I believe people can’t be summarised down into several words. I dislike labels and I never believed how one acts or thinks is lasting. It’s all dependent on circumstance.

Isn’t it interesting that we can paint these pictures of others, interact with people through lenses that we place before them? I understand that to make sense of our world, we make mental profiles of people but with these lenses, we also have the responsibility to update them as people change. The assumption that someone’s life is a concrete entity is dismissive and an unfair distillation of the essence of a person.

Life changes people and in time one won’t be the same as they were before.



Black eyes 


They say that the eyes are skylights to the soul. No matter how trained in deception or even manipulation, the eyes will be the most honest expression of the inner self. 

You can figure out exactly what a man is feeling through his eyes, even more so with the aid of his voice and his touch. They hold all the answers and little puzzle pieces you need to figure them out, to live just momentarily in their world.


Your eyes. Those dark, black eyes. I remember studying them hard, searching… Discovering those slight almost unnoticeable quivers of discomfort, the glassy twinkle of excitement, your infamous look of disbelief or the judgmental squint. And I could hear it too, hear the hollows in your voice as you breathed out past realities. You’d been changed and the taps that held your infinite memories had turned black and of course, you’d never let them run. 

I kept staring and staring, only to realise too late that the door was closed and the blinds, long drawn. You gleefully kicked up the dust, clouded yourself in unfounded opinions and allowed ignorant bundles of words to exit out your mouth. It’s really almost a cinematic distraction to what is, except the truth sits right in front of you.

Those black eyes…

I can only imagine how battered you must have been to choose darkness, to create this internal fortress, turning your back to the entire world.

xoxo Paula


Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass. 

– John Steinbeck