Her Pandora’s Box

Dear sugarplum fairy,

"Seven shallow steps that led to sand fine as face powder against my bare feet;
The clear night was filled with stars, the full moon a dazzling disk of light;
As i reveled in the miracle of fresh air filling my aching lungs, the moon waxed brighter still;
Slowly a radiant form rose from the sea..
First the face appeared framed by luxuriant locks the colour of flames, then the shapely body emerged from cresting waves;
She wore a crown in which was woven every flower that i had ever loved and her long white gown was a blue mantle covered with glittering stars;

This time, Isis was no dream.."

Isis extract; ‘Pilates Wife’

4.55am: Its raining beyond my window and i am mellow from the quiet and the cool of the night. My room is glowing from the warm orange light of my lamp, just luring me into slumber. And so i celebrated this chirpy feeling of content by fixing hot tea and by staying up into the small hours, in thoughts and in solitude.

Yasin is asleep and i cannot stop thinking about him.

Norah Jones is on my stereos, accompanying me and blessing the cosy comfort of my dim-litted chic nest with her latest Thinking About You, which i find very very charming.

This is supersonically therapeutic.

Lets keep it this way for now, shall we? Indulge ourselves in this pretty pretty morning and not let my occasional teen angst and touche penis-sized issues ruin it.

I am loved.

Good morning world, its another day in the big apple. Hahaha!

Dear sugarplum fairy,

And then they sang, reminding him of his loss:

"Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those pearls that were his eyes…"

Shakespeare; Twelfth Night

What doest thy Valentine’s Day bring, friends?

In exactly a week, love spills the air, painting it lustful red and romance writes in the faces of us in love and of us in our cosy, quiet fantasies. And then it lures lonely ones left in the prime of their lives, encouraging them to the peak of despair and caged behind the circumference of loneliness, just slamming onto the ache in their hearts. Oh the 14th of February.

But i’m certain St. Valentine meant it well.

I could pass off as a hippy, if i wanted to. When i look at myself, i asked ‘why not?’. NOT, because tiny and round blue lens-ed spectacles are weird and fancy floral is not my print. Long and unkempt, even-lengthed hair screams disaster and then massive sex and orgies are out of the question. Thats why.

But i’m certain they meant well. Peace, free the birds, spread the love.

I love earth, sun-kissed horizons, the dense of forests, the smell of flowers. I love animals and i love the mysteries of space. The creator is an artist, in all of His glory.