In the last letter mummy had from France, daddy said he loved us and would be home soon. Daddy lied; he didn’t come home and he must have lied about loving us, cos’ if he really loved us, he would have come home, wouldn’t he - if he could. Mummy said he was just missing - well I’m missing too. I wonder if mummy has pain in her heart because I’m missing; like the pain, that squeezes my chest so tight my tears are trapped, because my daddy lied; and lies are bad and not good. I’m on the bridge where I said goodbye to my daddy. I thought he might still be here and hadn’t gone anywhere at all; but there is no-one here and it’s lonely and quiet - not even any trains screaming and screeching their brakes.So I shall be quiet and not even cry. You don’t cry when you're missing. He’s not coming is he? That’s why there is no screaming trains; because he’s dead and when you are dead everything is quiet and your not missing anymore.

Intro - Spoken/Sung softly) For the record... I'm... For the record... I'm... (Verse) Still in love with you I'm so fascinated You got me so levitated I'm so captivated Girl, I'm so captivated by you (Pre-Chorus) For the record, I'm... Put it on file, I'm... Right where you left me, still... (Chorus - More powerful, building) For the record, I'm still in love Still in the same old place For the record, it's you I'm thinking of Every time I see your face For the record, I'm... For the record, I'm... (Bridge - ad-libs over the music) Yeah... The record spins, the needle drops But my heart for you, it never stops For the record, for the record... (Outro - Fading out) For the record, I'm... Still in love... For the record, I'm... Still in love with you... I've rewritten my story Tried to change the page But every chapter ends the same way Still calling your name So for the record... (Say it loud!) For the record... (Say it proud!) I'm still... Still in love with you By James Cook

This story has been submitted through our admin team as the person did not want their name shown, etc. Please remember that anyone can sign up and post anonymously too. Back home, I was never alone for long. There was always a cousin calling, a friend arriving unannounced, someone asking whether I had eaten. Here, in my room, silence had a different weight. I missed my family so much that ordinary moments became difficult: seeing a mother and daughter shopping together, hearing a familiar song, or catching the smell of spices that almost, but not quite, resembled the food from home. I missed the food itself more than I expected. Not simply the taste, but what it meant: warmth, routine, care. I learned to cook in my shared kitchen, trying to recreate meals from memory. Sometimes I got it right. More often than not, I ate something bland while watching my parents on a video call, pretending I was settling in better than I was. At university, everyone seemed confident. People spoke quickly in seminars, laughed at jokes I understood a few seconds too late, and used expressions I had never heard in any English textbook. I had studied English for years, but suddenly it felt as though every sentence was an exam. I rehearsed questions in my head before speaking. I worried about my accent. I worried that people would assume I was less intelligent if I paused for the right word. That pressure made me quieter. And being quieter made me lonelier. There were parties where I felt peer pressure to drink, to be louder, to act as though I understood every social rule. I did not always know how to say no without sounding rude, or how to join a conversation that had started before I arrived. The culture was hugely different: the humour, the independence, the pace of friendship, even the way people made plans. Sometimes I felt welcome; other times, I felt like a visitor in a place where everyone else had received an instruction manual. The feeling followed me beyond campus. As an international student, I became very aware of money, visas, work restrictions, and how I might be seen as different before anyone knew me. At times, I felt unequal not because someone said it directly, but because I had to work harder to prove that I belonged (or was that my own mind playing with my worries?). It could feel like being a second-class citizen: present in the room, contributing to the room, but never entirely certain that the room was made for me. Job applications made that anxiety sharper. I spent hours preparing for interviews, trying to translate my experience into the language employers expected. As a non-native applicant, I wondered whether a small hesitation or an unfamiliar accent would overshadow everything I had achieved. I knew I had skills, ambition and ideas. But the question was always there: would they see them before they saw that I came from somewhere else? One grey afternoon, after another rejection email, I sat in the library and realised I had been treating struggle as a personal failure. I thought I was the only one missing home, doubting my English, fearing the future. But I was not. So many international students carry the same invisible weight as they try to look brave. That is why the incredible organisation InStudents matters so much. Founded by Kritesh Bisht, InStudents is working to support international students across UK universities before they arrive, throughout their university experience, and as they move towards graduation and employment. Through its PathFinder project https://www.wearepathfinder.org and other initiatives, it helps students navigate the journey from deciding to study in the UK to building a life and career here. For me, that support represents something simple but powerful: a reminder that asking for help does not mean I do not belong. It means I am learning how to belong in two places at once. InStudents has made me look at life in the UK differently: that I do fit in, that I am valued, and that my skills and I are my brand to take forward and become a part of the wider UK economy and continue to learn and become like the wonderful Kritesh Bisht and his amazing volunteers. Thank you all 🙏

