The Clichéd Dream

My soul is burning a million colours in a city of grey. Every train ride through the skyscrapers reminds me of how much is out there that I am not seeing, not feeling. I want it, so badly I physically ache. It pulls against me towards a horizon somewhere I can’t see. It makes me so … Continue reading The Clichéd Dream

“Quit psychology and become a writer”.

I chose my path for safety not for passion, because the abstraction of mediocrity was less scary then jumping off the ledge, aiming for the sea but landing on black rocks of hamartia. I’m in the arms of someone who loves me, and I’m not sad, but I’m not happy either. I’m looking over their … Continue reading “Quit psychology and become a writer”.

Hope is not the thing with feathers; hope is made of light.

Hope is the glint you catch on a stream that keeps you walking until you find water, It is that glimmer you see on the horizon that signals that you’re almost there. It is the flash of light from a million miles away that lets you know that you’re not alone. The brightness in your … Continue reading Hope is not the thing with feathers; hope is made of light.