An Ultraviolet Ultranerd

You are warm rain at the beach and the first hot day after months of winter.

You are the smell of cut grass and the feeling before you do something exhilaratingly stupid.

You are chocolate cake at midnight and hugs that could last forever.

You are childhood relived and open hearts with tea and blankets.

You are a reminder that you don’t need the sun to have a sunny day. That life can not be spent waiting for the weekend. That you can make the most of a Monday, or a rainy Thursday, or a boring Wednesday morning.

You are unspoken insecurities that no longer matter and complete understanding that sometimes you just won’t understand.

I stand in front of you completely transparent, all of my fears and hopes out in the open for you to see.

Remembering when I first met you doesn’t matter. I know where it was, but yours is a friendship that doesn’t rely on how often I see you. I remember those first few months after I met you, it was the first time I realised how my friends should be treating me, and suddenly I couldn’t accept the way they were acting when I knew other people had so much more to offer. I remember finally feeling accepted when I was around you. I will always remember you telling me I’m one of your best friends, even if I didn’t know how to react in the moment. You’re one of mine too. I remember reading about your insecurities, and being shocked that you trusted me of all people with them. I remember that moment where I realised this friendship is not just another short term thing, this friendship is one I want to last forever.

I am grateful for you. For the way I feel loved. You never let me think I am unworthy. I love the way you call me Zed and that you never give up on me, no matter how insecure and needy I can get. I’m thankful for the way you don’t let me cut you off. For the way you know when I’m upset, sometimes before I realise it myself.

So prepare yourself, because I really think you’ve earned this.

Your hugs are white. Engulfing like a cloud. Empowering. Mood lifting. They’re pure and always something to look forward to. They always put a smile on my face and manage to glue my broken pieces back together. They make my insecurities seem unimportant.

Your humour is green. Strange but the kind I want to be surrounded by. You know where the boundaries are and that it’s okay to toe the line sometimes. It’s a fresh kind of funny, carefree. I know you mean only good with it, it brightens the world.

Your eyes are orange. Your whole head is. Such individuality and beauty. It starts at your eyes and engulfs you like flames. I register that not everyone can see this phenomenon and feel sorry for them. I love you a little extra, because I know you don’t always love yourself but someone has to do it.

But you to me are Purple. All kinds of purples, the lilac of my bike, the royal of my blanket, the plum of summer fruit. This colour that I see all around me, because I want to spend time with you. Whenever I want to do something fun and exciting, you are one of the people I want to be there. You have worked your way into my life and there’s no way you’re getting out of it. I can’t pinpoint the one point from which your purple comes, but it makes the world look so much more beautiful.

A car ride, with all the windows down and music playing softly. Hands firmly hold the steering wheel while laughter floats around. The flash of a camera captures the euphoria shown. He flips down the visor as they round a bend and the setting sun lights up the interior of the old car. He eats strawberries and sings along while driving just for the sake of driving. There’s no more pressure of the world, and in these few moments he feels completely free of his fears and worries. He knows these worldly things can only affect him if he allows them to.

Thank you for all you have done for me.

~ Zee xx

The Op Shop Raiders

I have a friend. He writes. He writes about a girl. I haven’t met her but I know she’s made him a better man. Not in drastic ways, it’s subtle, he smiles more often and it’s more genuine. He’s a musician too, this friend of mine. It inspires me and I picked up my guitar for the first time in years because of it. He loves his God and I hope he’s loving himself. I’ve written about him before. He’s part of a trio, they’re always together.

Another friend. He also writes about a girl. But he doesn’t show anyone the words he strings together for her. He’s never met her, but he cares about her more than she could ever know. Sometimes I hate her, for the way she disappears off the face of the earth without any warning at all, it’s as though she doesn’t appreciate him as I feel she should. But he tells me there’s more than meets the eye. He talks to me and lets me talk; about the friends who we can’t stop giving second chances, about the things we watch, about whatever is on my mind. He shows me that one bad friend does not mean all friends are bad. He encourages me to open my heart. I hope that heart allows me to write about him soon. He’s part of that trio, the ones that are always together.

A third friend. He is always seeing the world through a view finder. He captures moments that I want to live in forever, of beautiful things. He brings out that little bit of asshole in me. It’s refreshing to not have anything expected of me. He brings feelings of spring, surrounded by people I wouldn’t have called my friends but enjoyed spending time with more than with those I did. I’m not sure of our friendship, mistakes were made in November, we have not spoken in weeks. But I still trust him with all I have in me. One day I hope I can call him my friend again. Or rather he can call me his. I wrote about him only once. He’s always with the other two, completes the trio.

These boys who I love with all my heart. I don’t tell them how much I appreciate them anywhere near enough. Or how I know I can trust them with almost anything I like.

