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Everyone has their likes and dislikes;
everyone has an opinion about what is the best,
even when we are a child we have our favourites-
a favourite toy we like to play with,
a favourite teddy-bear we like to carry around everywhere,
a favourite blanket that we hold onto tightly for comfort and security,
a favourite bike, a favourite colour that can equally make us feel
calm and quiet one minute, and then the next have our heart
beating fast in our chest.

Throughout our lives we grow to love things more and more,
and we can even gain a new appreciation of some things
that we always claimed wholeheartedly to always hate,
because nothing ever last forever,
and because invariably our tastes do change over time-
there are some things of brilliance and greatness
that we can discover and happen-upon late.

Our favourites are individualistic and say much about who we are
and about the life we have had and the life we live;
our favourites are what make our entire day
and can be what we think about and breath every minute;
our favourite person, our favourite song,
our favourite lesson, our favourite road
which we travel on which is never a mile too long,
our favourite book, our favourite car,
our favourite cook, our favourite drink at our favourite bar.

Our favourites are our favourites,
because they make us feel something;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they make the world feel like there is nothing missing;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they make us feel at home
even when we are far-away from what we know
as well as the back of our hand;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they are special to us
and not just another grain of sand.

My favourite book is ‘The Little Prince’;
my favourite film is ‘The Shawshank Redemption’,
or, depending on the day, ‘500 Days of Summer’;
my favourite colour is Blue;
my favourite writer is William Shakespeare,
and he has been from the moment I first read his beautiful words,
and every time I have re-read anything penned by him every day since;
my favourite song is ‘To the moon and back’ by Savage Garden,
but I also love John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’-
and to me these songs are songs that no one else
could ever truly cover;
my favourite thing to do is write,
but, if you know me already,
that would be something that you already knew.

What is my favourite now hasn’t always been,
nor should it ever be-
things are meant to change, as we are meant to change;
as we live, learn, and experience new things and see new things
we grow and change, bear fruit, and take in,
and are a person and a product of our environment, circumstance,
mood, and our emotional metamorphosis that we sometimes go through,
because of something that we feel and see.

Your favourites are your favourites, but they could also be
the favourites of someone you know,
or of someone you have yet to meet-
but who you might meet because you share the same love
and appreciation for something,
and because you bask in the light that something,
or perhaps someone, daily emits;
your favourite table, your favourite chair,
your favourite place, your favourite passion-
there is always an amazing story and an amazing reason
why something touches you, and why something, or why someone,
becomes your favourite.

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As I look out my bedroom window,
as I watch the wind displace the leaves
as it gusts through the branches of the trees
and makes telephone cables
and power-lines sway from side to side with every blow,
as it seems as if every leaf is now well on the way
to changing colour for the season,
I look down to the street below
and I see a little boy riding his bike
on the pavement outside my house
wearing a big coat and a bobble-hat;
and instantly I feel a wave of something come over me,
as if the winds of time were blowing in unison
with the winds of the world outside, and taking me back
to a time, to an autumn day like this one, when I was a kid-
a time when I loved to play outside with my friends,
and my sister Clare,
and play a ‘catch me if you can-type of game’ called “tag”
in which I never minded being the one who was “it”.

I used to love riding my bike;
I used to love exploring the great place where I lived;
I used to love looking out my window
on a dark, rainy night, and being in awe of the sound of thunder,
and energized by the sight of a lightning-strike;
I used to love playing hide and seek-
and I swear no one could ever find me,
nor think of the right place where I was hid.

I had a very happy childhood;
I had everything a child could ever want;
I had so much love bestowed upon me,
and I was taught so many lessons and I learned so many skills
from my Mum and Dad- from appreciating the value
of the smallest of things, and the briefest of moments,
to the importance of hard work,
and knowing the best way to cut wood.

I remember smiling a lot when I was a child,
I remember laughing, creating, watching,
constantly asking questions, and learning from everyone,
I remember times when I used to sit quietly,
I remember times when I used to run wild,
I remember having so much fun.
I remember the good times, and the bad;
I remember the people I knew and who knew me who just suddenly died,
I remember the times when I had to say goodbye.
I remember all the times when I felt so happy
I thought my heart was going to explode;
I remember the tears that came after a fall,
and the times when I didn’t know what was going on,
and I felt sad.

The world has changed.
I have slowly, but surely, grown up.
The home I have known all my life
feels like a picture that is constantly being reframed.
I am outwardly very different from the boy I was-
from my shoe-size, to my likes and dislikes,
to my hair colour, and hair cut.
Inside I am still the same-
I feel and I know that, even now.
Inside I am under no illusion in my belief
that in everything I do, and to everyone I meet, I make a difference;
I don’t always know why, in what way, or how,
but I do feel, and I have always felt,
like everything that I was doing had a purpose and meant something-
even if I was writing a story, or painting a picture,
even as a child I knew that there was so much more to be seen
than could ever be seen, and that no matter the dark clouds
that sometimes swirled around above your head
there would always be something to have hope for,
that there is always a silver-lining to everything,
and that there would one day be a great,
beautiful, and bright future.

Looking at my own reflection in the glass of my window,
as the sun shines on my face,
I look into my own eyes-
the eyes that have seen thousands of sunrises,
the eyes that have seen so much beauty, hope, and inspiration,
in their time, and which have imprinted on them images
that I will take to the grave,
of sights and faces that nothing could ever erase.
I look at my own reflection,
and I see the boy that I was,
and the joy and the hope in his eyes, in my eyes;
I look at my own reflection, and I see the man who I am,
the boy who I am always going to be,
who still lives in the place, the house, the home,
with the memories he treasures,
and will always remember and return to,
in the middle house of three, on Fair field rise.

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The world is silent all around me, as am I-
in the evening air, I sit in the sunshine
marvelling at my surroundings,
indiferent at everything other than where I am,
as I allow the minutes to pass me by.
All the troubles of life and the world
seem galaxies away to me at this moment-
I am happy, I am warm, I am content.

A silent breeze, the touch of a beautiful spirit
embraces me delicately as it glides across my face.
I close my eyes, because the intensity of my emotions
become almost too much for me to bare-
all doubts of mine are washed away,
never to be dwelled upon again,
gone without a trace.

I am entranced and encapsulated by this perfect summer sunset-
my mind and my entire body feels alive
and burning an energy of the intensity
that makes me believe that I am living within a fleeting,
beautiful, moment for the entire world
that no one will ever forget.

I imagine a perfect instance
when every face of everyone, young and old,
raise their head, look up at an infinite sunset,
and for only a few seconds, release their pains
and imagine their most powerful dreams,
as if they were to have already come true-
then look around them, and at a reflection of themselves,
and feel better than they ever have done,
and know something about them and about the world
that they never knew.

If every day were to begin how it ended,
we would all go through our day
appreciating the moments of peace that we are blessed with-
even those that can be found within the maelstrom of chaos;
I am lucky to be able to know
and to be able to recognise such moments when they come,
and live within them for a short time
as if they were for a life-time-
and it is to them that I look forward to,
and within them I find the greatest solace.

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