I gently nibble on the tip of my thumb.
A knocking of teeth on a well manicured nail.
A flicker of light catches my roaming eye.
I look down at the flattering ring on my finger.
A dark green stone imbedded in a silver casing.
My petite little hands are pale and dry.
They are capable of dangerous manoeuvres.
A long lost time which is sorely missed.
These hands are skilled in the art of massage too.
Trained out of necessity and relief.
Relief. I feel it when I think of that dodged bullet.
I yearn for relief of these secret thoughts.
Ooooh! I have spotted the liquorice from Italy.
What a humbling holiday that was.
Excitement brews over holiday plans.
Brew. Bru. Let’s brew some brus together,
And see what unfolds, china!
From Japan, like my lucky dress.
All women have lucky dresses, right?
What has my little Leprechaun have in store for me?
Jiggity jig with buckles and green.
Sadistic little bastard, isn’t he?
Who am I talking to when I say that?
Are those voices in my head?
“Sanity is a cosy lie.”
I love to laugh at myself.
A release of deep understanding and contentment.
I shake my head and feel a twinkle in my eye.
I recognise that source of light within so well.
I’m beginning to see it in others more frequently too.
I bite my lip on the same-scarred spot.
YES! My iPod is charged and rearing to go.
I can’t wait for my Marvin Gaye cd to arrive.
A dose of soul for my bloodstream.
Where would I be without music?
I wish I had a romantic date tonight.
A building to climb and a reason to smile.
Actually, I don’t like dates, food or regular dating.
Dates are far too sweet and sickly.
Dating is too formal and nerve racking for me.
I have never cooked with a pressure cooker before.
Phobia of flying lids…And corks for that matter.
I have gone to far, hit a new page.
My scattered thoughts have bored me.
I sigh, another dazed day of dodos and donkeys.
Pfff!
By Samantha Webster
