Great Reads by Suki

  I sat there my face feeling dirty. I had splutters of blood all over me and some of those were on my lashes. My vision was blurry. Everything had happened so fast. I was not thinking. My hands had been tightly cuffed from the back. Maya's gown was drowning in his blood. Red and white had never gone so well together. I was angry and confused and part of me was sinking peacefully at the thought of what was ahead of me. Maya was crying so hysterically, it echoed at the back of my head all the way towards the police station. I could have hurt her. But I didn't. I knew she wished she would have died with him. But she would pay for it by living with the hollowness and I hoped it haunted her. I hoped the image of Nick lying there lifeless drowned her every single day. I took a shot at Nick's face for playing our song, one to his chest for daring to be with her and one to his head hoping that he would die. He had taught me to shoot, and there I went. He landed on the ground and I...

 "I got you night blooming jasmines" I chuckled. My mind was racing really fast and I was forcing my facial muscles to slow down. But I gave into the wildest laugh. "I hate those!" I shouted. The old couple next to us was staring at us this whole time. I held my mouth fast and turned to him. I almost hit his stomach but he pulled me close to hand me the flowers. I took them and laid my head on his shoulder. How thoughtful. I had the longest day and so did he but somehow he managed to stop at the flower shop to get me night blooming jasmines. There were six people at the train station and darkness was creeping in. I lifted my face to look at him and he was staring at the old couple. "I want old with you" I want to grow old with you too my Nico"  I whispered.  I smelled at the flowers one last time ignoring my pollen allergy. The train arrived but we watched it leave and it was finally just the two of us at the train station. This was pretty much how ou...

  This 'abyss' in my head. A sort of dark matter that's lingers at a very specific corner of my head. Anyway. It's Sunday morning. The sun is up and a little brighter for a 8am sun. I'm seated at the back. I don't go to church often. I don't feel bad about it. I kneel beside my bed to talk to the man above more than I walk around it. But some days he gets silent and on those days I seek out for him in this huge, building.  Perfect architecture. Beams that run down from the ceiling like they want to be noticed. Windows so tall and the light that comes in doesn't feel like the same light that I left outside. The doors are huge and brown. Polished neatly and always kept wide open. Inviting. The gardens outside are clean and bright and the flowers are not the flowers I see every other day outside home or work. They are almost perfect. Like God looks after them himself. Enough about this building. But how wouldn't I believe that God lives here?  So on bad...

 (I was shaking writing this. Like it's a true story. There are definitely parts that are based on true events. I wrote this listening to very sentimental music. I feel like this is the best thing I have written in ages. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Listen to these songs throughout, -Lean on me, Sandro Cavazza -Little bit of love, Tom Grennan -Sing it with me, JP Cooper and Astrid S -Toast, Smith and Thell -Hotel Walls, Smith and Thell) "Where did you take all the love, all the fire you had for him?" I choked on my coffee thinking about it. I looked outside the coffee booth and the light showers were looking too inviting.  "Sue!" "Yes!" I had not realized that I was no longer paying attention to Mel. We were having this coffee atleast to discuss my state of heart affairs and I had not realized how terrible of a place I was at until she popped that question.  "I'll take a long walk home in the rain. I don't want to talk ...

  I've always meant to express love in very many but very few words because this is definitely not a story. Interact with me on the comments about your ideas. Love, It's nothing close to what they write on novels or what I've watched in movies. A love story once chaotic somehow ends up with making up and making out and a little tragedy at the end then somehow there is a happily ever after. Or a once great love being met by tragedy and it's a matter of "I wish we did this and that" but no happy ending. I've read books of old about tales of love. I've memorized the life of Romeo and Juliet. I've rewatched titanic a couple of times, and Rose and Jack did make so much sense to me. I've read and read all the way to Alcyone and Ceyx, Eros and Psyche, Apollo and Daphne and it all goes down to two tiny silly hearts.   Then goes the other lot, love is a game of hearts, a little less like poker, a bit more like chess. To love is to gamble for chances. An...

