I used to turn life into a poem.

Today, I got a message from a friend. A friend whom once I shared every hour of every day with – that was up until the day came that we went our separate ways, flights to separate countries. We’ve kept in touch, and today’s message was a photo. The photo was of a poem I wrote for her on my typewriter (at the time, a new secondhand addition to my London flat), and it was framed and on display in her sister’s bedroom. It was a poem I’d always loved; a poem about thinking and respecting where you’re sat

st. pauls - a poem

i sit on the steps at st. pauls and i think, 
of how many people have stood where i am sat.
the years of history trampled under foot, 
under breath.

i sit on the steps at st. pauls and i think,
of how many people have walked past here crying, 
where they came from,
what they left behind that broke their hearts.
i ponder what year they lived.

i sit on the steps at st. pauls and i think,
of how many people have walked past here holding hands,
laughing,
talking to somebody,
thinking of someone.

at the steps at st. pauls i beg you to smile,
at the thought of where you're sat right now. 
where you are now has been there before you,
will be there after you, 
it hosts thousands of stories.

feel the stories, hear the stories,
be a story of your own. 

by paige bolland 

Yes, I used to live in London and contemplate life, and mind, under beautiful historic buildings, writing out my feelings as I went. But I don’t anymore. I guess I still struggle with not being that poetic with my feelings anymore, and I suppose this blog is an attempt at trying to understand and accept this.

Yes, I used to turn life into poetry, but now I’m too busy trying to live life to romanticise it –

– and that’s okay.

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