Their friendship means the world.

For My Sisters

T – Thank you for being my best friend. For the fairy games and the Barbies and the races to the TV remote on Saturday mornings. Thanks for giving me books to read and letting me ramble on about my friends and for all the stolen liquor that you never noticed was gone (I’m sorry). Thanks for all the shared clothes and rolled eyes and wrestling and smashed phones and kitchen singing and never ending payback.

S – Thank you for being my room mate. For letting me boss you around and playing make believe with me and giving 11 year old me something to write in my diary (that’s how annoying you were). Thanks for enjoying my music and being fine with the screaming sessions in our room and listening to my stories that I always hype up too much. Thanks for the shared homework and blanket forts and bike races and skinned knees and the bickering and slap fights and the silent treatment.

C – Thank you for being my mini-me. For always making me laugh and making me play hide-and-seek every single day and all the warm hugs. Thanks for your smile every morning and watching kids programs with me all afternoon and keeping me company even when I don’t want anyone in my room. Thanks for tickle fights and sandcastles and screaming in my ear and morbid comments and standing on me and refusing to kiss me goodbye.

Thank you all for my childhood that you won’t ever let end. For daisy chains and trampolines and climbing trees and bike rides and early morning runs and surfing and inside jokes and teasing and holding hands and all our little adventures.

Who I am today is thanks to you. I love you so much.

Bigger Things

She is sunshine and rain in one.

Her smile could light up any darkness,

Except the one her sadness creates.

She is plants on the veranda,

And smoke turning the afternoon sun a blood red.

She is your favourite book with the corners folded,

And the stuffed bear from your childhood that you still keep on your bed.

She is the grazed knees of childhood,

And river water on sunburnt shoulders.

She is sunshine.

She is tears shed in the corner of a coffee shop,

And fingers rubbing eyes under glasses.

She is panic attacks in parks,

And 10 cents short for the bus ticket home.

She is the death of an admired celebrity discovered over Facebook,

And the crash of your first car.

She is rain.

She lights candles all around her,

In attempts to relight the burning flame inside her,

That he put out when he left.

She loses herself in books where the girl always gets her guy,

Even in times when love shouldn’t matter.

She fights and screams but only to reclaim

A small amount of control of her life.

She is a girl left behind,

And a friend who deserves more time than she is given.

She is a bike ride I keep meaning to go on.

She is a book I should have continued months ago.

She is a half empty journal that I’ve had for years,

But keep replacing when there is no need.

She is a plant in a pot too small,

She is ready to move on to bigger things.

17/3/16

When I’m sitting on a beach with you watching the sunset, and I look into your eyes just as the yellow hues from the fading light hit you right in the face. Your brown eyes suddenly have all the colours of Summer and Autumn and Spring mixed in them. There are reds around the outside, looking like the falling leaves that get stuck in my hair. Then there are browns and yellows of the bark of the trees that I spent my childhood summers climbing. As I work further in there are small specks of green and blue, showing the ocean and the waves that we first grew close to each other in. In the very centre, past the red love, the yellow happiness, the brown longing, the blue lust and the green safety, right in the middle is the colour black, the deepest darkest black. The black that holds untold stories and future memories. The black that holds all the stars in the universe. The black of the hole that I fell into when I fell for you.

From the Archives.

A Crimson Care Package

You shine like the sun and all the stars.

You carry your world on your shoulders, with your head held high you try to keep hidden the way it’s weighing you down.

Your love for God is so empowering

Your presence is that of soft spring winds passing through open windows and satin curtains.

Your laughter sounds like a soft melody plucked on a guitar floating off toward the stars from a group of smiles scattered around a campfire wrapped in blankets and love.

I worry for you and against my better judgements, do nothing.

I remember the first time I saw you, sitting on the bottom bunk of a dorm in the place where I grew up. And then we grew up more. We spent so many hours together, I remember drawing little animals on each other and taking endless photos. I remember the games we won and the many games we epically lost. And I am so thankful for all the little moments and inside jokes we shared (along with Nara). Thank you for all dish-co’s and all the quiet time chats and all the fun we had on outings, especially the reminders that we can’t have any idea where anything is in Mandurah because we don’t live there.

I also just want to say thanks for one more thing. I know that I would not have as many friends as I do now if it weren’t for you. You may not realise, but you became friends with our “Serps Squad” before I felt comfortable even speaking to them. But you made sure I was part of that group too, you made making friends easy for the first time in my life.

So I thought it was about time I told you what colours fill my head when you are around.

Your smile is a soft, rose pink that, when shown, is enough to lighten anyone’s heart. It encourages me to know that life isn’t all bad and there is always hope, even if it is sometimes hidden behind scowls and a fear that you’re upset with me.

