Senses.
22 January 2014 • change, creative piece, creative writing, emotions, feel, feelings, happiness, happy, life, look, love, memories, memory, scent, see, senses, smell, touch, writing
I've discovered many things about the world in the past three years. Vodka goes beautifully with orange juice - tastes healthy and the malicious alcohol takes longer to sneak up behind you. If you're super chatty with the gents behind the counter in the post office, First Class recorded delivery is free. All-nighters are not the answer. There is always time to read for pleasure.
Anyway, one of the key things I've learned (outside of the lecture hall) is that emotions have taste. They have scent, and texture, and sound. Memories mix and mingle until they are synonymous with these few emotions. I taste my feelings, and I hear my memories.
Disappointment tastes like Fosters and lime. Smells like Lynx and embodies ugly immaturity.
Confusion sucks in menthol, and sighs out hot ash. It's smeared on the mirror in the toilets; lipstick in a dark pinkish hue, the feeling of the kettle boiling and the window steaming up. Driving late at night, a dark sea and cold conversational pauses.
Love had a sad odour for so long, a palpable sticky sweaty air; now, it's that bright freshness at 7:45am, buzzing ink, pumping blood and original source shower gel.
Contentment is warm berries on the tongue, soy Chai and cinnamon, chilled white wine in the salty wind as we sit on the beach and bask in the sheer loveliness of it all. Excitement is cutting tags off clothing, ingredients laid out on the chopping board, notification noises and keys jingling in your hand.
Sisterhood is marker pen on cotton, clanging pans on the hob, pop culture quotes and frantic typing. Friendship is plastic glasses clinking and new shoes slipping; vanilla bathroom spray, chairs squeaking across the floor, cheese feast pizza while staring at screens. Hard gravel beneath our feet, wool wrapped around our shoulders, burning tears sliding down our faces, then the clear ringing through the night air as we laugh it off; gulping and spluttering, suddenly struggling to contain it. Dad is Armani in the bathroom, rubbed off on the towels, minty breath and stiff linen hugs, pints being poured and excited talk on trains.
Strength is machines beeping, light and foamy gluten-free cake being shared, bones scraping, steady breathing and smiles stretching, hurting your cheeks.
Every emotion has a string of senses attached to it, and an accompanying tale, cautionary or cheerful, that caused these things to be forever linked. Everyone has their own sensory story, their own associations. Nobody has the same.
Unless, like me, you just really love red wine and soy lattes.
The 31st.
6 January 2014 • 31st, boyfriend, drunk, happy, I love you, love, magic, new start, new year, new year's eve, nye, resolutions, sex
'I'm drunk, so I can't make any promises for tomorrow or after. But god damn I love you.'
The words slip out as the bells toll; new year, new year, 2014, magnificent and terrifying, splendid and tipsy. Start as you mean to go on.
After a notable amount of cider, a bottle of vodka mixed elegantly with fruit juice, and some good old faithful Jack with his buddy Coke, I'm suitably sustainably sloshed and ready to see in the new year. Start fresh. Resolutions: many. Better self-control, put my all into everything I do, stop making excuses, do more yoga and rise above the stupid behaviour. Also, make things right with friends, prioritize better the ones I care most about, throw away ancient grudges and move past old jealousy. Put my heart into my relationship - that one's done. It was done when I heard his words in my ear, and I all too quickly returned them, hushed and fully immersed in the moment. Everything was golden and happy, my very being was ablaze and all I could see were clear calm oceans to sail upon.
I know it was too soon, and he knows, too. We've held off since, snuggling back into the old routine of just liking, and lazy mornings. But someday we'll say it again. And I'll feel that marvellousness all over me, all over again. I'm waiting for that day. It could be tomorrow, it could be a month away. But I know it'll come.
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