I, from time to time, find myself reading her website (it used to be a blog) and it always amazes me how she writes.
How can I not like these words when they say exactly what I was thinking/feeling the first time I read the post? I´m sure they will somehow 'get to you' too ;)
I´d say she should try and be a writer or journalist... but she already is.
"What If, For a Moment"
by Gillian Young
'What if we savoured every bite? And allowed the textures, the flavours, the sweet, the salty, the heat, and the nostalgia to sit on our tongues for a moment, even two, before swallowing.
What if we never got drunk? We could drink our wine with so much patience and pleasure that it would wrap its warm body around our bodies rather than go straight to our heads.
What if we really listened? And instead of trying to figure out our next sentence we focused on what the other was saying. We could hear the tiny truths. Get to know each other.
What if we were here right now? We could stop replaying old memories like worn down records and see what this moment feels like. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe I’m hungry. Maybe we are happy.
What if we looked each other in the eyes? Face to face. Forgetting the need to look away or act disinterested. We could take in all the little details from chin to forehead and forgot about the shoes on our feet and the bruises on our shins.
What if we woke up today and celebrated? For no other reason other than the fact that we are alive, and breathing, and the world is one big playground for us to play in.
What if we allowed ourselves to love? Him, her, the stranger making your coffee and the bus driver who is rude to you. Because they are people, and in some way they are helping us, and they also have families, and unmade beds, and ripped up hearts, and dirty dishes, and memories stuffed in shoe boxes they’d like to forget.
And what if we loved ourselves? But really. Every stretch mark, every mistake, every stain, every failure. What if we stopped trying to bleach it all out? We are flawed. We are human. We are messy and sometimes it’s a mess we don’t have to clean up. We are real, with big bloody hearts and so many twisted kinds of wonderful.'