We wear our days like well-pressed clothes, while underneath darkness flows. A worry, ache, or quiet dread, that lives unseen, unshared, unsaid. We learn to smile and say, "I'm fine," we always say that practised line. We keep our storms tucked out of sight, and say "We’re fine”, "Yeh, I'm alright.” We do not share what’s in our heads, we fear what others think instead. We mask it all, and keep it hidden, with sense and logic overridden. But secrets kept too long can grow they harden into walls (I know), and shut out those who hold us dear, till loneliness is all we feel. But FLOW for ALL was built to say: “You do not have to hide away”. Here, names can hide, and masks can fall, our doors are open, safe, for all. No judgement waits in any way. We welcome what you have to say. A space to speak, a space to hear, our ears to listen we’re always near. When we share our thoughts in FLOW, our problems lighten; this I know. And every story bravely told, makes room for others to unfold. So if you're holding something tight, know FLOW’s a place to bring you light. Please don’t face things on your own, FLOW is here; you're not alone. Thank you to our growing FLOW community Please know that you all make such a difference to others

Just inside my mind it lives, hiding from all others. In a dark and secret hallway with pictures of my brothers. Silently attacking me and my battle-weary boxes. Swarming my defences like unseen covert forces. Its name is “Retribution”, and it’s never going to leave, It’s always finding nightmares; there is no kind reprieve. It comes for me more often now; it seems to know I’m weaker. It’s calling for its helper, the one they call the reaper. Therapy and medicine won’t work upon my demons. They easily ignite my darkest burning beacons. As this silent serpent overwhelms my safest thinking, It breaks my peace and sleep, and soon it has me sinking. It’s born from many moments, so many wounds still bleeding. Loss, and love, and guilt and sin relentlessly keep feeding. Triggers from some movies, from sounds and smells abound. They feed my demons daily, so peace cannot be found. But here in FLOW I find like-minded souls comparing. Their feelings, pain and challenges, and everybody caring. By sharing all our writing, and feelings raw and dark. We help strangers manage through our honest, brave remarks. So go and tell the world today, the lost, the hurt, the lonely. We all support each other, and that I promise firmly. FLOW is here for everyone, no barriers or judgment. Just honesty, community, and a literary self-treatment. Thank you to everyone who shares here in FLOW, and to all the volunteer moderators and admins (Spread the word to the world) 🙏

I walk where others could not tread, with silent names inside my head. The roll call echoes, one by one, while I still wake to greet the sun. This hollow guilt, so cold and deep, disturbs the hours meant for sleep. No medal fills the empty space, where loss has carved its hate. If only fate had turned its hand, shifted footprints in the sand. Perhaps we’d laugh as we once knew, but here I am, the “lucky few”. Yet peace, I know, must start within, beyond the grief, beyond the din. To live with honour, not despair, and carry them through love and care. Goodnight, my friends, goodnight, sleep well. At last, my words my story tells. I miss you all and mourn your loss, but that must always be my cross. For all those carrying the survivors cross, Live for all those you lost, Make them proud.

Our demons don’t knock before they call, They wait in silence, hidden from all. A scent, a sound, a place, just doors That open many waiting sores. There is no cure that makes it cease, No single path that gives us peace. Instead, we learn some ways to cope, With effort, strength, faith, and hope. We owe it to the ones so near, who hold our hands through every fear. Their patience, love, and care for all, With no thanks expected, no fuss at all. To our blue light heroes, thank you all, You’ve answered all my frightened calls. A Samaritan’s voice, a friend so true, Brings hope to hearts like me and you. Mental health is our new war, We hold back demons at each door But you all help us get back up, For you, and you, we won’t give up. This poem is written in thanks for all of you, blue light heroes, and you Samaritans, who answer our calls. No matter how much we challenge your helping hands, please know we are forever in your debt. And for all you listeners in the Samaritans, thank you, bless you, know that you save so many of us.

This is a Poem I wrote for my wife on our anniversary because I forgot to get a card. Turned out to be the best this I did, because I got express my feeling for her in a way I never had before; I forgot to get a card this year and that I may regret But all the things you do for me I never will forget The way you remind me when I forget to take my needed meds The way you lightly hook my arm when I regularly forget The way you look into my eyes when something hits a nerve The way you kiss me on my cheek when I often don't deserve The way you hold my hand as if to say I'm here The way you talk to me on the phone to say "I miss you cos your not here. All these things I love about you, and many, many more So always know I'll love you now and will for ever more These things I mean to say to you, but often find it hard But this year was so very easy, because I forgot a card. Happy Anniversary darling xxx

I have no stories to tell you Nor victories to recall No pictures of my daring deeds Or accolades on my wall But after serving 39 years and more I fight most every night With the battles that go on in my head That gives me sleepless nights Being part of the big Green Machine With Comrades all around Knowing that someone's always there If answers cant be found I miss these times so very much with each breath I take And every night when the battle starts I lay there wide awake The life I lead is wonderful with loved ones all around But there are times when I feel alone with people all around I try to overcome these thoughts with humour and a drink But mostly this just makes me worse and my moral slowly sinks It's lonely being a veteran, with no comrades all around No one to laugh and joke with, no familiar military sounds But we were taught to mask our feelings, and to soldier on No one likes a SSAFA case, pick up your kit, crack on The days, the weeks, the months go by, and time just gathers pace. But I cant help just wishing I was back in my Happy Place Those days are long gone now, and comrades have moved on And I just sit and reminisce, when this old warrior was strong.