(Play your favorite country song. Mine is God must be a cowboy by Dan Seals and God's Coloring Book by Dolly Parton!!🧡 This article exposes my silly little heart. Enjoy) I'm growing fond of cigarettes and beer glasses. I'm getting used to the kisses wrapped around whiskey and apple pie. Slow music in this crowded bar. I look around and I can barely see the faces of everyone else. But looking down on this wooden floor I can see gowns swaying and old boots moving around and right on my face is this man. "I love your long beard and that hat was a good choice." I go. This town. The weather is misty in the evenings, the music is louder than the raindrops and the air sounds like Rascal Flatts then Maren Morris..."can I get a hallelujah? can I get an amen? Feels like the holy ghost running through ya, when I play the Highway FM"... everyone sings along and the voice behind my head goes, " I want to exist here forever!" The country has a way of huggin...

I wrote this listening to 'I'm still into you'. I love love the songggg.  I always knew I was over the heartache. I knew a second look at Joe would disgust me more than melting me to a stupid squishy ball. It had been 4 months after all. I took my letter writing shit seriously in as much as we lived together. I found it necessary to drop a letter once in a while but the best part of it all, he replied to every single part. Most times he'd slide them under my pillow or stick them around the house wall on sticky notes. Cute right? Joe was not my first love, he was not my second, not my third but I definitely thought he'd be my last. He was everything I'd write down on a list of the things I want in a person. But people come in black and white and red and yellow and all colours, but for him, he was stuck on a weird gray color. He was kind, cool, cute but too loud when he should have been silent but most of all he was my retribution. See here is the thing about unre...

  Sometimes I can feel myself press so hard on you, I can feel myself soften, smile and giggle. Other times too fast, too slow, too lazily, too ambitiously. How do you handle all these mixed feelings? How do you handle me? One time I'll throw you across the room, half way done, then collect you like six days later, as an after thought, or an oops thought. Other times I'll put you so close, hug you, cuddle you, place you safely under my pillow! The worst of times I'll sprawl shit on you, then pull you apart and on really bad days torch you. Do you ever miss the parts of you that I rip apart? I met you when I was like 6, now I'm 22 and I have filled a whole library of you and your friends. You have met all of me. The darkest pits of me, the most beautiful parts of me, the in betweens. You get through my head, you dust out the windows up there, you draw the curtains up there to air a bit, you plant flowers up there and take the good and the bad parts to yourself, safely, s...

(Extracts from my dreams about Atticus that I will never publish)...  "Why are you kissing me like you are afraid to tear my lips?"  "Am I" "Come here," He pulled me closer and I was almost sitting on his laps, "Closer" Now I was sitting, sitting on him and I could feel him bulge.  I turned my head a little to listen to the leaking sound of my fridge and a creaking sound of my old wardrobe door. Then it hit me, I was dreaming about him again in the most absurd of times. I rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. I did not want to wake my sneaky link from Lisa's party up. I cleaned my face and walked to my study desk. I knew I wouldn't fall asleep any time again. Something about thinking about him just kept me awake at the wierd hours of the night. I poured my cereal in a bowl and began eating it raw as I waited for my laptop to start.  Command >>>Files >>>Private folder >>>Open doc >>>Midnight mus...

  To love and to be loved are two totally extreme things. One is on one end and the other some other far end. Do you understand? Mnaget? Of course not! So let me explain.  Case scenario/ POV/ Situation. "Me and my boyfriend" Welcome to my life, my bedroom mostly, our bedroom! (Sorry) and my heart, soul, mind. If you asked me what love was precisely a year ago, since today (14/02), is our anniversary, I would have a really absurd answer. By absurd I mean the usual. The 'kawaida' love you hear about on wedding speeches or atleast in novels. Novels that are cliche'. Love for me was flowers. All kind of flowers I had an obsession with roses ever since I was little. (My mum's name is Rose.) How else then would you have shown love to that little girl than planting roses on her hands, doorsteps, bedroom floor! You feel me? Love was strawberries and all the cute stuff. The forehead kisses, the little hugs, hand holding, snuggling in bed, cute lil' names, making lo...