I am always looking for odd things within the normal. It is never good enough.
I am waiting for a plane to drop out of the sky. Is that too morbid? Hair made of cloud. Running so fast my feet lift off the ground, and I am leaping through the air. Not flying, no. Powerful through the kinetic force of my leaps and bounds. Why is a sunny day just a sunny day? It can’t be. There must be more to it than that.
What are brains whispering behind the closed doors of faces?
How many universes really exist, through the perspectives of billions of people.
Can the heavens and the earth sense our tread? And if so, are we hurting them?
A piece of heart. I pick up a ‘piece of heart’ with my toes when I am too lazy to bend down. It was a paper, but all the girls made fun of me. They said, ‘Eurgh you have real human hearts lying around your house!’ Cackling in that cruel way six year old girls have. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was only trying to be part of the conversation. I glanced at the boy who was my friend. He looked away.
A pair of knobbly, bright-red feet under a door.
A cluster of girls.
One brown face looking up at me.
‘What do you want?’
Hurt, walking away from the group I always associate with, because one newcomer decided she didn’t like this foreigner.
Or maybe it’s because I was weird.
But none of the other girls stuck up for me. None.
I feel like an outcast most of the time; but then I slurp some coffee and I am vibrant, energetic; ripples of laughter rippling outwards from my circumference.
Awkward silences. Lots of them. Lack of eye contact. Insecurity. Power. Speeding along country lanes; the sky is a different colour every single day.
If it wasn’t for the clouds, I think our sunsets would be monotonous.
But it is never any good. Not good enough.
I want an inspiration to seize my fingers, but I am learning that you have to create your own inspiration.
So this is mine, today. A mixture of memories and daily thoughts.
What inspires you? Do tell me. What makes your brain tick, your fingers itch?