15 min read

She sat by the window as raindrops freckled the cheap glass. The storm roiling outside seemed to maintain a riotous tempo with the tempest inside her. She pressed her head to the cool glass as warm tears wet her cheeks, mixing quietly with the smudged shadows of raindrops streaming down the window pane.And the world seemed a little smaller, as if the storm caused it to collapse in on itself. She was overcome by feelings of loneliness and abandonment. As if her weak body housed the only living, breathing spirit on the planet. A derisive snort escaped her lips, the reflection of her sneer condemning her pathetic narcissism. She was after all not the first person to ever have had to make the hard choice between love and hard cold reality, understanding that it was a rare occasion when these could co-exist. And she had tirelessly sought, and fought for, that harmony for years. She had wished, she had hoped, she had waited. But as time pressed on, and the days turned to months, and the months to years, she grew weary of fighting what seemed like a losing battle.  She grew weary of hasty promises made in the quiet wake of thunderous arguments. She grew weary of the constant reminders of all she had done wrong and all she could put right if she chose not to pursue love. The wind rattled the glass in its frame shaking her from her teary contemplation. Yes, a decision must be made. But for today, she would sit in this window and let her finger s trace patterns in the raindrops and hope that the storm outside would calm the one brewing quietly inside her.

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your body is the sky by She-hates-mondays

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we are one with the trees by kittysyellowjacket

Feelings down the window pane by iNeedChemicalX

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There is a story behind the window by Rebeca-Cygnus

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Of-Heliotropes

Oct 7, 2013

Feature: Symmetry

17 min read

I have always wondered what love felt like to other people. To hear the poets describe it, it might as well be a form of insanity, where nothing seems to make sense and this senselessness seems to make absolute sense. Hollywood makes it seem like its nothing more than bone melting physical attraction between beautiful people with perfectly coiffed hair who are absolutely confident and can share playful banter interspersed with 'I like you just the way you are' compliments.

Thinking the poets to be prophets and Hollywood to be the mangled interpretations of the prophetic encased in poreless beauty, I waited. I waited for love. I waited for insanity, for bone melting attraction, for those unsolicited confidence inducing compliments. And when it happened, quite suddenly, in the most unexpected of ways, I realised what I was looking for.

Symmetry.

Just the quiet symmetry of thoughts, of words, of silences. Where needs are understood before they are articulated. Where wants are fulfilled before they are expressed. Where our silences speak quiet reassurances that our hands exchange. And we move together, almost unknowingly, as if tethered to each other with our own gravity.

But maybe symmetry is too much to ask for. Maybe its too much to expect alignments of our thoughts, our hopes, our wants. Maybe its too much to crave an irreversible connection. Maybe its too much to need a tangible feeling that we are not alone and that there is someone out there who moves when we move...who share a hope for quiet symmetry.

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behind the scenes III by BirdSophieBlack

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symmetry with glass of white wine by aydnahmet

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MADAMME BUTTERFLY. by sarahlouisejohnson

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Of-Heliotropes

Sep 7, 2013

Feature: Reflections

17 min read

Watch me Note me Journal Instructions

Reflection. An image of ourselves, looking back us. They can be comforting in so many ways. Looking into a mirror every morning, my hand pressed against the cool glass, linked to my doppelganger, somehow affirms my minor existence. That I am here, in this time, ready to start another day. It confirms my determination to keep going, despite the exhaustion evident in my body and in the dark circles that softly smudge the contours of my eyes. It ties me to what I have in this moment- a body and mind that functions, family and friends that care about me, and a world that is full of possibilities.

However sometimes these reflections are surprising, especially when I encounter them in others. When people perceive me as angry, stupid, or undeserving. Or strong, perfect, and incapable of making mistakes. Sometimes I am less than what I am and sometimes I am much more. And like a distorted image leering back from a funhouse mirror, I am unable to tear myself away from contemplating this skewed reflection. The stretched and compressed appearances of my various selves, in the eyes of another, make me question and make me detest, what only this morning I had been at peace with. My body and mind now seem less than able, my friends and family seem more judgemental, and the world is filled with more impossibilities.

