Elly Grey

 "I often wonder why certain people act the way they do. I wonder if their actions are deliberate? Do you think they realise how important you hold them in your life but they play with that?  "I am not sure. Some people are carefree. They don't have an emotional tie down. But some people are heavy. They are carrying the weight of their world in their heart. I don't think it's personal, so try not to let it get to you". "I try not to let it affect me but I can't help wonder. I try not to take it personally but it hurts. I try to see it from the other's point of view, but why can't they see it from mine? Why can't they see that I'm hurting? And if I was important to them, they'd know I'm hurting". "Give it time. Time has a way of sifting through what stays and what goes. And if it's written, it'll stay. Let's meet here again in two weeks' time and you can let me know if it matters". 

Chal, ek aur cup chai ka ho jae.  Sard mausam, baarish aur kambal.  Aaj kahan jana hai...

All villages are the same. They contain heritage, quintessential life, and centuries of memories.

 We stood at the Edge and looked at the starry lights. I went to take a photo and you stood behind me with your hands on my shoulders. I lost concentration for a moment because I felt your hands on me. Securing me, steadying me. It felt beautiful. And those city lights blurred for a moment and time paused. And now when I look back at that photo, all I remember are the city lights twinkling just for us. 

 How much do I miss my Dad? I have a photo of him on the sideboard near my dining table. Why? Because he was a foodie, and when I sit to eat my meals, it feels like he's with me. Everyday, I run my index finger down his cheek and smile at him. When I'm excited about some news, I'll tell him. I even told him that his friend died, and to expect him in Heaven. I miss hearing his voice on the phone. My mind still reacts and will remind me to call Dad before he sleeps. I miss his fragrance and I miss kissing his cheek. When I was leaving the hospital one day, before his deterioration, I said "I'll be back tomorrow" and Dad said "I love you" and I said "I love you too!". I'll never forget that.  A girl's true love. Her Dad.

 "What's the next city we're going to see?" "Paree!" "Can you speak French? I can't. We're going to be in trouble if we both cannot". "Tout ce qui compte c'est que nous serons ensemble. Tout ce qui compte, ce sont les câlins, les bisous et les moments en ville. Toi avec moi" "Uh.." "All that matters is that we will be together. All that matters are hugs, kisses and moments in the city. You, with me".  "Done".

Attention, affection and appreciation.  That's all.  That's all I want from you.  And if you can't do one or all three... Just tell me. 

He was my 'home', the place I felt safe. His arms were my walls.  His eyes, windows.  His hands, the door.  His voice, the roof.  His laughter, my happiness.  His perfume, my air.  How much he meant to me, he probably will never understand.  The feeling of totally being safe with him. 

Here's to days that we wanted, but will never happen because something better is coming.  Here's to the love that was a delusion, but has now cleared the way for something real. Here's to unhappy moments that had to happen to show us what true happiness looks like. Here's to heartache that taught us that life isn't fair but when it's time, it's absolutely, perfectly right. 

When something ends, your mind plays terrible tricks on you. It reminds you of past conversations. It plays reels in your head of special moments. It makes you think about how perfect the moments were, but then harshly shows you the reality. It's unforgiving because it replays words. It makes your heart weaker which will ache in response. The mind will say 'remember this time?' and you'll fall the yearning  again and again. 

All we want is for someone to be there and to know that we aren't standing alone. We want to be able to say what we really want to say. We want for someone to hold space for us. We don't want apathy, or someone being nonchalant. We want to be and to belong. We want to know we matter and that our presence means something. We're tired of loneliness, and being ignored. It's simply that all we want is to be loved.  

 There's no scientific explanation for the soul.  There's no evidence that it exists. So what have I patiently been waiting for?  That you'll one day understand the deepest parts of me?  Understand my soul?  Let it go. 

 Still in my next life,  I'll come back as a dandelion.  I'll be the flower who flies. You'll pluck me and gently blow me into the air.  You'll make a wish and I'll fly so high  and land without a care.  I'll look back at you and smile, And you'll see me again In the flower that learnt how to fly. Taking your wish to the  sky. ~E 

I have let you go  I have forgiven you I will not place burden on you ever again  Because I realised that I'm delicate and precious  My heart is soft and loving But you don't see that You see me as needy and cruel  And I can't live with that  So I will let you be It can't break me But I can't allow more pain For you and me Which is sad because I loved you with all that I had But you weren't fair to me

 It was him and just who he was and the fact that he could take me to a place that no-one else could. The peace I felt when around him, the way his words would make me laugh, made me believe that if I belonged anywhere, it was here with him. 

I didn't hear from you today so I'm writing this to you, with the hope that you'll open it and read it.  The thing is, nowadays people will see and open a message but not read it. Deceptively, the sender thinks their words have been read.  And that's not very nice when you think about it - words lost in transit, floating in space, that will never be read.  When I see that you've not written, I think, well ok, I won't disturb you but then the emotional part of me thinks, my message to you will let you know that I'm thinking of you. It may be, that in your busy day, my words will give some reprieve.  My words to you are saying: 'Hey, I just thought of you', 'I saw this post, and you came to mind', 'I'm missing you', 'I wish you were here'.  So here's a letter that I'll hope you'll open and actually read. That you'll read the words and not leave out in the void. 

 I loved him so deeply.  I wish he could have let me. 

I find the rivers mystical. They are vast, they have beautiful names and they tell love stories of doomed lovers.  

Funerals are odd. You are farewelling the deceased and you are meeting friends again that you haven't for the past 30 years. Funerals are reunions, under sombre circumstances. But I do love the feeling of love, warmth and connection after seeing and hugging old friends. Makes you wonder, if we do grow apart ever?

But who writes for the poet?  Who writes to them when their words have finished and the ink has dried up?  Who inspires them again when all words are dead and gone?  Who shows them words that are just for them with each letter penned with adoration?  Who writes to the poet? 

People ruin things.  We ruin things.  But, do you know what?  You - I'd love to meet you again but we'd do things a little differently.  I wouldn't say 'hello' first and you'll never notice me.

 Just move on with pure intentions.  The things that don't matter will fall by the wayside.  

The setting Sun on a Winter's day, reminds me to nurture my heart.  To keep it warm and protected from external elements.  To not allow things to upset its equilibrium.  To maintain hope that there'll be light again tomorrow. 

Vision, ideas, dreams and destiny.  That's what I fight for.  The rest is noise.

"What do you crave?" "Hmmm? Solitude, just being there in the moment. Knowing that I do not need to be anywhere else. I crave quiet, so much quiet that I can hear my heartbeat. Peacefulness, so much, that birds sit with me. I crave that I do not need another, so I know not to give so much importance to them, or that my good mood relies on them. I crave I am happy in my own. Sufficient and honest enough to myself that I am all I ever need".