Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Tuesday, 26 July 2016

What is this world without you? 

Less hopeful, less fun, less beautiful. But it still spins. It will keep spinning towards you.

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

You loved olives, I hated them.

It's the way your eyes looked so blue they almost looked brown. It's the way you read the recipe over five times to try and make it perfect. It's the way you used matches instead of a lighter. It's the way you finished my drinks. It's the way you always had holes in your jeans. Its the way you said I'd have to put up with your laziness. It's the way you hated football. It's the way you pronounced Benedict Cumberbatch's name wrong. It's the way you smoked out of your window. It's the way you looked me in the eyes and said cheers with every drink. It's the way you joked about my lisp. It's the way you spilt coffee on your white t-shirt. It's the way you attached your bike to the rails outside. It's the way that your laugh sounded. It's the way you didn't pair your socks in their draw. It's the way your heart beat on the wrong side. It's the way you couldn't spell. It's the way you tried to talk your way into places even though they were closing. It's the way you took your own bags to the supermarket. It's the way you always arrived before me. It's the way you slept diagonally. It's the way you liked red wine and I liked white. It's the way you always had something in your hair. It's the way you could never tell if I was joking or not. It's the way your tattoos looked. It's the way you looked so happy with yourself when you finally found the pine nuts. It's the way you cycled without a helmet. It's the way you sung out of tune. It's the way you looked like Cillian Murphy. It's the way your Manchester accent sounded. It's the way you ate cheesecake wrong. It's the way you got angry at the crow outside the window. It's the way you took too long to get ready. It's the way you scanned things on the self service checkout so slowly. It's the way you hadn't heard of any of the bands I liked. It's the way you couldn't open the coffee. It's the way you had grey hairs. It's the way you stood in the shower the wrong way round. It's the way you always made me late. It's the way you wouldn't let me pay for anything. It's the way you tried to get me to sing for you. It's the way you made me drink rum. It's the way you loved creme brulee. It's the way you tried to do accents. It's the way you offered to let me use your toothbrush. It's the way you always woke me up too early. It's the way you put your jacket around me when I was cold. It's the way your eyes creased when you smiled. It's the way you loved olives and I hated them.

It's the way that you were you and I was me. It's the way that...
I miss you. 

Monday, 18 July 2016

It's all for you, you know. At this moment, still, it's all for you. 

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

This is for you.

I've always admired people with tattoos. The body art tells a story of who that person is and what has happened in their past. For me, it has to be important to get etched into my skin forever. I need to have the satisfaction of looking down at the tattoo and knowing exactly why it is there and the memories and emotions that are associated with it. That's how tattoos should be in my mind. Little secrets on my skin showing my journey through life and why I am who I am today.

Before now I had six tattoos. Three for my twin and three for myself. Each one a delicate reminder of what is important. I'd wanted another one but was unable to decide what to get. When I met James one of the first things I noticed when he took off his jacket were the tattoos on his arms. We had a conversation about them, comparing stories and showing each other our collections. It's safe to say that it was no secret at all that I thought his were awful. He knew this from date one and agreed that he wasn't happy with most of them. By date three I had seen all six in their entirety and my conclusion was the same. They were bad tattoos. He said he couldn't afford to get good tattoos. I questioned why he would then even get them at all.

On our last day the conversation arose again and we discussed our future body art. He said he wanted to have laser surgery on his right arm and then have it covered with a black and white full sleeve. He proceeded to show me pictures from the artist (who had a two year waiting list in Brooklyn) who he wanted to do it. He asked me what I wanted and I told him of my plans to have a black and white, horizontal design on my right arm above my elbow. I'd wanted one with that placement for months but was struggling to find a meaningful design which I wanted permanently. He asked if I had any ideas and when I said "no" he fell silent. After about a minute he said "I know what would look really good there." I immediately sighed, wrinkled my brow and said "Oh god, what?" This was a tattoo idea coming from a man who had his own initials inked into his wrist. I wasn't expecting great things.

"A triangle... with a tree in it."

I didn't even have to take a moment before the word left my lips. "No." He asked why and I reeled off the many reasons including the unnecessary triangle and the fact it would have no meaning to me at all. He laughed at my response and then I laughed too. I never thought that two months later I would be sitting at the tattoo studio in Hackney waiting to get the design, knowing that out of all my tattoos it has the most meaning to them all. 

I'm obviously not going to let him take all the credit for how good the tattoo turned out. I sat down with my sister who drew the amazing design and had a long, hard think about exactly what I wanted. I decided on an a Spanish olive tree. He was learning Spanish and had such an admiration for the country. He also loved olives and thought I was weird for hating them. It seemed like the perfect choice. Now I'll carry a part of him with me forever and this gives me comfort. He's had a massive impact on my life and this is a symbol to show it. I'll never forget. This is for him.

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