Exciting things...

are beginning to happen.

Including performing infront of famous people! Gah/eee.

I shouldn't have had

that dream. It felt alive.

Childhood.

The curtain fell and all of the children filtered off the stage, bouquets in hand. I was empty handed. It was mostly just flower heads that had fallen but between my ballet shoes was a single rose. I picked it up, closed my eyes and imagined my mum presenting it to me. It was the best moment of my life. Then I opened my eyes. I knew that someone would come to clean up soon so I ran around the stage picking up all of the remains hoping to salvage a make-shift bouquet. It wouldn't be perfect but at least they wouldn't ask me why my mum hadn't gotten me flowers. I managed to collect a few flowers of different colours and sorts and stick some lone flower heads inbetween, all tied together by my ballet belt. When people asked, I swelled with pride and said that they were from my mum. I met my mum outside. She took one look at my creation and asked what I'd done that for. I told her as I told her every year that everyone on stage gets flowers from their parents and that flowers mean well done.

The next year, I was getting ready to go back on stage, flowerless, when I saw a huge bouquet on my table. I wandered over feeling nosey, peeked at the tag and there was my name...in my mum's handwriting! I paraded around the whole room so that everybody had seen before I stepped on stage with the biggest smile I had ever posessed. I met my mum outside the stage door and said thank you about ten times. She replied with "Well I didn't want people to think i'd given you that thing you were carrying around last year." The next year my table was empty.

Retrospect.

I wrote your name in glitter and you wrote over it in pen so that it would stay. It's still there, I checked. I remember the sunlight making your hair transparent, running through grass that had grown to our knees, falling and staying there because once we were hidden we didn't have to pretend we didn't like each other as much as we did. I remember that I wasn't ashamed of my sweat patches or that my trousers were falling down. Nothing mattered because we didn't care.