Category: Tamara Thiel

Tamara Thiel

You want so very much to adhere to your comfortable, uncomplicated contrasting color scheme. But that part of you that is no longer delicate, the pieces of you that have been impressed upon time and time again are making it difficult. You are beginning to understand, perhaps quite reluctantly, that life is cast in shades of grey. And that grey, whether it leans towards a lighter washed out version, or towards a never ending darkness, is not in the business of solace.

Tamara Thiel

I was barely breathing now, my head felt light. I stumbled to the nearest bench and I clasped my hands together, my fingers gripping each other painfully in an attempt to feel useful. Their job had been to hold fast and it had been so long since they had been empty. They had done their job well, they had clung to those memories even in the dead of night when I was fast asleep, remaining vigilant, keepers of my heart’s most inner desires. My icy hands with their narrow fingers had done my heart’s work for so long that they felt bereft now. Good sense was still with me and it reminded me that it was time, way past time. It spoke of better days and of substance, of actuality. It asked for the hardest thing, trust.

Tamara Thiel

You want so very much to adhere to your comfortable, uncomplicated contrasting color scheme. But that part of you that is no longer delicate, the pieces of you that have been impressed upon time and time again are making it difficult. You are beginning to understand, perhaps quite reluctantly, that life is cast in shades of grey. And that grey, whether it leans towards a lighter washed out version, or towards a never ending darkness, is not in the business of solace.

Tamara Thiel

I was barely breathing now, my head felt light. I stumbled to the nearest bench and I clasped my hands together, my fingers gripping each other painfully in an attempt to feel useful. Their job had been to hold fast and it had been so long since they had been empty. They had done their job well, they had clung to those memories even in the dead of night when I was fast asleep, remaining vigilant, keepers of my heart’s most inner desires. My icy hands with their narrow fingers had done my heart’s work for so long that they felt bereft now. Good sense was still with me and it reminded me that it was time, way past time. It spoke of better days and of substance, of actuality. It asked for the hardest thing, trust.