There is something so comforting about watching the world go by with a warm mug of coffee in your hands.
I’m a true introvert so I adore spending time by myself. It calms me down and gives me the time to be alone with the dozens of thoughts whizzing around my mind.
I love peaceful mornings when I’m alone in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as I try and decide which mug I want to use (a very important decision) for the first cup of coffee of the day.
Visiting my favourite cafe on a rainy afternoon fills me with waves of contentment. Sitting by the window with a cappuccino in one hand and a book in the other is one of the greatest feelings.
Buying a takeaway cup of coffee at Heuston Station before boarding a train to the countryside makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
Curling up on my bed as the rain pours down outside makes me feel calm. The warm glow of the fairy lights brightens up the room and a mug of coffee sits next to a vase of peonies on my bedside locker.
I love ordering coffee for one. Solitude and coffee is the perfect combination.
I love Friday mornings.
On Friday mornings I can stay snuggled up in bed, instead of shivering at a crowded bus stop, waiting for the number 18 bus that never arrives on time. On Friday mornings I can wear my pajamas and my comfiest sweater, instead of stumbling around my room, searching for a pair of tights that aren’t ripped. On Friday mornings I can play my music as loud as possible, instead of struggling to hear the lyrics over the sound of my fellow commuters nattering about the weather. On Friday mornings I can read the books I adore, instead of attending early morning classes. On Friday mornings I can drink mugs of tea and warm slices of buttery toasts, instead of worrying about whether or not someone heard my stomach rumble in class.
On Friday mornings I feel happy and calm and there’s a feeling of serenity in the air. On Friday mornings I wave goodbye to early morning classes, to sleepy bus journeys and to my worries. On Friday, February 10th, I feel overwhelmingly content as I sit on my sofa, with an empty cup of tea placed on the table in front of me.
I can hear the rain hitting off the roof of our kitchen. Drip, drop, drip, drop. Our back garden looks dull and harsh. The abandoned swing set at the back of our garden is rusting. The barks of the trees have darkened. The socks and underwear that are hung on the washing line are soaking wet.
It’s been lashing rain all morning. It rained when I drank my morning cup of coffee. It rained when I curled my hair by my bedroom window. It rained as I washed the dishes. It rained when I chatted to my Mam about what we should have for dinner today.
I feel sad today.
The rain hasn’t stopped today.
Ah, pathetic fallacy.
I hope Annie was right when she said that the sun will come out tomorrow.
I wrote this short story over a year ago and decided to share it. I studied creative writing for a year and it’s one of my biggest passions. This piece is about letting go of the past and healing hearts.
I’m not sure what made me realise that today was the day. I knew it was time to let go. It was time to breathe again. All I knew was that I needed to get out and breathe. I needed to breathe in the crisp Spring air. Just breathe.
Today was the day, the special day. The day I washed the past away. I couldn’t wait to be standing on the cool sand at Flagstown Beach. Being cooked up in my navy blue Plymouth Valiant on a dull, dreary motorway was not what I needed. A wave of serenity washed over me as the wheels of my car turned off the harsh concrete of the motorway and onto the soft, dirt track towards Flagstown.
I parked in the car park of an old, abandoned chapel. As I walked through the church grounds I noticed small flowers growing along the walls; bursts of red, yellow and lilac popped out against the old, crumbling walls. I stepped on delicate daisies as I walked through the overgrown grass in my tattered burgundy boots. I smiled as I made my way to the gate. How sweet it is to know that those flowers still blossom and bloom even though their home stands alone and abandoned.
I left the chapel grounds and strolled down passed the red brick bungalows to the beach. It was the middle of the afternoon but there wasn’t a single soul in sight. There was an eerie yet calming feeling in the air. They say it’s the town where people come when they retire, a place where they come to live the rest of their days. They say it’s one of the most tranquil towns in the South and that’s why the elderly flock down here like birds that migrate to Africa before the winter chill takes over.
I felt my lungs fill up with fresh, soothing air as I stepped onto the pale sand. I untied the laces of my boots and placed them on a pile of rocks. I took the small glass bottle that I had been carrying around in my old navy rucksack for the past six months with me. A piece of faded white paper was rolled up inside the bottle; it’s edges were bent and battered. That piece of paper was the final piece of my past that I was ready to let go of. I poured my heart onto that piece of paper one late night in April of 2015; the year my heart was broken beyond repair. It holds so many memories, emotions, feelings and is stained with a tear or two. As I walked towards the waves I watched them ebb and flow. I watched the water dance slowly against the shore. I held the glass bottle in my hand, my message in a bottle. I was ready. It was time to let go. I stepped into the cool water and let it soak the ends of my jeans. I dropped the bottle out of my hand and into the sea. I watched the bottle float away taking my past and my heartache with it; slowly becoming smaller and smaller until I could see nothing but the grand, blue sea. I smiled out at the ocean; how big, how blue, how beautiful it was.
There’s something so special about this time of year.
The air is crisp, a blanket of red, orange and yellow leaves covers the ground, the sun sets earlier as each day passes.
I wear snuggly scarves and comfy coats. There’s a calmness around and a sense of tranquility in the air. There’s more time to read, to sip coffee from my big red mug and to fill each room with berry scented candles.
I get to switch on my fairy lights each night and curl up into bed with a book in hand and a smile on my face.
Autumn makes me feel content. It’s my season, the one where I strive and feel my happiest.
“Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree”