Vague Thoughts

I have a lot of thoughts in my head these days, but they are somewhat vague, some hazy, some blurred, some to quick and complex to be caught in words yet. I want to write more again, more often, more organized. I tried to push forward in life and suppressed that creative voice inside, tried to find a more grown-up creativity, tried to press myself in a mold I won’t ever fit. Lately I’ve been going back to reading my old stories – the really crazy, surreal ones (mostly SciFi fanfiction with random strange occurrences) – and to watching the old shows that had been my refugium in teenage years. I want to write again, and try to voice my old sense of wonder again, to put down the absurd episodes my brain brings up whenever given the opportunity to breathe. Maybe someday I’ll find a story that will be wondrous enough to captivate others.

Also, future not clear yet. Destination unknown. Vague ideas, nothing tangible.

Born of Rain

Born in the days of autumn rain and slushy snow, the colour of rain and salty spray of seawater still shows in my eyes. Neither clearly grey nor blue, so I just call it the colour of rain, of steel-blue clouds, of a wall of fog on the mountain side, clinging to the golden trees like a sheet of grey silk. I’m born of rain, and rain is what runs in my veins, steaming and bubbling when meeting the fire flowing from my heart. I’m born of rain, and when I feel blue, blue like rain and fog on a forsaken shore, I’m larger than the sum of my parts, I’m more than one raindrop – I’m a storm, a force of nature, and yet just a drenched figure, huddled between rocks and watching myself pass into the fog. I’m born of rain, and it remains inside and outside of me. There is a cloud following me, watering the thoughts I mindlessly sow in the furrows my inner storm tore open, while I follow a the trail this gale I am is blazing in front of me. Sometimes the thoughts I sow are seeds as blue as a clear-washed sky, sometimes as dark as a thunderstorm rolling heavy with rain. I’m born of rain, and I won’t ever escape what my eyes betray. I’m born of rain, and I’m learning to choose to embrace the clouds, to stuff them with white feather-dreams to make them less heavy, hugging them close like a pillow or a blanket, listening to the rain inside and watching it drawing patterns in my mind, tracing story lines down a window pane in intricate patterns, stories to write down, to escape into like sailing on paper ships across foreign seas, to capture in my cupped hands and watching them spill on crumbling paper, sometimes for myself, sometimes for others to read.

silver bells for you

I want to weave silver bells, tiny, tinkling silver bells
into a bouquet of flowers for you to smile at
into strands of leather for you to wear
into rainy days for you to dance to
into my words and stories for you to dream of
I want to weave my silver bells into everything for you.

 

~

Inspired by a picture on a friends blog, my soft spot for tiny silver bells, and song lyrics about the rain playing tambourine I made up for a story.