The very second I decided it was over, I was done.
Until then, I’d convinced myself I’d never be strong enough
But I won.
Like locking a door and throwing the key into the ocean,
There was no way of going back.
All light faded to black.
Romanticising something because we once saw it only in…

When I think of all I’ve been through over the past few years, particularly the last two years, I can’t actually fathom that I can sit here and write this. That I’m at home, in Halsall, having spent another weekend with friends and family. With another week of work ahead…

“How are you feeling, Rach?”
“I’m not doing too bad!
Some days I’m fine now,
And others, I’m sad.
I’m so glad to be home, though!
I know I’ll be fine.
I’ve heard that these things
Get better with time.”

“How do you feel, Rach?
Are things improving?”
“I have good days…

Where are we heading to?

Where do we go?

Like the wet ground left behind

after snow

When our bodies are gone

and our souls move on,

will we meet again?

Or remain as one?

A singular spirit

Floating in the next space

Where there is no concept

Of time or place

Or now, or then

Or why, or when

Or if we will be together again

Where are we heading to?

Where do we go?

I’ll discover it one day

But for now I don’t know.

Like a bird in the sky

Or the buzz of a bee

Or the air blowing through all the leaves on a tree

Like a cloud floating past

Or the sun when it sets

These are the things one easily forgets.

But why do we let go of all of…

I like to sleep with my window open.

The only time I really close it is if it’s raining

and that’s only because I don’t want the carpet to get wet.

I like the noise of the breeze and the birds singing

and now, the passing cars don’t even wake…

Without any real conscious decision-making, she slammed the car door, turned the key in the ignition, and reversed out the driveway as fast as she could. The sun had started to set, and it was blinding her in her rear-view mirror. The dust from the floor spun up around her…

If it were possible to bottle it up - the silence, the light,

the calming breeze, every laugh ever heard -

I would.

We can’t bottle love. Nor can we bottle the time

or the memories of that place, person or people.

But it lives on.

When we close our…

Drifting through the weeks like a burnt leaf in October

Light, tired, unnoticed.

From one day to the next, from night,

to day, to night again.

A solid foundation is what I want,

what I need, what I wait for.

From the roots to the trunk to the end of each branch

I am meant to be attached.

Physically here, but mentally elsewhere

always drifting between here and there,

there and here, near and far,

wishing time could stand still.

If I open my eyes to see, I believe

the dust will settle and the noise will end.

Yet keeping them closed helps

cradle the feeling that none of this is real.

Can you be running while standing still?

Motionless, yet lost in the maze of

past, present, future, time.

Time is all we do and do not have.

I stay drifting.

When they leave, they are still here. Remaining

inside us, beside us, above us and below.

Each drop that falls is caught and replenished

by them alone.

Drifting between what was and what is

leaves us with what isn’t and what could have been.

Time, a concept so readily accepted…

Rachel Ayre

Slowly starting to share my writing — poetry, short stories and the odd blog. Twitter: @rach_ayre

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