Postscript

The streets are full of water. I tread carefully along the footpaths, avoiding rivers of rain and fallen maple leaves. Fallen - pursuing some fantastic and absurdly wild ideal, followed through to its fatalistic end. I watch it crumble, a lattice of beliefs so carefully construed and planned. The white picket fence, the well-manicured lawn, all torn up and blown away as in a storm. How many mistakes must a man make before he capitulates?
When the door to her apartment closes, another door also closes.

Of Mice & Men

Nobody remembers second place

They say running will make you sweat all the salt from your body, leaving none for tears. So that's what I did today, as the sun began its steady decline.
I ran around the bay, jogging past middle-aged women in unflattering nylon pants, couples with strollers, multi-million houses accessorised with expensive cars. I confess (embarrassingly) that I often fantasise about living here, in one of these glass and steel contraptions - raising a family, perhaps - and looking out across the bay from the balcony during quiet afternoons as the sunlight dances playfully on the water.
I wasn't even halfway when I started struggling. I tried to focus on a point in the distance and to keep running towards it, running and running and running. I had to go on. This torture was necessary. This was my idea of purging the mind, expunging all thoughts. When I reached a difficult uphill section though, an image of her appeared in my head, mouth slightly open, a thin strip of perspiration sitting on her upper lip. I am not the first to conjure such thoughts during times of yearning.
Sometimes it's not enough to rip open your chest and expose the beating heart that lies beneath. Sometimes it must be shocked daily by a cattle prod. Love and betrayal, how deep and consistent you cut!
Near the end of the run my ribs were hurting from the effort of breathing, my legs powerless and weighted. I couldn't stop though, wouldn't, no matter how loud that voice was screaming in my head to collapse on that soft inviting grass by the wayside. I kept urging myself forward, painful step after painful step, until eventually I made it. Soon after my breath slowed, the blood stopped roaring, and everything was the same.

'Yeah, well maybe I hurt you sometimes, but let's contrast and compare' - It's Cool, We Can Still Be Friends, Bright Eyes

Abstract v0.18

My mum gave me this name for want of something less common, and because she didn't want me to be at the bottom of the class list. In Irish it is fire; in Celtic, a sun god.
I was born and raised in Australia but maintain a strong bond with my cultural background, which sometimes leaves me confused as to where I belong.
As a kid I was often scolded for daydreaming; I will now, still, sometimes drift into fantasyland.
My favourite colours are green and blue, the colours of the ocean.
I enjoy the outdoors and I love to run, but have never been a strong swimmer. I hope one day to reach Mt Everest.
I prefer summer over winter, stars over clouds.
I love to spend time indoors in front of the computer, or a good book, or on a couch watching a DVD with a loved one.
I rarely waste time on crass movies. I secretly cry in sad films.
Life does have background music.
I spend weekends with friends, and think they are my most treasured possessions.
I am not close to my siblings, but will never abandon them.
Work to me is just a necessary chore, and if I won lotto I would travel the world.
I have hurt and been hurt.
I am wary and jaded from failed relationships - I have my baggage.
I am an idealist, an optimist and a sinner. I apologise for all three.
I believe in conservation and humanism.
My only fears are large insects and the passing of time.

PS. I love long walks on the beach