Who I am.

insight fortyfive throughout my camping holiday in Bembridge, Isle of Wight, i wrote creative writing pieces each day. so here, have a read... 5th August 2017 10 minutes past 1. the rain suddenly races towards the desert-cracked field, families run here and there quickly collecting their chairs, hot dogs and children before the drums rumble loud in the clouded sky. 15 minutes past 1. silence weaves itself in and out the bedrooms as tired eyes close momentarily to the rhythmic beat of the thin tent roof being danced upon by small water droplets. 20 minutes past 1. rain easing, the families return to their sun loungers and happy chatter is heard once again (consider the fact I'd had no sleep and a 5:45am ferry...) 6th August 2017 sun beating down on my bare shoulders, i push against the white waves and swim into the deep. seagulls blaring and salt water splashing, i dip my brunette hair into the more-cold-than-warm sea, letting it weave itself i...

insight fortyfour rain trickles down the blotched white roof of the conservatory and the loud taps echo through my left ear. music blasting through a single headphone in the other, that specific scent rolls through my open window and surrounds me as I dangle my bare legs over the frame. the sheer sound and tranquillity that comes from 3 am rain calms my faded soul and clears my mind of everything cluttered. clouds float over the trees as I wait in anticipation for the sunrise, phone balanced on lap listening to music. danger strikes through me as my mind flickers to the untimely death of the ifs and buts in the event of falling however I relax myself by staring out the blurry glass, simply watching the water droplets race to the bottom. at times like these i thank my sleep problems for keeping me up at the lonely hours, for helping my eyes strain at a laptop screen to type these very words whilst everyone else is taken away to the land of steady breathing and ...

insight five  Isolated rain waters the horizon, as I jog through the woods behind my home. With dug out badger bungalows and lifted roots of willow trees, the forest made a peaceful motherland for all that lived. I slow down my pace when I reach the brown pipe, a long wide tube that can be balanced upon only by the most skilled of beings. Let it be said that I am not talented nor a professional gymnast but somehow I manage to remain upon it. Levelling my arms with my shoulders, I place one foot at a slight angle in front of the other, tracing my movements down the pole. Nearing the end of my performance, I leap into the air and travel a distance only applauded by a single squirrel in the nearby oak tree. Oblivious to the passing of time, I detect a small tear journey down my face, but it’s not me who is melancholy. Tilting my head towards the skies, I feel more droplets dance upon my cheeks. To avoid being showered from head to toe, I dash through the trees to search fo...