31 December 2010
When it rains
I'm one of those very sentimental people, and I always have been. I used to save all my Easter eggs when I was a kid, keep them safe, unopened, until the chocolate started to go white and my Mum had to throw them out when I wasn't looking, somtime in August. On the last day before my birthday, I would go around the house announcing; 'this is the last time I will eat my breakfast when I am nine', in a theatrical way. Before I went to bed I would whisper to my Mum; 'this is my last ever sleep before I'm ten.' My parents thought I was nuts. On the eve of the Millenium, I made a little box, wrote a letter, popped in a picture, and buried it in the back garden. I've forgotten where it is now, but holding onto time was so important to me, I had made everyone come and watch.
Every Christmas, I used to get a diary from my Great Aunt - one to write stories in, not for the dates. I made promises to write my stories every day. January always started with beautiful handwriting. But by mid February I used to forget a day - sometimes two. By the time March came along, my diary was almost a write off (pardon the pun). I was rarely completely honest, for fear someone might find it. But I did love the way I could keep myself paused in a single moment, forever inked on the paper.
New Years Eve is like this for me. The fireworks boom, the people all scramble for kisses and time seems to hold still a few seconds longer for me.
In those few seconds, the world becomes still and I think of the times it has poured with rain. Of the people who have loved me, and those who have taught me about love. I shouldn't hold on to time, because things naturally change. Life doesn't stop and it can't be held tight, or controlled with my pen. The rain falls, and washes the dark away. Like a new start. A new year. Another day.