Love Anew

Life.  It pulls you in directions that you yearn for, that you despise, and that which inspires.

My latest pieces can be found via Instagram or Facebook.

Love & laughter,
Miriama C.T.

 

I have always been open about my struggle with recurrent miscarriage.  Earlier this year I had my fifth pregnancy loss.   To carry is beautiful, and to lose is to climb the highest mountain only to fall with nothing to hold onto. I feel the notion of hope comes with a light that shines bright, and it takes only a moment for the light to be stolen by the cruelty of night. - by Miriama C.T.

I have always been open about my struggle with recurrent miscarriage. Earlier this year I had my fifth pregnancy loss. To carry is beautiful, and to lose is to climb the highest mountain only to fall with nothing to hold onto.
I feel the notion of hope comes with a light that shines bright, and it takes only a moment for the light to be stolen by the cruelty of night. – by Miriama C.T.

 

This piece was inspired by the cruelty of love.  Yes, love can be cruel.  By Miriama C.T.

This piece was inspired by the cruelty of love. Yes, love can be cruel. By Miriama C.T.

We yearn to be saved. By Miriama C.T.

We yearn to be saved. By Miriama C.T.

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Introducing ‘Bash’

For my birthday last month I was gifted this beautiful typewriter from my best friend.

typewriter

I have fallen in love with the stroke of every key which has further ignited my passion to write.  I’ve named him, Bash.  A few of my latest pieces are to follow, however I post my writing daily on Instagram at instagram.com/curly_miri

Starting back this week: ‘Thursday Treats’ and I’ll introduce a new category called ‘Stranger Saturday’, curious?  You’ll find out more on Saturday.

Find me on: Instagram and Facebook

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Miriama C.T © 2014

Love & laughter,
Curly Miri.

Thank you!

curlymirimocha In 2012, I started writing online via WordPress after my Mister snapped this photo of me on our coffee date. Curly Miri became an outlet for me to write and overcome my battle with depression.  A lot of my writing is derived from experiences in my first romantic relationship with a man from the age of 16. I left New Zealand to live with him in Washington, fast forward I’m now happy to be back in NZ.

I have now extended my writing to Instagram.   I love meeting new people, and I cherish the relationships with amazing souls I have met in the writing world. As an example, I wrote a blog post about moving into a new home and a reader sent me a painting for our home all the way from New Orleans!  You can find the beautiful work of Nancy Wolfe Kimberly (Gator Girl Art) here.

At times, I fear that allowing you to roam in the realm of my thoughts is a vulnerable gesture on my part. However, it is the genuine connections that you establish with my words I am most grateful for. Thank you for supporting my writing journey. Much love to you all.

Find me on: Instagram and Facebook

Love & laughter, Curly Miri (Miriama C.T.)

To My Unborn Child

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The only photos I have when I was pregnant were taken in Samoa at Matareva Beach.

 

I run wildly in this forest of deception, never halting, bleeding endlessly as I search for your beating heart.  I am cloaked in the mirage of your beauty.  I look for you amongst the trees, beyond the horizon and in the distance I see your smile.  The purity of your essence, now lost, captivates me, paralyses me and I can no longer run.  I am unashamed of my yearning for you to return to my womb.  I succumb to this melancholy as it covers me in the torn remnants of your love.

Curly Miri © 2014

Love & Laughter,
Curly Miri

Carry You

I want to hold you so much and experience life with you. Why is this happening again? Your dad took this photo of us in Samoa, our home. You made us so happy. I already picked out your name. I should be preparing for your arrival but now you are gone. My heart aches as I miss you and I lose you all over again. Please come back, baby. Let me hold you. Let me see you.  Let me carry you.  Love, Mom.

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Crying Into Her Clothes

As a child I remember my mother in so much desolation, sitting on her bed and tears streaming down her face.

I recall her being unable to move from her bed and reaching for a shirt, the closest object for her to conceal her sobbing.  

As a child I never understood what it was to be in despair or to cry with a broken heart.  As an adult I can now comprehend the hurt.  Suffering from our own battles is not an easy journey.  I yearn to be a mother.  I want to wake each morning and not be washed over by a numbing sense of loss. 

It is time for me to let go and accept that maybe all that I desire is not a part of the plan.  Instead I can only continue to be grateful for the beautiful life that I have.

For now, I sit here and I cry as my mother did.  Into her clothes.