i am made up of everybody i have ever loved, lost and cherished. life moves on slowly, but it moves nonetheless.
“Spoons not forks!” my old swimming instructor used to say. I still hear it whenever I’m in open water, watching my fingers scoop through the waves. It’s funny how certain moments stick, even after all these years. Like the sparkly pony stickers still clinging to my dressing table-faded, immovable, a relic of seven-year-old me.
Some pieces of people stay with you. Tender reminders, like a stone in your pocket, rubbed smooth over time. Others you cast into the stream, watching the ripples as you wish the past had unfolded differently.
It’s a certain blue Golf, or the charm bracelet I wear every day. It’s the book I lent a guy I never saw again, or that Spar deli near Woodquay. Only one person ever called me “Ciars,” and I still think of the chocolate-spread crackers we shared at lunchtime.
People I haven’t embraced in years.
Often, my head is a difficult place to live. I struggle with change, as the stream of life rises and falls like laboured breath. I cling to the familiar, to the echoes of those who’ve walked beside me-even if only briefly.
And yet, not all memory is sorrow.
There are days when the past feels soft.
Days when the weight I carry is warm, not heavy.
I smile at the reminders: voices, objects, places that once held me.
People are good. I’ve met many.
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