Untouched by Time.

The old man was proud of his wrinkles. He would have been so even if it hadn't been his philosophy to make the most of what he had. To him, his wrinkled and pitted face was not a hindrance, not a thing to be ashamed of, but a record of his life. He wore his past like a map on his face, a map that all could see and follow. Each line marked a moment, of happiness or sadness, joy or worry. Each line was a sentence, on a face that could be read like a book. The crinkles at the corners of the mouth, the light in those eyes, remnants of a long ago youth, when the fire in his blood had burned bright and strong, chasing him away from his childhood haunts and responding to the siren call of faraway lands, people and places. That fire had driven him recklessly through life, motoring him down long and winding paths, barely heeding the damage it suffered, and caused. His travels could be seen on his face, his hurt, pain, and anger read in the depths of those bottomless eyes, that truly were, in his case, a window to the soul. But, nonetheless, he was proud of his face. And he was proud of his life.

Few are able to claim as much.

Dad.

Could today be the day she doesn't upset her dad?I think not.

She makes sure her morning does not involve her dad in any way possible.

No dad means no problems and this day has to be perfect.

So with everything sorted to her dad's liking she waits in the car for him.

Hoping nothing could ruin this perfect morning, he starts the engine.

She sits and hopes. Nothing is said and the radio is turned on.

The journey begins and so far so good.

Gentle banter is exchanged until he pulls up into the car park.

She gets off, takes her bags, shuts the door and turns to wave. He smiles.

Morning over and all seems well.

Today could be the day.

School.

Friends.

Bloody assemblies.

Teachers.

Bus.

Jokes.

Train.

Home.

She gets dressed for her party. She's happy. Today could go well after all.

She gets in the car and talks with her dad, tells him excitedly about this party !

He laughs at her enthusiasm. Today is going to be great she says to herself.

She gets out of the car, kisses her dad, says thank you and goodbye.

She shuts the door and turns to wave and gets another smile!

Today is going be very good she says to herself!

Party.

Joke.

Laugh.

Chat.

Rave.

Party over.

She calls her dad, giddy with how good this day has gone.

He pulls up and she sees him.

She starts to walk towards the car as she waves and he smiles.

This day has gone very well she thinks.

But then, she is stopped, right in front of the car, in full view of her dad.

Aaron says she forgot her phone, she takes the phone and thanks him dearly.

She looks at her dad hoping he hasn't realised she nearly lost her phone,

because that would mean this day would end in disaster.

It looks hopeful yet doubtful, she nearly lost her phone, what awaits her in the car?

She turns to get in the car and Aaron says, not even a hug in thanks then?

And.

Without thinking she hugs him. Briefly that is.

And as her hands touch his body in the friendliest way possible she remembers her father is watching, and she thinks:

Shit. So close..

All in a touch.

One small moment can mean so much.

The girl had spent years waiting for that one moment, the brush of the hand or the accidental touch of a foot that meant she could convince herself he cared. Every year she would wait and wonder whether it would happen but it never did. She would always say, maybe next year or maybe the year after but soon, she realised, she would have to give up. She couldn’t spend her whole life waiting for him. Then one year it happened. As the clock struck 12 he reached out and held her hand. Her life was now complete.

A man would sit by her bedside for hours just holding her hand. He would hope for the one squeeze that would mean everything to him. Then, one day, as he was about to leave, he felt it. The old woman’s fingers twitched, such a small movement, but such a momentous occasion.

As she sat there crying she realised he was behind her. After storming out of the house he had returned. Cold and dripping from the rain, but it was him. She felt his fingers touch her shoulder and she turned to face him. In a few moments her life, smashed to pieces, had re-built itself. All in a touch.

Why?

Why do we learn, when in the end we'll forget?
Why do we avenge, if we deserve what we get?
Why am I forced to hate you, when I'm surrounded by friends?
And why upon this moment, does so much depend?

If we had not met, would I feel a hole in my heart?
Do I love you or just the sound of your laugh?
Why do I love you, when you will never be mine?
And why- without you- does the sun never shine?

Connection.

Two girls shared a connection. Everyone they knew did not value the connection as it seemed to them to be silly and unfounded. But to the girls it meant everything. At first they had found it a hindrance, a pain. But soon they came to find that it made them special. With the connection they always felt that they were never alone.
One day, one of the girls felt the connection stronger than ever. It pulsed through her whole body and made her somehow anxious. She felt drawn to the other girl and followed the pull. But it was too late. She arrived just in time to see the other girl cross the street, and to feel the connection break. It felt like the smashing of a glass or the ripping of a page in a book. She knew then, it was all over.

The Dimple.

Once, there was a dimple, on the face of a beautiful young girl. The dimple lived a happy life, perched on the face of this girl, and was able to feel relatively content about his situation. Although his position did mean that he was unable to explore the world for himself, the girl took pity on him, and always tried to angle her face so as to give him the most interesting views. And at night, once she had gone to sleep, he lay there in the darkness, and imagined himself one day, breaking free from the face that was all he knew, and exploring new territories, perhaps moving on to dimple the face of another girl, or simply dimpling the surface of a rock, or beach.

A certain conception.

She generally sailed through life. Not at all because she was any more advantaged than most, but because she had realised early on that she had everything she needed, though not necessarily what she wanted. When things could be better, all she needed to do was to remind herself of this, and feel fortunate and comforted. When things could be worse, all she needed to do was remind herself of this, and feel overcome with gratitude.

Nevertheless, it was at times a burden, for she knew that she was given all possibilities, and it was now entirely her own responsibility to make it happen.