My definition

I’m not perfect.

I don’t believe that. Because to me, you’re my definition of ‘perfect.’

The way we were

It’s the way we were.
It didn’t work.
Though,
I feel now – it somehow does.
Why?
Maybe we’ve just grown, and let things go –
things that don’t matter to us today, as they did back then.
But do you still feel it?
The passion?
The passion that glued us together,
even when we were at our worst?
Even when we couldn’t look at each other?
When we hated each other?
Do you think we still have that passion?
Or have we let that go too?
Like throwing away old clothes.
Because,
I miss it.
I think I prefer us, then.
I know we can’t go back,
yet,
I don’t want to go forward without you.

Piercing – 5

Paul watches Emily lift the hot cup to her lips, and delicately blow across the top, rippling the liquid inside. She takes a cautious sip, before placing the cup back on the table.

It’s good coffee here, she says, having never really considered the taste of coffee in any establishment before.

Paul sighs, frustrated that she’s changing the subject. She looks boldly in to his eyes, in response.

OK, then, she says, backing up her stare. Did you want to start today? Right now? He clears his throat, taken aback by her uncharacteristic forwardness.

My first poetry collection

e-book cover – Between the Lines, my first collection of short poetic pieces, under my other pen name, LB.

On the 1st October, National Poetry Day, ‘I dared to venture further’ as a writer, and finally self-published a collection of short poetic pieces.

Between the Lines is a collection of personal conversations; writing out and processing fears, anxieties, hopes, loves, and losses. 

I wrote this collection for those who are hoping for someone to listen and look a little deeper to them. For those hoping for patient ears.

Fabulous! Wonderful collection of poems that just speak to you.

KJ, reviewer.
Paperback front cover – Between the Lines by LB.
Write

Dare to venture further than a concise headline.
To elaborate on the strict bullet points.
To indulge in the creative chaos on the page.

Look for the lines that aren't there.
The colours that aren't fully described.
The tears that have yet to fall.
The laughs that would be missed.

And those other moments...
The moments that have yet to be enjoyed and remembered.
Those moments that have not yet been written.

‘Write’ is the opening poem in this collection.

Between the Lines can be purchased in both e-book and paperback format, via the link below:

Amazon link

Thursdays

He chooses Thursdays because it’s not the beginning, the middle or even the end of the week.

They’re just a wasted day out of the seven, he tells me every time he picks me up on them.

Thursdays don’t matter to him like they do to me.

Because, Thursdays are the days I get to spend time with him – my dad.

Piercing – 4

Great. I’ll be back with your coffees in a few minutes, the server says, turning on his heel, and heads back to the front counter.

Emily tries hiding her sudden smile in to her shoulder, knowing that Paul will still see it, despite her best efforts.  

Why are you smiling? he asks, as his own cheeks flush in response.

Because, she considers, slowly looking him in the eye.  Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it – this – you – I, I just can’t seem to help myself.  I keep coming back to smile at you, promising myself it’ll be the last time.  And I break my promise every time, Paul.  Her smile fades.

Don’t make it then, then you won’t have to break it, he says, leaning in closer to the table between them.

But that promise protects me.  I’m not sure I want to give that up, yet.  I’m not ready.

He leans back in to his seat, aware of what she’s about to say, but he still asks, Protects you from what?

She quietly clears her throat and takes a shallow breath.  From you, she says.  Because you hurt me.

I know, he says.

I like to believe that someday, probably in this café, you’ll tell me why.  Maybe that’s why I keep breaking my promise, because the next time, you’ll explain it to me.  She takes another breath.  I’ve been waiting, Paul.  And – she shakes her head and sighs – and I keep waiting.   She leans back in to her seat. 

Breaking the loud silence, the server returns with their coffees.  Here we go, he declares, placing the mugs on the table. One cappuccino, and one flat white. Can I get you anything else? 

Emily tears her gaze from Paul, to smile up at the server and says, No, thank you.  That’s it.  We’re OK. For now.   

Bird

They swarmed and surrounded (her)

Their colours still glisten today.

They swarmed and surrounded (her)

Their calls still echo today.

They swarmed and surrounded (her)

Their joy still irritates today.

They swarmed and surrounded (her)

Their prey still stands today.

They swarmed and surrounded (her)

Their behaviour still threatens today.

Mole

It had a hair.  Protruding right out of the centre of it.  It wasn’t ugly.  It was kinda beautiful in fact.  It was a small feature placed on the left jawline, on what was an already beautiful face.  But when looking at the whole artwork, it was the eyes that drew your attention in.  Crisp blue with subtle flecks of grey.  Mesmerizing and unapologetic.  They knew exactly what they were doing.  And the pull they had over you.  And you went there willingly.

Piercing ~ 3

I’ve missed you, Paul says, boldly maintaining eye-contact with Emily. Do you want another coffee? Or something else, perhaps? he asks, finally dragging his gaze away, now attempting to get any server to notice him.

No. I’m fine, she says, looking down at her cold cappuccino, wishing it was still hot. I wasn’t expecting… that, she says quietly.

That I’d miss you? he says, bringing his full attention back to this woman he’s known five years, today.

Yes. Especially after last time. And – and what you said to me then. I may not remember many things, Paul, but I always remember your words, she says.

I regret that, Em. Really. You just caught me off-guard, he says, resting his hands, palm up on the table.

That’s not an apology, she says, pushing herself back in her seat, trying to get as much distance from him as she can. You’ve again made it seem as if it was my fault. You know it wasn’t. You’ve never apologised to me. I’ve always wondered if you know how.

He slumps back, bringing his pleading hands down to his lap.

A clattering of plates across the cafe turn their heads in that direction.

Why do you keep agreeing to meet up then? he asks, reluctant to look back at her.

She watches him across the table and considers. But like she knows why they always meet up in this cafe, she knows why she always agrees to meet up with him.

Because I miss you too, she says. Paul fails in hiding his smile and blushes. Leaning in, she encourages him to look up at her.

A server swings by their table, out of breath. Sorry to keep you waiting, he says holding a stack of dirty plates along one arm, and a damp table cloth in his other hand. Can I get you anything else? he asks, shifting his added ceramic weight between each foot. A moment later, he impatiently coughs, breaking their static silence.

I’d like another cappuccino, please, she says. And… a flat white? she asks Paul, knowing that’s his coffee of choice. He nods, smiling. And a flat white, she confirms to the server.

Piercing ~ 2

Emily slumps in the booth seat opposite Paul, taking off and throwing her jacket in the corner on her way down.  Exhaling, she finally makes eye contact with him.

Thanks for the cappuccino, she says.

Probably cold now, he replies, knowingly.

Rolling her eyes at his comment, she takes a sip, trying to mask her shock and dislike to the coffee’s cold temperature, behind the rim of the large cup it was served in.  Paul smiles wryly at her efforts.  He knows she doesn’t like cold coffee but is impressed – always impressed by her stubbornness and determination to never let anything get in her way from doing what she wants to do.  And he couldn’t – wouldn’t stop her.

It’s alright, she shrugs, licking her lips and placing the cup back on the table.  Looking around the cafe, at the wait staff manoeuvring through the occupied tables, balancing trays of cups and mugs of hot liquids, and plates full of greasy and cooked every which way all-day breakfasts, she smiles.  You always want to meet here, she says.

I think you know why, he says, having not taken his eyes off her since she arrived.

She turns to look at him.  She remembers.