My heart flies late at night,
always starting in the past
in what could have been,
should have been,
it passes through the moments
of bliss and beauty and turns
at reality;
it steps through the moments
you were mine and the many more
I wished you were,
it flies amongst the pieces,
tears of what was us
and it stands brave because
the sun awakes and makes it way
to a new day
(and there is always
a new day)

Copyright Hiraeth 2015

Butterflies in dreams

Slowly you will rise and see
That what you wanted, who you are
Is not what you aspired to be.
And you start again,
You start anew.
Slowly you will rise and see
That what you loved, who they are
Is not what you dreamed them to be.
And you start again,
You start anew.
Slowly you will rise and see
That what you knew, who you were
Is tangled forever in what you’ll be
(And you start again – always
You start again,
Because dreams like butterflies
Always fly free)

Copyright Hiraeth 2014


“We have coffee at his flat and with the aroma of caffeine, sea and cigarette smoke, I tell him my story, no embellishment, no minimizing, just how it was. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lose eye contact, just listens. And after I finish reciting an entire list of why he shouldn’t date me, including that I won’t fit in with his friends, I am emotionally broken and very, very complicated with many compulsive habits (I check my Ghd is off four times before leaving for work), he turns to me and says “do you hear the waves?” and suddenly, I do.”

Copyright HiraethPhoenix 2014


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