And so I shall. I'll now be using this space for creative writing I feel like doing and unloading when I need to. Or, in the case of this next piece, both at the same time. But I'm not telling all you internet plebs about my personal life so it will be expressed through the medium of fiction. This next one is based upon when I got my new Facebook page and searched for the first person that came to my head. And I found her.






University of St Vladimir, Kiev



Boris had been in this country for eight years now. His life before seemed like a different world, everything had changed. He had a good life, he had friends, he had his family. He had just enrolled in the Univeristy here and everything seemed well. Sure the work was dreary and the timetable was packed but the vodka was cheap and the company good. He could think of nothing to complain of.



But every night he would lay in his bed and think of home. His real home. The village seemed so far away and he was certain that it wouldn't be as good as he remembered it. But it was home. And she was there.



He sat at his desk, his hands trembling as they grasped his pen and the paper. He had been in this situation many times, on the verge of sending the message but never having the courage. Did he really feel this way? What if she responded? For eight years he had asked himself this question, time and again and never had it resolved itself. Maybe it never would.



He stood and paced the flat for a moment before opening the window and breathing deeply of the night air. He would dream of her again tonight, and of home. Of this he was certain. He looked forward to his dreams with both excitement and trepidation. For he would see her but it was never real, the morning would come and destroy what brief happiness he had had. An apt metaphor perhaps.