Sometime this week I found something I wrote when I was about nine. It might be a made up episode of the smurfs. I've edited the language. Its rather cheesy. Not much has changed.


There was once a magical land far far away and in it lived lots of blue people. The blue people were musical people. They sang all the time. They sang as they slept, they sang as they awoke, they sang when they ate, they sang when they worked. They sang when they were sad, which was rarely, since they were always singing, and they sang when they were happy. One day an evil witch invaded the musical magical land and stole the music. The blue singers were horrified. There was death and destruction. The flowers died and the leaves fell. The sun set and it was dark and gloomy. People started fighting. The land of blue magical musicals hadn't seen a worst day since the beginning of time. 

There was an old wise blue magical musical person who lived in a small hut on a hill. Devastated (the original phrase was 'mad and sad'), and helpless the blue people went to him to ask what they should do. He was the wisest man in the entire land. When they told him about how their music, the air that they breathed had been stolen, he smiled calmly. 'It's there', he said, 'Look carefully'. Confused and still helpless, the blue people went back to their homes,sadder than they had ever been. They looked and searched for days for the music that the old wise man talked about, but with no results. One day, Tristan, a young blue magical musical person, sat near the river, remembering a time that he had sung to his sister. He played the episode inside his head. His sister was ill, and he had sung to make her better. He smiled sadly as he thought of it, and of how all their music had been stolen by the evil witch. He sat quietly near the river, remembering his song and he started to feel different. A flower next to him bloomed. He thought about what the old man had said and realized where the music was hidden. He kept singing in his head and flowers bloomed everywhere. He realized he had found the music. It was in his head.

I have been in my bed for days thinking about the couple of months I shared with someone who has now left to across continents. I was told not to wallow and get out and move on with my life, but I wasn't drowning. I was still consumed in whatever of him I had left, and didn't want to distract myself from any of it. So I wore an oversized stolen t shirt, smoked cloves, and lay around listening to music I couldn't bear till a couple of months back. I didn't want any traces to leave yet, I wasn't ready. The world's attitude to heartbreak(lack of a better word) bothers me. I'm not ill, and I don't need to be cured just yet.