Every perception that I encounter saps a tiny part of what little is left of me. I feel a little more invisible, a little more incomplete, a little more incapable. Expectations that frequently accompany these perceptions, further distort the image that I once remember being clear and tangible. And what seems to remain is nothing more than an imperceptible shadow of a previous self, fighting a losing battle for clarity and a right to exist.

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Mature Content

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With this beating through your lungs, by saratheresee

i can not get out, damn by ateist-kleranty

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Of-Heliotropes

Aug 19, 2013

FEATURE!!: I got Butterflies

12 min read

I watch the iridescent descent of a butterfly on the deep amaranthine petals of some unknown flower nodding softly against my calf. Its smooth wings slow and its flight seems to meld seamlessly with the velutinous petals. Their union remains unfettered by my expectation of the clashing of their divergent colours. Never has a butterfly's beauty affected me so deeply … my heart seems to unfurl helplessly to its measured grace and my hands loosen their white knuckled hold on the splintered wooden bench. And for the first time, in what feels like eons, my thoughts and heart slow their rapid march through days and months, leaving but a blur of work days and sleepless nights in their wake.

And I slowly come to the realization that although I am surrounded by so much change, I am yet to see any true transformation. The quiet vortex of my life is populated by just such changes…night into day and day into night, blue skies to grey, rain- sun- snow-rain. Pages that disappear quickly beneath frantically penned minutes of meetings only to be replaced by new pages- little pieces of ruled paper that, at times, seem to rule my existence. To-do lists and meeting agendas that divide my life into little vacuums, where breath, time, and creativity seem to disappear into wave upon wave of mindless tasks. And my body sags in anticipation of monotonous pursuits for yet another hour, yet another day.

Change is abundant. But transformation…transformation eludes me. I am what I have been for most of my life- routine and invisible. And its not this invisibility that bothers me. No, it is the fact that I have not grown as a person…I have had no quiet epiphanies or unruly journeys that leave a person undone and refashioned. I long to burst forth, one day, in irrepressible beauty… to live in full splendour, and deepened understanding. But I linger, quietly, on this splintered wooden bench…hoping my life will catch up with my desires. And that someday, I will transform, quite vividly, unencumbered by convention and expectation. Someday.

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Don't speak - A portrait. by TanjaGotthardsen

Camouflage - In my room by AmandineRopars

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Mature Content

59.365 Chasing Fragile Dreams by forever-just-jess

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Mature Content

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Of-Heliotropes

Apr 18, 2013

FEATURE: Celebrating Cernunnos

9 min read

Raindrops cling to the sunlit window pane leaving little bulbous prisms that paint the watercoloured world outside in soft hues of indigos, greys, and pinks... and I let out the long breath that I seemed to have been holding since the last tattered autumn leaf fell under the weight of the first snowfall. As new leaves unfold and the weary trees stretch in the sun, I marvel at the world's ability to endure through harsh climes and change quite vividly before my very eyes. And as I catch my reflection in the rain spotted glass I marvel at the changes within myself since the last time I gazed at spring through these very prisms...the soft lines that have deepened around my mouth from longer hours of gritted teeth...the fading brown of my eyes where smiles struggle to reach...the deepening furrow between my brows from the frowned concentration of staring at computer screens. In the shadow of new expectations I find the demise of old dreams and I long to stretch towards the sun shaking off the weight of what cannot be.

Life, death, rebirth...we brave this cycle...rejoicing in the fecundity of earth and determination of hearts to endure in what seems to be an eternal waiting game for life to begin while knowing its end is hiding quietly in its shadow. Do we endure because we await life, expect death, or just accept that the only permanence we can depend on is change?

As I exhale I try to unburden my soul, to stop waiting for what might never begin and instead rejoice in what has already begun.

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