Shelly/Michelle. 21. Ireland.
I’m not dead.
I’ve been busy, and my craptop is baaaaaaaaad. I don’t use it.
I’ll be back soon.
I promise.
This is where I spent my morning, on a rare sunny day in Ireland
There are times when the world surrounding you ceases to make sense; when the world that’s called ‘reality’ is more surreal than the strangest of fictions.
The way things play out – differently to in your head.
The full moon shining brightly over the puddles under the street lamps; the reflections of shadows in the dark pools pooling ideas and thoughts – everything your deepest imaginations could no longer fathom.
The loud silence of the lateness of the hour; distance sounds louder than those closer – your inner thoughts drowning out even the loudest of exhausts.
The dogs barking as you approach the window and the door; they follow from inside your movements outside - the barrage of affection as you enter is just too much.
The smell of sulphur after a match ignites; the wind extinguishing the flame needed for nicotine fix – no salvation of cravings this time.
The noise of a party in a neighbouring house; celebrations of a new age passed – the sound travels too easily to your ear.
The splashing of rain against closed windows in the dead of night; the drops sliding down as gravity takes over – everything has to fall.
©Michelle O’Connor
04 May 2012
Trinity Ball 2012. For the first time, I was warm!
“HEY GUYS WHAT’S UP?”
This is my best friend… I have the pictures to prove it. XD
this is me
all the time
*SMOOCH* “OH DEAR WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS OVER HERE”
You’re such a creeper. <3
WHADDYA WANT FROM ME JESS
TO WALLOW IN AWKWARD FEELS WHILE YOU GUYS NUZZLE?
You could join in! >8C
J/k<3
I would do this all day.
I know you would, lol. <3 such a creep. ;D
I third wheel like a PRO. Nothing more fun than being the friend who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about intruding. I also cock block fantastically xD
“HEY GUYS WHAT’S UP?”
This is my best friend… I have the pictures to prove it. XD
this is me
all the time
*SMOOCH* “OH DEAR WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS OVER HERE”
You’re such a creeper. <3
WHADDYA WANT FROM ME JESS
TO WALLOW IN AWKWARD FEELS WHILE YOU GUYS NUZZLE?
You could join in! >8C
J/k<3
I would do this all day.
Sometimes fate throws a curveball,
One that just keeps rolling and spiralling out of control,
the ones that wake you up from the paralysis of stagnation,
The life that you fell into but never imagined,
The life that has you standing on a quiet street and in the middle of a busy crossroads simultaneously;
The sheer indecision making you freeze in both time and space.
It is the kind of thing that makes you jump into action, to jolt yourself out of what you were doing into what you will do, and what you want to do.
You become energised with the possibilities of how your future can be, everything that you do and everyone you could be.
The deer in the headlights wears off, and the adrenaline rush makes you light up, and run and jumped and scream, invigorated; revitalised the inner being of your soul. The wonders of the beauty around enlighten you- the flowers in the pavement cracks and the prisms of light through windows become ever more beautiful; the surrealism of reality.
The rainbows after rainstorms and the smell of fresh cut grass in Spring. Dandelion seeds blowing freely through the air. All the things you had forgotten to enjoy, to behold, to watch.
The future suddenly veers off-road, turning down darkened alleyways and gravel tracks. The life you imagined becomes something you could never have dreamed of because imagination is false and reality is without limits – it stretches father than the eye of imagination can see.
Reality becomes something to love, not something to hate. Dreams become goals and goals become achievable and renewed. Perspectives change and the images surrounding you are vividly enhanced, seen through the eyes of someone on psychotropic, hallucinogenic drugs. Shapes become clearly defined with black outlines, colours brighten and softness starts to fluff.
Love becomes something that is felt through every gene and chromosome, every molecule and every milimetre of tissue. You inhale it with every breath you take, and your spine tingles. Your eyes sparkle and your smile brightens up your entire countenance. Your dreams at night become filled with joys; ones you wish to remember and record to always have at hand and call upon when the ghosts of the past become the demons of the present. When the nightmares and day fears rear their ugly heads and you’re reduced to a shaking ball rocking back and forth on the corner of the floor or suffocating your tears under the covers in bed, afraid of everyone and everything but mostly – yourself. The feelings of energised, all-consuming love and joy, life and stability all come together and you emerge from your cocoon of covers that had momentarily engulfed you again.
The deer runs from the headlights into the fog of the future and what it means for who you used to be. The past you becomes something you must sacrifice to embrace what’s standing in the crosshairs down the winding path. The biggest step ever taken to let go, exhale, forget, forgive and carry on – the past is irrelevant; the ghosts can only shadow you so far and the future is not welcoming them.
Fate gave you a shot of all-consuming, spine-tingling love that you never could have brought upon yourself. You will be loved for who you were, who you are, but most importantly, who you will become. You will have a love better than the fairytales, better than the greatest romances of the Greek and Roman gods. You will love because you cannot escape it, because it has been absorbed into every alveoli of your lungs, every strand of hair, and every tear you ever shed and ever will shed.
You eat and sleep and bathe in the love you never thought existed; the unconditional love of someone who was thrust upon you and has never let go. The magnetic pull keeps you glued together through thick and thin and they help you more than you ever could help yourself because you always doubted too much. The fog clears and the deer stops running, the darkness lifts and everything you ever could hope for is staring you in the face.
©Michelle O’Connor 14 April 2012
The past always changes as time moves on, and the image of the past is the way we want to accept it. The way nostalgia changes everything to look prettier, shinier, cleaner.
It’s when embers are given new power, and the white burns golden. Friendships are rekindled and the sparks fly; they light up the room and the world and they twinkle in the pupils and the irises of those around.
The rose-tinted shades are cast off and the memories become realities, relived and retold from the voices and eyes and souls present.
The flame burns brighter than it had and the heat penetrates deeper and minds are embellished with new memories replacing the old, changing and altering what once was to become what now is.
Nostalgia is a cruel temptress, the cause and effect of mood swings, tears of joy and happiness, frustration in the dead of night, empty hearts, cold hands and circuitous thinking. Rehashing, reliving, and remembering things others have long forgotten.
It is the night when the monsters reappear. The monsters in the wardrobe, under the bed, outside the window and those inescapable ones in our minds. It is the time of internalisation of hopes and fears, dreams awaiting and opportunities missed. It is the lonely and cold darkness that plays host to all the suppression of the daylight, those the sun washes away and bleaches out. Like a heavy rain shower after a hot summer’s day.
The moon and the stars shine brightly in the greatest darkness though, and the monsters cower in fear of the glare of streetlamps, car lamps and bedside lamps. It is the artificial they fear most. The man-made inventions which interrupt the natural order, what was and what should be altered irreversibly, irrevocably until the sunlight shines again. Seeping through curtains, under blinds and frames doors. The reflective surfaces absorb and share the light, removing the shadowy figures, the unknown and unseen but the felt.
The cycle never ends.
© Copyright Michelle O’Connor 2012
