybe it was time for a new adventure. She closed her eyes, listening, slowing her breathing, to catch the sound of her own heart beating. It always reminded her of what she had, what she was given to enter this world. Her heart beating warmed her, embraced her, kept her warm when all others remained cold.

A smile appeared across her lips. It was that time, again, to rely on her own imagination. Every negative, sorrow filled moment, could be rationalised. Within reason. She’d cried, she’d let some of it go, with the remaining tears kept to remind her that she was worth so much more. She wasn't going to wallow in the never-ending solitude as, instead, she’d embrace this chance to realise that she was the only person that she needed for company.

She’d walked into a room filled with people, in the past, feeling so very lonely. She’d escaped from the few dates that quickly descended into a horrendous soul crushing escapade. She’d survived crying late into the night and now, today, she’d rise from this moment as well. Nothing, no-one, would ever, never ever, make her feel alone. That was an impossibility as she had her own heart, she had her own company, her own imagination and, above all, she had a beautiful soul.

Overall, no matter how many tears fell to the floor, no matter how she felt about herself, she would never, ever, truly, be alone.