Was Lost Now Found, Write Again.

In these days where likes and pictures are of abundance and attention span is shorter than the speed of light.

What do we write about?

I had fond memories of a time where I had enjoyed penning down thoughts and poetry in my journals. All these wonderful little snippets of romance and humour would pour out of my very crowded mind and into stories and writings.

My younger sister and I used to send each other letters that we would fold and “send” via sliding under the bedroom doors.

How magical it felt, to receive words that someone had put thought into and to have it physical in the form of handwriting.

I know it is ironic, as I too am a social media slut and an advocate of getting instant gratification. I mean, who doesn’t like to get that fast, hard and well, good or bad response, instantly?

But. And it is a huge but; there is something so romantic about getting that letter and savouring it.

The feel of the paper that the person has chosen. The curves of the handwriting. Even the smell of the pen that was left behind.

I use to and still do on and off, write romantic poetry on paper napkins, little notes from scrapbooks and seal them with kisses ( I would put on my lipstick and kiss the paper) and stuff them into the bags or pockets of someone I care for.

Somehow as the years passed I lost time, energy and creativity to write.

Marriage, Kids, the many things that came into my life seem to scream for my attention. Writing took 2nd, 3rd well not even a space in my line in the line up of my life. A greater part to my reason for stopping was my lack of confidence in my writing. I never was a strong English student. My grammer is all over the place and so forth. And though I have a great love for reading which fuels and shape my writingthat too has sat waiting quietly in a corner of my busy, lack of focus mind.

I keep telling myself, I will write when I am better focus, when I have time, when the voices in my head is not all over the place. Then nothing gets written or shared.

So, why am i writing again?

I guess, even though I am so unfocus and messy. There is so much I would like to say. I want to be remembered not only for my poetry and my somewhat attempt to have a “real” instagramable life. But be remembered for things that matter to me. Things that I have in my mind which is dear or fun to me.

My craving to write again started when a friend loan me this lap top that stood in the corner of my room waiting to be touched. I looked at it, fondled it and imagine the possiblity of writing again.

As the last few months unfolded, circumstances and muse came into my life once again and i feel this stirring start again. And since we only live once and if you do not try to start how do you begin. I stripped myself from the thought that perhaps I may the only reader to this. So what then.

This is for me. My journey. Perhaps a chance for my kids to open this up one day and read contact with something here that their Ma has left behind.

So I shall pour my heart and soul into some words and let it flow. Let’s see where this writing journey leads me?

I look forward to hearing feedbacks and reading your letters and journey in this land of scribes and imagination.

Shall we begin our journey?

Thank you for reading.

Just words, Just me,

P

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Wondering

You came in and joined the line looking like a vision.

Dark hair.

Long sleeved shirt.

So debonair.

I smiled as I texted (it was better than shouting over the loud music)

“We never got to do this while we were together. =)”

And just like that we were transported to the past.

When you hugged me I caught that scent that had once held me captive and those hands that made me your prisioner. I’ll gladly be in chains with you again…

As the night went on, our conversations, like our friendship was seamless and candid.

I like this. This mature version of us. Free from the lies and angry possessive love we had known.

How handsome you are standing next to me, cold drink in hand. Eyes like dark pools that could drown me. I drank it all in.

When you had to leave, amidst the music, the crowd it felt right. No need to hold each other back in our busy schedules.

But as we weaved in between busy bodies and blasting music. My hand brushed yours and I caught it. It felt right and natural. Holding yours as we weaving in and out the crowd. In fact, isn’t it more pratical. We wouldn’t want you getting lost would we?

Round the bend, almost to the start of the line we came. We paused to say our goodbyes. You pulled me in and kissed me on the cheek.

Not good enough…

I pulled you in and kissed you on the lips, a farewell to linger and dream of.

You embraced me and smile and like a dream that had ended puff, gone.

It was nice.

You made me feel more attractive and special in that moment then I’ve had in years.

How queer that a simple night could evoke such sweet memories thst we had once shared.

I smiled as I enter tomorrow with that thought in mind.

Saying goodbye to my yesterday.

Autumn  Leaves 


Autumn on a spring morning 

white against the red 

as my lover’s kisses rain on me

as maples syrup drenched. 

Red and perfect like cherries ripening 

Delicate curls that fall on me like falling crimson leaves. “Dive with me ”

she implores “to a world we have never seen ”
and I sink 

so deep

into a world of possibilities