Elly Grey

  Do you think clocks stop ticking, or does someone wind them up again to save them from death?

My days have been filled with me trailing jasmine plants through the fence. It has taught me that love and tenderness are underrated in a world that prizes grand gestures. There is a quiet rebellion in knowing that tender, slow acts of love are actually what sustain us.

Somewhere, some day, it's our last exchange of words. Our last conversation. Not even a proper goodbye. Because we thought there will be a tomorrow and we'll talk to each other again. It is correctly said that tomorrow never comes, because it's today. And you are so quiet. Say something please, one more time. I promise, I'll reply. 

In the buzz, and movement, we collided. We spun, we danced and then we let go. What is left is a puff of smoke. Perfumed, lingering longing. Smoke. No more. 

Life isn't the race. Life is the pause.  It's the contemplation. It's the sigh.  Life is when you look up and around.  Life isn't black and white,  but made up of the most brilliant colours.  Life is waiting for a moment, but then going for it.  Life is the pause. 

Sunflowers and sunsets. Goodbyes not said. A quiet exit, a whisper. Did you hear it? I called you. Did you hear me? Between right and wrong. And now I'm gone.

  To be beautiful is enough. To be strong is enough. To be happy is enough.