So I am currently studying and trying my hand at creative writing. This is a piece I had originally written for my course but I thought I would share with you all today. I had to listen to a meditation style audio prior to writing it, to open up my creative mind. I loved the process of making this short story, it is mostly fiction with a little hint of me in-between the lines. I hope you enjoy the read! 🙂

The light and warmth follows me inside thanks to those Velux windows. I am so glad I got them finished in time for summer.

The place is arranged in a sense of order with elements of messy, things recently looked over, and boxes half open. Organised chaos, but relaxing, comforting, like home.

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The granny’s attic smell is starting to fade with the scented candles and incense I am religiously burning, masking it combined with the freshness the open windows bring. Why is it granny’s attic anyway? Did granny even have an attic?

The scent will always linger in spite of my efforts, it is ingrained in too many of the belongings and boxes. Even the boxes are a memory now, of all the journeys they have been on, places they lived, the writing has been scribbled over and re-written as the contents change.

How did I get a cradle box? Where on earth did I adopt that one from? Some family member or friend starting a new chapter in their life at the precise moment I was once again putting mine in a box. Or was it just giving with a pile of random boxes when I flashed a cheeky smile and asked some bored shop assistant if he could do me a favour.

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I love that there was still enough space for me to get that white old metal day bed in the corner, saved from a death, filled with someone else’s history, in here, mingling  with mine. It is so well used; my precious pillows and blankets have finally found a home and escaped their boxes. That Kenya blanket is still here, in spite of its ever growing hole. Cost me less than two pounds in that giant supermarket that I was overjoyed in, oblivious to the supposed pending danger that led the nice beach boy to appear and come save me. I still left on my own of course.  I said hi, assumed it was one of life’s coincidences then fought my way across the busy road that almost killed me two days prior. Onto the bus, already full but the students and workers eager to let the tourist girl ride along

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Books  are scattered by my feet, abandoned when the world has called me outside in a rush. I should display them on the new shelves. One of the local fishermen gladly hung them up for me with bits of an old boat. Its days were numbered but he wanted to give it another use, make it a part of another world. I have pinned a few photos onto the edge of one of them. There is a fix of faces, scenery, and lives, but each image collectively evokes happiness.

This is why I love it here, I get lost in memories that should be long forgotten but suddenly become vividly clear. In this space, this place, this life.

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