Behind Those Doors

It’s her birthday today. A happy occasion. 9 years old. Everyone in her class was celebrating, but for another one of her classmates, whose birthday is today as well. This little boy who shared the same birthday as her was in a suit, pretty leather shoes, and a hat. Aloysius. He’s handsome. She thought to herself. Then she looked at herself. Old dress, torn shoes, dirtied hairband. But it’s okay, it alright, at least I’m alive. Then a couple came into the classroom. It’s his parents. Tears welled up in her eyes. She watched on, as the many well wishes and presents were given to the boy.

Finally the day ended. No one knew it was her birthday, and it was alright. She never celebrated her birthdays anyway. No one celebrated it for her after her mum left this world 4 years ago. Her mum died when she was 5, and she could hardly recall any memories of her. How much can a 5 year old remember anyway?

“Claire, let’s go.”

A voice comes from behind her, which sent shivers down her spine. No, I don’t wanna go home. Please. She didn’t turn around.

“Claire.” The stern voice came again.

A teacher walk passed, “Claire, your daddy is here, time to go home! Be good, and I’ll see you tomorrow dear!”

The walk back home was one with heavy steps. Everyday, her dad would pick her up from school. And everyday, she dreaded going home. She tried running away from home once, but got caught, and she never dared try again. So she went home with her daddy. Every single day. Ever since her mum died 4 years ago.

She went straight to her room once they got home. She locked the door. And headed to bed.

“Claire, open up.”

“No. Not today. Please.” She begged.

“Claire. I have the keys to your door, so we either do it the easy way, or the difficult way.”

“Please daddy, please.”

“Claire, I’m not gonna say it again.”

She started tearing, slowly moving to open the door. Her father came in, and the doors closed behind him.

Click.

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If Money Didn’t Matter

What would you be doing right now?

Me? Probably music. And writing.

My days would be spent on the guitar, ukulele, and keyboard, singing, lyric writing, music writing maybe, anything.

Then when I get tired, I’d take a break. Take a drink, and rest. Maybe take out a pen and paper, and write random stories. Observe people and come up with interesting stories, poetry.

One day. When money doesn’t matter anymore. That’s what I would do.

Simple Innocent Creatures

Kids.

After a hard day at work, I look forward to coming home to see him. He’s my happypill, and re-energizer. Just a hug and kiss from him warms my heart, and makes me feel so strong again. We have dinner together, then I bathe him, and tuck him into bed. I give him a kiss.

“Good night, I love you.”

Good night, I love you too.

On the weekends, we wake up late together. I’m tired, can we lay in bed all day? “Come on, we gotta get going!” We go for breakfast/brunch, morning strolls by the beach, and head home to rest.

I love looking at him. When he plays alone, he always seems to be in a daze, or rather deep in thought, thinking about nothing, or maybe everything. He looks as if he’s trying to figure the whole world out, he looks like he’s thinking so hard, wondering about the many things in life.

I love him. He is never afraid to give, and he never expects returns. Besides food, and toys. He’s always smiling at you, waiting for you, listening to you. He doesn’t understand much, but when you’re upset, it’s like he knows, and he becomes a really good boy. He comes to you, hold your hand, and even hugs you. It’s like he knows.

And dogs.

Lonely Christmas

She walked along the streets under the falling white snow. Beautiful sky, beautiful buildings, beautiful people. She looked around, realizing that everyone around her were couples. Boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives. But she? She was alone. Not necessarily lonely. But alone. Not necessarily bad. But alone.

It wasn’t always like that though. She loved, and had been loved, by a wonderful man. But then it ended. And on this fateful night, the amazing view, and all the couples who surrounded her, made her think of him again.

Ahh it would be nice if he was here. With me. Haha. Don’t be silly, you.

In a distance, she saw the fireworks display, people laughing, people kissing, people being together, and happy.

I never thought it mattered, but I’m envious. Of all these people, so deeply in love. When did Christmas become a couple thing. When did Christmas become Valentines day.

I don’t know. But I’ll wait. Until it’s my turn to have someone to hold my hand again.

My Dream Guy

Some people tend to say, there is no such thing as falling in love with a type of person. Well yes, I believe there shouldn’t be such things as “my dream man should be the handsome type.” Or “my dream man should be a humorous one.” And I agree, to a certain extent.

No one’s dream partner should be a particular type that describes a superficial characteristic. Because behind that superficial characteristic that interests you, there’s so much more to a person. That alone, is not sufficient.

After that being said, I do hope of a particular type of guy. My dream guy? Must be inspirational, and positive. Someone who is supportive, but at the same time doesn’t blindly support me. Someone who knows to tell me if I’m wrong, and shares his perspective of things, not to prove that I’m wrong, but to genuinely tell me about my skewed views. And how my view differs from his, but also accepts that my views are mine, and not for him to change as he likes. Someone who can hold a proper conversation without taking things personally, talk sense to me calmly and positively, and encourage me even when I’m wrong. Someone who is also kind and forgiving. Someone who can guide me, teach my random things (no matter how big or small), and wants me to excel as much as he wants himself to. A relationship where both parties respect each other, can grow alongside each other, trusting that despite growth there will not be negligence, and in fact more love. That is my dream guy.