no one can tell the difference

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I found this beautiful piece of writing only moments ago. A nice life reminder on a Tuesday evening.

Image via pinterest

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chloé spring 2016 paris fashion week

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Of all the shows to be presented during the month of fashion weeks across the globe, it would have to be Chloé that I have been waiting with baited breath for. Boy oh boy did it not disappoint. Designer Clare Waight Keller outdid herself once again in an homage to the 90’s in a perfectly mastered elegant youthful presentation. Now if it could all magically appear in my wardrobe I would be one happy woman.

All images via vogue runway.com

you were home to me

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I have wanted to put you into words since the first time we kissed. I have tried unsuccessfully numerous times. I am not even sure now, even after all this time passing that I can put you into letters arranged on a page. You seem to large, still too important to me, too full of life to be reduced to words.

How exactly does one put into words the softness of the place that runs from your thumb to your wrist. The skin that feels like silk, delicate, out of place on those strong hands.  I remember sitting with you on that rooftop bar, sitting there trying not to stare at your lips as you talked. Trying to give you my full attention when all I wanted to do was know the things only your lips could tell. That first time we kissed, all those months ago, that memory, lingered so strongly in the front of my mind but now, right now, being with you, in front of you. It was the way the light from the fire danced in your eyes as you spoke. Your rogueness, your irish boy charm, it flitted & lit up your eyes, opening up the window to your soul as you regaled stories to me. As you cracked open the knowledge of you for me to learn.

Looking back I think I had already fallen for you. Despite not seeing you for months before that night. Nobody has made me laugh as much as you did. No one has ever made me feel as safe as when I was near you. You even had the ability to make me feel safe, to feel wanted, even when I wasn’t near you. Our time together was limited, stolen moments that seemed to be spread out months in between. Regardless I fell for you. I fell for you with each message, with each telephone conversation, with each piece of you I unraveled in the awkward getting to know you exchanges of information.

Still to this day, well over a year since we saw each other, months since we have talked I think of you often. In the moments where my mind is still. I go to that memory of the roof top. The moments spent laying in your bed, my hair splayed on your chest. To the place where my head fit in the crook of your arm, my face moving with the gentle rise and fall of your breath in sync with mine. To your fingers drawing pictures on my back. To falling asleep wrapped up in your arms, knowing there was no safer place in the world for me to be. To staying cocooned like that for what seemed like eternity. To your room in your flat, to not wanting to leave, to you not wanting me to leave. I remember the smile that could not be wiped from my face for days afterwards. To the skip in my heartbeat every time you messaged me in the days to come. To the times when we would see each other again. Each encounter never feeling long enough.

Was it in these moments that I scared you? Was it in those skips of heartbeats that you knew the secret that I thought I held so tightly to my heart. Was it when I left you, that you realised that you felt the same way as me? Was it in those moments that you decided the only thing you could do was walk in the other direction? To just pass these moments off as bad timing?

I wish you had the strength to realise what an incredible thing you had stumbled across. The beautiful happen stance that you walked into that party of strangers and found me standing there. Even now when you haunt my dreams, I cannot help but hope that I am doing the same to you in that very moment. That the things I remember so vividly are not just shared by me. That if you could you would change the choices you made.

Whilst the times I think of you are getting further and further apart. As the images I have of you get less in focus in my memory. I cannot help but think you were absolutely the one that got away. The one that slipped through my fingers, the one whom I had no control of the circumstances of our meeting, of our future. If only you knew that I was not going to leave you, to hurt you, to break you like you had been previously. If only you had given me the chance to show you what real love could be like. One in which all of your insecurities, all of my insecurities are safe. That you were home. That I was home.

I hope you have found a home. I hope someone can be home for you. I hope you are happy. I hope you are making someone laugh so much their insides hurt. I hope now that I have put you into words that I can find my home. That someone can be home with me. Beannacht maith daor cuimhní.

loneliness : a human condition

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A couple nights ago I ventured down a familiar path, one in which millions of others have gone before me and I dare say twice as many are yet to commit the crime in the future. My crime in question….I stalked an old flames social media. Whether we like to admit it out loud or not we have all been there at some point in our lives. It is late at night, you are feeling vulnerable and before you know it you are on their page. Somehow you make it back months and months into their life, looking at what photos they have submitted. All the while making assumptions on how their life is going without you.

What I didn’t expect though was two things. Firstly just how good he looked. He looks really good. Incredible in fact. He looks fit, relaxed, toned, his arms, his chest look strong and manly. He looks happy. What hit me though was how much I missed those piercing eyes of his. They are the type of eyes that you can see into his soul. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles. His kindness, wit and honesty shine out of them. His eyes reflect the type of human being he is. That smile… oh that smile…. do not even get me started on that smile.

