I've always known I was loved, I just didn't feel it. 
Then I felt so loved, by someone who didn't love me. 
It is confusing. But if you add it all up, it all works out. 

This is why I don't believe in "the one" 

but I understand how there is the one…

who was the final number, 

the one that made it add up, 

that solved the equation, 

that balanced the books, 

and led you to the answer,

or at least, an answer.

I don't know what you are supposed to do when your one isn't the one, when you've worked it out, but it doesn't work out... 

Pretend that there is still a calculation? 

Play dumb and deny all knowledge of any answer?

Randomly throw numbers around until you find another problem? 

Tell yourself that it was the wrong answer and start again? 

I don't know what you are supposed to do when you finish the test so early that you cannot leave yet, and you have double and triple checked your numbers, until checking becomes meaningless and just makes you feel bored and insecure. 

I don't know what you are supposed to do, but I recommend sitting back into your chair, looking casually confident and completely content, making everyone else nervous. 

When the time finally comes for you to free yourself, when you get up and walk away, you will find the kind of quiet that only comes with the end of the world or the start of the day. And you wonder, are you really the only smart-arse left? Are they all still inside pretending that there is something they need to work out...   


I say I want the full loaf, but I still play with the breadcrumbs. 

I have discovered there are different ways to consume them. 

I have devoured them from the floor, on my hands and knees, when I have felt starving hungry, weeping afterwards for my whet unsated appetite. 

I have ignored them stubbornly, insisting that I'd rather starve than settle for less than I desire. 

I have gracefully and gratefully accepted scraps offered by paupers, knowing it is all they have, and that gift makes them a prince. 

I have followed breadcrumbs thinking they would lead me to the loaf, or maybe even a whole bakery. But the birds ate them all up and I have been lost.   

I have politely refused someone's leftovers because I have no appetite for them.  

I have become bored of scraps. 

I know I always receive and accept what I need. I trust that. So I no longer need this metaphor, but I still enjoy it.

I know I can know hunger while knowing I will never go hungry.  

new ways


This is one of my favourite things about humanity.


Those times I have been strange, doing something that doesn't make sense, saying something sassy, or getting lost in my own thoughts, I was just working on a new way to love something, or someone, or myself.  

Are you looking for a new way to love? It doesn’t really matter. It’ll find you either way... 

I am a memory

I am a memory. 

You cannot miss a memory.
It is part of you. 
Think of me and I’ll be there. 
Then you will realise
you cannot miss a memory. 
You can recall it anytime. 
Isn’t that what you meant
when you said you’d always be mine?  
I suppose the problem is
that every time you replay,
the recall can feel fuzzy, the clarity can fade.  

Do I feel less real now I’m further away?  

Or do I still boldly live inside you, 
closer every day. 


I don't believe in anything.

I don't believe that I don't believe in anything.

I believe in me.

And believing in nothing is still a belief system.

So I don't believe my disbelief either.

I suspend disbelief.

I believe in what I choose to believe at the time.

And I like to make believe.

I love it when life is so unbelievable that I believe in it.

I have believed and been wrong.

I have not believed and been surprised.

I don't believe I really believe the things I think I believe.

Why does beLIEve have lie in the middle?