What was war?
A three lettered word that could obliterate everything. War tears people apart, even those who were once close as brothers. Victims of war are constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, and pain. Pain isn't simple; it's physical, emotional, and mental; all victims of war feel all three types. In war, nowhere is safe. Nowhere.
No matter how much I screamed for help, no voice would come out ... or so I thought. In truth there was simply no-one left to hear, or rather no-one with the capacity to respond.
It is the apparently random series of events and thoughts from any of our senses, from any stimuli, that is the fertile ground of creativity. Be it from providence or serendipity, an open brain, alert for new possibilities, is always the right place for these precious new seeds to grow. Creativity is the recombining of what is in search for truth and discovery. Thus creativity requires freedom and a sense of emotional safety, always.
For the first time in her life, she found herself alone. A huddled heap of ripped jeans and torn coats, she sat alone and utterly terrified in the darkness. The dark consumed her frail form. Her mother wasn't there to soothe her fears, nor was Thomas to tell her stories. It was just her, alone in a strange place with strange people.
It can be hard sometimes. Now and then we will choose the wrong way, a bit like moving against the grain.
We can ruin the wood we call life.
This can be hard to take back, since the damage has already been done.
It will scar you for a while, the mistakes we make but eventually it will fade into the past.
A simple decision can ruin our lives, but only you can choose whether to hold on to the past pain or let it go.
The winter is such crystalline joy, those brilliant rays that show the uniqueness of every snowflake. It is the time of puddles that become transient skating rinks and for my thoughts to remain cozy within a woollen hat. It is the time when the sunniest of days are warm even in when I can see my breath rise as neat and pure vapour. It is the days of quiet poetry forming in my soul as if it calls to the spring flowers that will soon blossom.
In the baking competition the chefs were flown into hunger stricken areas to cook for the needy. It was the first competition ever in which we could say there were winners on every side. What was interesting to see, was the nervousness there was at the start was gone by the finish, that so many of the chefs asked to stay on, to work alongside locals, transforming these societies as their life's work.
The truth is, you can only identify your friends by the content of their character, by how they love and seek to see the world through the perspectives of the oppressed, poor and hungry. Your friends can have any ethnicity and be from any economic class. So tune out the speech of hate and tune in the stories of tyranny and violence - then follow the development of trauma populations and see them through the lens of compassion. We are born to thrive together as one species and to both listen and see through our hearts. We do not inherit the sins of our fathers, but if we have inherited privilege then it is our duty to help others and remove power dynamics. I am only free when we all are. I only have peace internally and externally when we all do.
I loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into my being and he comforted me without ever opening his mouth. I'd melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like I belonged next to him, like he belonged next to me. And each time before we parted the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.
Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
Above were the autumn leaves, the reds and golds, yet below she wore a dress that spoke of the warmest of summer days. That girl was my pure water, a soul I'd need to be with all my days. It was time to wrap my arms about her and stop the shivers she hid with a smile.
In an era that needs to tackle pollution, targeted advertising (that in itself is an abuse of personal data) that uses psychological profiling to increase consumerism needs to end. Consumerism and pollution are directly correlated from production, to packaging to transport and disposal. The age of "Buy, buy, buy," needs to give way to a more grown up consideration of planet Earth and the needs of all of her inhabitants - of which humans are only one species.