You move like the colour blue. Your run incites excitement and energy in me and watching you dance is always enough to create pure joy. The sky would envy how blue you are when you’re moving.

Your insecurities are draped in golden yellow light. You spend all this time disguising them in something beautiful but you fail to realise that they were sparkling gold long before you even noticed them. This makes me want to spend hours dispelling every insecurity you have.

You my dear are all these colours and so much more. But behind it all, the colour I think of most as you is held in your love. It is the deepest cherry Red. It sends feelings of summer and apples and roses in a vase on the windowsill. It shines through in your love for everyone around you, sometimes despite better judgment. In the way you love God and the way you love to see others love God.

Don’t ever stop spreading this beautiful red love all around you.

A hand on the door handle and the other reaching for the perfume. the smell of Versace fills the room as she grasps her bag to leave. There are a dozen roses waiting for her at the door and her eyes smile as she notices them. She walks out into the evening air and the setting sun lights up her golden curls. This girl has longed for love for eternities and just now it shows how much. She is finally filled with self love, love that her God gave her to spread to all the corners of the earth. She smiles, for no one but herself this time.

I think of you daily and send love and prayers to you.

~ Zee xx

This Honey Coloured Hunny

A way with words that wows people.

You cause us frustration because of your pure perfection.

Your touch is wonderfully soft, like the feel of bedsheets that have been warmed by a lovers body.

Your voice touches everyone like warm summer rain and the smell of coffee by the ocean.

The words you write send shivers through entire bodies, like standing on Oxford Street in your warmest coat and listening to  the hustle and bustle of London life, like home.

You write like honey to the lips. It’s sweet and drips so perfectly. Sticks to me in ways you couldn’t imagine.

I watch you exist from afar, the view of your life is quite nice.

I don’t remember the first time I saw you, or the first time I was introduced to you, or the first time I spoke to you. I do remember watching you grow up on camp along with the rest of your crew; you all seemed to be the elites, unreachable for me. I remember when your hair was short and I remember watching the hilarious skits you and your friends managed to come up with, from the lion king reenactment to the raw pumpkin eating.

And I remember wishing someone like me could be friends with someone like you.

Thank you for granting me the pleasure of being your friend.

I knew you as Mowgli long before I knew you as Ben, so calling you Ben seems like more of a privilege to me than calling you Mowgs. So, Ben, here are your colours.

The music you listen to is pink. It inspired me to get back into writing and I listen to it when it’s raining. It reminds me that the rain and cold won’t last forever, and I’ll get through this winter just like I got through the last.

Your laugh is all shades of green. From the soft chuckles to the full blown howling when you find my sarcasm amusing. You’re the first person to compliment my sarcasm rather than be annoyed or insulted by it.

Your name is red. Deep, blood red. And hearing those three little letters reminds me of my little red boots from when I was nine years old. Your name reminds me of childhood and brings happiness.

But you, as a whole, are not pink, not green, and not red. I see you wearing your colour in your hair, at the ends and the roots and all in between. Yellow. Like the summer sun and spring daisies. The colour of friendship. I see it shine when you let your hair down and watch it intensify as you pull your hair back. It shows in every friendship I have seen you in and every other thing I see you do. You’re a golden child.

Thank you for your yellow friendship and the way it plays a part in shaping the way I treat everyone around me.

The ocean, a surf board, and tan fingers softly lay on the surface of the salt water. A school of tiny fish darting around beneath the surfer as he gazes out to the horizon. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the ocean air. He looks at home here. Content. He has left his troubles back with his towel on the sand. He has only love in his heart and his hands are fit to hold child royalty. He smiles lightly as he feels the morning sun on his cheeks; and thanks the man Himself for everything he has been blessed with.

I hope you know how much you are loved and appreciated.

~ Zee xx

Forget Me Not

“I will always be the younger sister to everyone I find attractive.”

But at this time in our lives, S, do we really need to be anything more?

Maybe we should just focus on having people who love us in that way rather than ruining the friendships we form by searching for something more.

Maybe we should be content with the fact that we are still learning to love ourselves, and basing too much of our happiness on another human being is only going to destroy us again.

Maybe we should focus on creating happiness in this messed up world through our words instead of blow jobs.

Maybe I’m completely wrong. And maybe I’m using ‘us’ too much when I should be using ‘I’.

But I feel like my intense want for a relationship made me temporarily forget to be happy in myself and I feel like I needed to fix that. I think I managed to help myself most when I was telling you what I needed to hear.

Please don’t forget me love, and everything we did for each other.

 

Love in ways others can’t understand.

Love so strongly that others find it hard to understand. 

Touch softly, speak softly, listen softly. Be kind, be there.

Love unapologetically, and unconditionally.