And one day, far from now, but sooner than you think, you realise no one is responsible for you, no one can meet your every need. The man you married says he can’t change, won’t change and suddenly you stop caring whether or not he does. Prince Charming who saved you from drowning in the mundane, who lyrically wrote you love letters turns out to be an unemployed fake and your favourite artist who writes the words your soul would liquify for, has been married three times in three years. And at first you are sad, overwhelmed that what you thought existed, does not, but relieved to finally hold the truth.

So you begin to roam the corridors of your soul and find romance in life, in the simple things. You plant frangupani’s , wear red on Wednesdays and paint your nails blue, you get a tattoo of a Phoenix on your wrist (because you will rise, rise now, rise) and kiss the tattoo artist on the lips: not because you want anything in return, but because he engraved on your wrist, but also on your heart.

Copyright Hiraeth 2014



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