why i love her

they said she was opinionated, they said that she was loud, they said she was arrogant, they said that she was too proud.

they said she was too feisty, less prone to being a ‘normal’ woman, to listen and to keep her views to herself, they said she was too independent, less ladylike, far too manly, for she always stood her ground, and it mattered not at times, for she shook them by not making a sound.

I loved her because she was opinionated, loud,

I loved her for being feisty, less prone to being a ‘normal’ woman, to speak her mind and to shout her views to the world, or to utter a sound, I loved her for her independence, for who she was.

she was fierce, not filled with crude machismo, strong and principled, not manly,

I loved her for all of that and so much more.

The Girl at the Bus-stop

I saw her, a revelation in glorious technicolour, standing by the bus stop,

she smiled at me, wrenching my heart off my sleeve.

I see her still,

now in faded black and white,

wondering where she may be, after all these years, months, days, moments,

with time trickling through our lives,

knotting destiny into a silken weave,

time, ah time!

slipping away,

down fate’s random sieve.