Do you follow your heart or your head?

A warm April evening, my twin brothers jump and laugh through the waves. It’s the end of the first hot day of year, the air hanging heavy, so hot you can taste it. I’m jealous, my sandaled feet planted in the pebbles, I’m not allowed to swim with them. Instead I’m a lighthouse, holding a lantern up for the ships bobbing and playing in the surf. I dream of throwing down the lantern and running in after them, of the water lapping against my skin and rocking me. I turn, my father stands behind me with his new camera which he’s so proud of and snaps a picture. Then I hear the lantern smash to the ground, I feel my feet carrying me into the water and then it’s all around me. Freedom. Not for long. My brothers pull me back to the shore, I’m in disgrace.

I put down the sepia photograph and smile, smile at the memory of the most rebellious thing I ever did, until I ran away with my husband. I wonder if I hadn’t thrown myself into the sea that day, whether I would have thrown myself into the unknown to be with the man I loved. In those few seconds I felt completely free, completely happy and though no-one else could understand why, it had been worth it. In those few seconds my impulsiveness had taken over, my heart had ruled over my head and I wouldn’t give them away for anything. I was not an impulsive child, nor am I an impulsive adult, but since that day I have followed my heart and I think it’s served me pretty well. There are others of course, for whom that advice fails miserably but you can never know if you are among them until you’ve tried. I am not brave, I am not lucky, I cannot predict the future. I can only trust.

When writing this I was reminded of this quote which I think of often:

In the end we only regret:
the chances we didn't take,
the relationships we were afraid to have,
& the decisions we took too long to make

Image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Under a Violet Sky

Under a violet sky I walk unsteadily, to the place I remember so vividly from my past. When I woke my room was bathed in purple, drawing me back to that night long ago, when I was young and beautiful and in love. They had told us it was a once in a lifetime experience, rarer than a solar eclipse, more beautiful than the aurora borealis, a geomagnetic storm that would flood the country with intense colour. But here I am again, surrounded by dancing indigo and heliotrope, with sand between my toes as I gaze upwards.

We had walked here hand in hand and then sat under the twisting tree, our toes dipping into the purple lake. His arm was warm and heavy around my shoulders, as I rested my head against his chest, listening to his calm heartbeat, trying to capture the moment forever in my memory. He pointed at the deepest purple swirls and declared they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen on earth, apart from me. I smiled even though I knew he was lying, nothing could be more beautiful than this moment. He held me close and whispered that he loved me, I whispered the same back and I meant it. I’m looking for those deep purple swirls now, searching for him, because if there’s anywhere he’d choose to go it would be there and when I die I’ll join him.

He kissed my forehead and then stood, leading me by the hand to a small wooden boat that lay on its side, anchored by a huge bell. We clambered in and then lay side by side on our backs watching the heavens. The boat’s still there, older; the wood peeling, the bell rusted. I smile as I remember how we lost ourselves completely in the brilliant lights and then, as they dimmed, in each other. I climb awkwardly into the boat, and lie down; I can almost feel him next to me again. Sweeping the sky I find the deepest purple hue, I see it one last time reflected in his gorgeous eyes and then I sleep. I sleep better than I have in years, and before morning I too will be in those beautiful swirls in the violet sky.

Thank you for reading this, I loved writing it, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Mirror tears

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the mud from her boots, dropping to join the mud below.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the tears down her face, dropping to join the rain down below.

She knew he would never come, but still she waited. Shivering from the cold, the fog crept into her coat. Black figures emerged from the mist as it ebbed, each one making her heart stop, but they never moved, except for their slowly appearing branches as they tossed in the wind.

But he did come, his head bowed as he sat on the opposite side of the crimson bench, a mirror image of where he used to sit. She wished she could climb back through the mirror, back in time, back to his side. It was too late, he was too late. She stood up, walked away, never looking back.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the mud from her boot-prints on the bench, dropping to join the mud below.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the tears down his face.

Image from Creative Writing Ink http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/