There is still something

From the shaded seclusion of a park bench, I pondered the wind’s indifference to flannels running between the wickets, almost equal to the blasé of the strollers sauntering along the paths around the lawn. This nonchalance stayed with me on the way back home, when I briefly kept up with the kayaking foursomes training on the Dee while listening to the song of wrens as they tried to be heard over the traffic. I guess, even if the nature of love has been hidden from me, there is still something to fill the void.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The serenity of a riverside pebble

For Elizabeth

I doubt myself every morning after I wake up and find I need another reason to get out of bed.
It was not always like this, but somewhere along the way, I lost my passion and limited myself
to simply staying alive. I have long since accepted that I am not going to be the sun, but now
I am slowly realising that even shining a reflected light in the depths of the night may be beyond
my reach. And I am actually fine with that. There is nothing wrong with being one of the pebbles
found on the river bank, as long as there is a warm hand to hold it.