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Strangers

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We are all just strangers, aren’t we? Ships passing in this lonely night, and should we meet a stranger who sparks a light in us, we walk with them, for awhile at least. But none of us leave together. It is both our tragedy and our delight as humans. So tonight, I ask, if strangers is all we are, do we ever really know someone? Behind the smiles and the laughter? Can we ever really know someone? Does anyone really know me? Sometimes I think yes. But then a wave of loneliness hits, and I realise that perhaps we never can, for we are not coins, two sided and flat, but prisms. So in this life the best we can hope for is to be understood. That the people closest to us will take the time to try and understand the very complex creatures we are.

I seek to be understood. Perhaps that is why I write, so someone might glance a paragraph and think, yes, I understand you. I see your passion, your sorrow and your joy. Maybe then, when I am understood, when I am taken as a whole, complex and imperfect, full of dreams and darkness, I can look back and think perhaps I was not known, but I was understood. Perhaps that is when the loneliness ends. When you can look into the eyes of those around you and know they choose to stay, because they are your people, the ones who understand.

G S Scribbles

Rest in peace little fledgling

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On Saturday, mid afternoon I found a young bird dead in the pond. It broke my heart to see him, eyes closed, could have been sleeping, and for a second I hoped he was. That I had found him in time and could scoop him from the waters edge, he’d be a little soggy, but otherwise alright. Perhaps he’d need a little care, but that was ok. He wasn’t. So I set about digging him a small grave amongst the flowers.

‘We should just throw him in the bin,’ that’s what the people around me said. He was dead already, and he was gross. But I couldn’t. It felt so unkind to the small life that had barely begun. And I know he was just a little bird, his life (or hers, truth be known I don’t know,) would have been one of gathering worms, and feeding chicks. But it was a life, one that had ended in nothing but panic, trapped beneath a net, probably driven there by thirst. And I felt that I could do this little bird one final service, a place to rest. So I dug him his grave, and buried him. I could give him a final resting place. Somewhere to sleep his final sleep. Perhaps I did it more for me, because of the responsibility I felt. I don’t know, but I know that to me it felt right.

So where am I going with this? Asides a tribute to a creature that was as much alive as you or I? If only for a short time? Kindness. The world is bitter, it is unkind, and so often unfair. But somewhere in there, I beg that we can all find the kindness to take the time to bury a little bird. To place a flower on their grave and remember, it is by our own grace the world is good, and our own inaction it can be terrible.

Be kind my friends. Take the time to do the things that may not seem important, because really it is those things that make this world bearable.

Rest in peace little fledgling. I’m sorry your time was so short. May there be peace for you somewhere.

Love always, G S Scribbles

The Devils Gambit

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Today I have started by adding the first in a multi-edition story, I will be attempting to write regular chapters hopefully a few a week, which I will add to the blog. You can find the story under the stories tab, though I will be making a page just for it eventually. The story will follow the main character, Shae, as she battles with her need to save one of the people she loves most from a terrible deal with the devil. We’ll meet all kinds of people together and go on many adventures, It is my hope that you enjoy it.

Much love, G S Scribbles ❤

Why I write poetry

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Hey guys, so I’ve noticed a few people talk about why they write prose or poetry, personally I do both, but I’d like to talk about poetry right now. I never thought I’d write poetry, I happened onto it on twitter. Just a short piece here or there and as time went on I realised I loved it. The words were freeform, I didnt have to set myself a boundry. I could be just the thoughts I was thinking. Just the moment I was feeling. It took me a little while to open myself up into it. I was afraid people wouldn’t like it. That I wouldn’t get the Rhythm right, or it wouldnt rhyme. But eventually I came to the understanding that it didn’t matter much, my words would take me on a journey. The people who like to read them would find some of the delight, or sorrow I found when writing them. It was freeing, and addictive. So now I very proudly say; yes, I am a poet. And sometimes people think its strange, and sometimes they roll their eyes, but you know what? Let them, there is a joy to it that I cannot explain, for a few moments, in some of my poetry I am able to capture that ephemeral feeling of what it is to be me, and I love it.

G S Scribbles

Just Tired

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We all say it, don’t we? When a co-worker asks how we’re feeling, and the day is resting a little heavy, even though its only 9am. Just tired. Like this feeling will go away with a good nap. But what happens when you aren’t ‘just tired’. When you’re exhausted, not just physically but emotionally. When you need something but you don’t know what it is, or how to achieve it? Or maybe you do know what you need, and you are afraid to take it? I’m not sure. I’ve been ‘just tired’ for so many years now I wonder if there is a way to feel anything else. I’ve tried so many things, so many activities, and in the end I always just come back to this deep seated feeling of restlessness. Like my very being is torn, and its getting harder to ignore. I look at my life like a road of nothing but false starts and wrong turns. Depressing right? Change it right? I want to, I want to change it all. Tear down the paper from the walls, but what if I make it worse? Thats always the question. What if my choices make it worse somehow, if I paint the room yellow and realise I hate the colour yellow? Depressing of course. Thats the problem, its all so very depressing.

Anyway, I didn’t come here to lay my troubles at the doors of everyone, I came to say that I think perhaps it might be better to live in a sunrise rather than perpetual night. So here’s to making changes, however small. Like starting a blog you were terrifed to start. Sending a story to a publisher even if you’re afraid you aren’t good enough, aren’t unique enough.

And here’s to the lost souls, the ones who try to do the right thing, but find life does not always reward that. That you can make no mistakes and still fail. The ones who have lost hope. Because I at the very least am proud of you, all of you who try to be good, in a world that begs you to become cruel.

I am searching for myself now. And I think its going to get rough. I am certain this road will not be easy, and I will stumble. But I want to find me, the me I can sit with, and not need to comfort. For all those in the same boat, I hope you find you too. I hope you can search through the darkness and extract the light. Because somewhere out there, beyond all the doubt, and all the madness, there must be stars. There must be a full moon just waiting for the wolf to cry to the heavens, ‘I found you.’

Much Love, G S Scribbles ❤