Amateur Writing

Can I write? No. Do I keep trying? Yes.




The sand slips between your toes.
The wind plays with the ends of your hair.
The sea engulfs the sleeping sand beds.
The shore is filled with ocean air.

A breath, a smile, a sigh of relief.

Finally, you are at peace.



You know when it’s raining there’s that distinct smell? It is earthy and fresh. It is staying inside at break time, watching it dribble down the glass windows whilst we play cards. It is running in from P.E, changing out of sodden sport clothes with dripping hair. It is holidays in Cornwall, rain drumming on the roof of the tent and dripping down the edges. It is sitting on a bench after being broken up with, watching the snails dodge the droplets. It is spring evening walks, trying to clear your confused and muddled head.

It’s cleansing. It’s familiar. It’s rain.



I wanted to write about grass today, the emerald leaves that sprout from the earth.
It is the ground’s blanket, the ground’s fur.

Yet every time I started writing my mind would go blank suddenly, and then it would go back to you.

Continue reading “Grass.”

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