The second thing….was the loneliness, the shakiness I have been left with, even days later. The shakiness is coming from the place in my soul that knows,  right this minute in my life I am not happy with my love life. Don’t get me wrong ….I have been single for 8 years. I know what loneliness is. I have made friends with loneliness. I may have even made peace with it. There are times though that it does not sit right with me. It feels like a weight is on my chest and doesn’t allow me to breath. Like I am trapped in a small room with no fresh air. I have always felt that even though I am completely surrounded by people, that I am all alone. That I am standing in a crowd yet no one notices me. This feeling gets all consuming at times. It engulfs me, swallows me whole. I know these feelings will pass. They always do. Just like the gaps between the friendly stalking gets longer and longer. So to does the unsettledness  of my loneliness. I read a beautiful quote recently from Albert Einstein.

” The woman that follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.”

So for now whilst my journey in this maddening crowd called life is one in which I walk alone. I know it will not always be this way. The best thing I can do is use this time to understand who I am, know what it is I want and not let anything less than extraordinary stand in my way.

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the third floor

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When I was younger and imagined myself at 30, the image was so defined, so clearly planned out. Marriage, children, the white picket fence, the dog running around. This was the image of being a grown up. But as the years stretched out, became closer and closer to the apparent bench mark that I had set myself…what exactly does being a grown up mean? What exactly does being a fully fledged adult entail? At thirty one and five days I have none of the above but does this make me less happier than the picture I had painted in my head all those years ago? Does not having those things make me any less of an adult? I pay my weekly rent, I pay my bills, I buy expensive clothes if I want to, I go on holidays more than twice a year, I can afford to feed myself rather well in face, perhaps if I am determined I have actual substantial savings in the bank. I read an article earlier today by Sarah Wilson in which she muses that there are no grown ups. She says that we suspect this when we are young, but we can only confirm it once we have reached a point where we have responsibilities. Everyone is just winging it, just some do it more confidently. I resonated with this sentiment. I felt like I have known it for years but was always still waiting in the wings to be handed the baton to adulthood when the time was right. To be given the secret password or the secret key which opened this world of adulthood I was not privy to.

It was a pretty nice delight to wake up on my thirty first birthday and not feel the rush of disappointment within myself that I had not ticked all the boxes I had set out for myself all those years before. Yes I had a year to settle into this new 30 year skin but the angst is still there no matter how balanced & grounded you think you are. The voices still badger you in those dark moments when you least expect it. Not that I like taking from other people but I met an incredible inspiring woman, who turned 31 the day before me and she referred to this this time in our lives as reaching the third floor. I loved the simple sentiment of the phrase. I have reached the third floor and I am making my way to the fourth floor but which each passing year I will continue to conquer, dominate and defeat the demons that stop me from being the exceptional woman I have moulded myself into to get to this point, to reach this level in my life. This is a time to celebrate the achievements in my life no matter how small, no matter how insignificant. I do not have the husband or the back seat full of children or the beautiful home but what I have in return is no less significant. No less worthy of patting myself on the back for a job well done in getting myself to this point in my life. So to anyone freaking out that the third floor is looming or that the third floor has arrived and it still makes them feel like they should have one foot on the second floor. I say to hell with that, embrace this time in our lives. The third floor is the new black. To the women who are my kindred spirits and are still waiting for the mirage on the horizon that seems to never get closer to how life should be, I say let’s change the landscape that sits on the horizon into one that defines the women who we have become not the ones we think we should be. This past year has been one of challenges but with that comes the bountiful rewards,  the experiences I have opened myself up to, the homecoming to my friends and family for whom I cannot thank enough for their belief in me. I cannot wait to see what 31 has in stall for me and the new adventures that are just around the corner.

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sunday lovin’

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It has been quite awhile since a Sunday has had me smiling right down into my deepest depths of my soul quite like today. From my morning coffee from Jamie’s on my drive down the coast, to the morning paddle board with two of my favourite human beings, salty swims, impromptu coffee at new cafes, conversations to awaken the soul, eating watermelon with the juice running down my fingers and face leaving them sticky with joy, listening to John Coltrane as the sun goes down and the summer breeze flows through my apartment and to finish it all off a run along the river restoring my faith in my body and the limits it can push itself to when it has to all while watching possibly the most spectacular sunset I have seen since being home. Yes. Yes indeed Sundays are my favourite day of the week. IMG_3033 Image: courtesy of my friend Brooke