still here

watching tears roll down splashing onto dark blue weaves of wooly jumper. They slide over pale cheeks and tremble on the tip of a button-nose. If I kissed them they would taste of salt, wet on my lips, cold on my tongue. They glue lashes to one-another.
If I touched those scars they would be rough. Hills and mountains under my fingertips. Tiny rows, neat, tidy. Purposeful.

Life and that

The sun is battling the wind, putting on a show and warming peoples faces, but this island which is an isthmus will create havoc, rain clouds on the way for tomorrow. A tui chases a sparrow from his prime spot nestled in the blooms of red and yellow nectar. I like to watch the way the wind blows, it doesnt feel cold on my skin anymore.