Day Seven

I come to the end of my first week of blogging and I just want to thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting or telling me what you think. Thank you for believing in me and being inspired by what I have done. I am ordinary, I am boring, but you, my reader, seem to see past all that and have faith in me. For that I am eternally grateful.


Today's blog post is delayed after a trip to the cinema. I had an idea for it which faded quickly and therefore left me with nothing but a blank space and an annoying, flashing cursor. Nevertheless, I am sat here at nearly midnight with the first few paragraphs of my novel written extraordinary badly in draft on another tab. Well, seeing as I have nothing interesting to say, why don't you give those paragraphs a good old read?

I noticed things more after the accident. Small things, pretty things. I realised this whilst sat upon the hospital bed, the unfamiliar sheets rustling with every yawn or stretch. I was gazing out of the window, my head throbbing and my eyes drooping, watching how the leaves of a willow tree allowed the sun’s golden rays to dance across them as they twirled in the breeze. I’d never observed a willow tree before, but in that moment I discovered something mesmerising.

 A willow tree is like a woman, a troubled woman; the tall, curving trunk is her body, standing proud and beautiful against the sunlight, protecting her real feelings within. The branches reaching out are her arms, grasping for something which is not quite there, perhaps a fellow willow with whom she could share her secrets as the breeze would help carry her whispers. What aided me to understand that a willow was a troubled woman was the way the smaller branches, holding her leaves, would droop over so that the head of the tree was almost touching the ground. The willow, although her trunk stands tall and her roots dig deep and strong into the ground, is woeful and lonely and prays to find a friend.

I, Elizabeth, am the willow. I can stand tall and seem powerful. My legs work well and I am able to walk after the accident, however my head contains my troubles. It hangs low in shame, as the willow’s leaves do, in this case the leaves representing my memories. I am a willow who has lost her memories, her companions, everything which represents her life. Retrograde amnesia, the doctors told me. I remember nothing of my past and have no present. All I can look for is a future, yet, as I said I am a willow. I look to the ground. I have no hope.

Please don't laugh, and ignore what needs editing. This is an idea which came to me in a matter of seconds and I just had to pour it out into a word document. You may believe Elizabeth is like me. She is nothing like me. She is an empty book who I now have to fill with words, and fill with memories. A girl who has lost everything and has so much yet to discover. That's not me.

I'm a girl filled with memories and laughter and sadness and I am most definitely not an empty book. However, I am not a full one. In fact, I think i've only just begun. I am in the prologue of my life, the basic, beginning point. I have not come far and I have so much left to do.

I apologise deeply for the waste of a blog post this is but it is late, I am tired, and I have nothing to say. I hope you have enjoyed this and can salvage some sort of meaning from it. Again, please ignore any mistakes. One day I might actually read over what I write but for now i'll just leave it alone.

Good night, kind reader. Sleep well.

Ayesha x


(P.S. I really do look forward to feedback. I don't expect any, I really never ever do, but when I get some it means the world to me. I really love each and every person who takes time out of their lives to listen to me.)