Darcey A very sad day, grief beyond measure I lost my Pal, ‘’Darcey” my Treasure The time had come to end her fight A time to do what I knew was right A reluctant act, but do it I must The proper way to repay her trust A terrible decision, it could make you cry Is She up there watching from the sky? 2 Mill Close is not what it ought The Sad thing is its one dog short A treasure to the very end Memorable times with my faithful friend “Darcey” R.I.P

Flowing from the Tower’s wounded walls Forgotten names in sacred halls Remember the Blitz & wartime fears Poppies prompting loved ones tears Striking sights Poppies pour Across the lawn by the White Tower Door Blood Red Poppies form a flowing Ripple From the wounded wall our hearts they cripple Forming a crater of crimson Red Loved ones lost, Forever Dead At home and abroad in foreign Parts Long remembered in caring hearts May they rest in peace David Killelay (Forces Poetry)

We were born under the same sun, you and I, Although we look not alike. Your skin is dark and mine is light. We pray to different gods, we speak not the same, but love knows no borders, and we play the same game. With laughter and kindness, we bridge every gap, and in this wonderful life, we follow the same map. For every heartbeat echoes, a rhythm so true, In the dance of existence, I stand here with you. With colours and cultures, we weave our own thread, Together we rise, where compassion is spread. So let’s celebrate our differences, let’s open our eyes, for beneath all our layers, the same spirit lies. Bound by our stories, our dreams intertwined, In the garden of humanity, true peace we will find.

Sinuous in my silk gown, I slip seamlessly though the enveloping white mist, its droplets, glinting like diamonds, caught in the tendrils of my hair. The mist is ice cold, alive and swirling and I am flung around like spun sugar. Scarlet streams of blood, leave my body and my breath is severed from its roots, as a lone tree is felled by lightening. A haunting stillness, a calm, the storm dies, all colour is drained away, as I am drained into an accepting peace, to a simpler existence of where I need to be. My wounds healed.

Let them lie where they fell when the gales ripped them from their ancient birth; fractured roots exposed, like nerve endings. Let them lie where they fell a rest for a weary walker and a scramble and leap for a frisky tongue lolling dog; a seat for lovers. Let them lie where they fell supporting breathing life of burrowing beetles, centipedes and beavering woodlice; a hollow for a foraging fox. Let them lie where they fell majestic monoliths between between two worlds; of mycelium and fruiting fungi, wind borne spores re-colonising. a testament to growing youth.

There’s an old nest in the hedge, forgotten, deserted. It rests in criss-cross privet, a sculptural memorial of eggs cracking, hatching, new life out of dead twigs, dried moss and lifeless grass. The breath left it long ago. A gaping silence.

I’m thirty now, and words still bloom like flowers lighting every room My notebook sits beside my bed To capture thoughts, dreams, and threads Poetry grows from many things the happy, the sad, the heart that sings From all of life and daily battles My words, my sabre, hear them rattle I write because some feelings stay Too deep for speech, too bright for day Each verse becomes a door, a key A way to show the hidden me

To all of the mothers upstairs in the clouds, Your daughters and sons shout “Hi’ really loud. We know you’re not here since that day you passed, but the love in our hearts will forever last. Some still buy cards and flowers today, and place them by pictures and smile through the day. Each time we pass them, new memories stir, and we smile yet again for our mother upstairs. We sit with your grandkids and talk about nan, we laugh when we see “that look” when we can. It makes us feel nice that you’re part of this day, on the day for all mothers, here or away. And later this evening, when the day turns to night, you’re still not forgotten; we hold you so tight. We sit, and we think of so many things, the sound of your voice as we look at your rings. Now let’s make a deal, and neither be sad. Let’s love all the memories that all of us have. Remember the love, the laughs and the smiles, and celebrate Mums with love and with style. So now off to bed, for sleep and some rest, to reflect on memories, some of our best. Your care and your love and your sacrifice too, as that is what made us, now that’s what we do. Blow out the candles and turn off the lights. Look up to the clouds and say your goodnights. We send all of our love and blow kisses too. Goodnight to you, Mum, and love to you too. For all the Mums on Mother’s Day who are no longer with us. ❤️

As I sit and drink my coffee today, I hear many things that passersby say. They’re often unhappy and talking of those, who cause so much pain at work as they go. I hear of people, quite senior as well, who make people’s lives a living hell. Bullies, liars, and those who don’t care, they just want their way, whether right or unfair. The shouter, the bully, the “do as I say”. They’re all so destructive, that’s just not the way. So step up and be counted, use truth all the time. Make care, trust, and listening your constant pastime. I think of our programmes that cover all this. Emotional intelligence and trust, and such bliss. Psychological safety and work cultures, too. Such things make workplaces far nicer (it’s true). We talk about values and things we hold dear. About speaking out freely without any fear. We need to hear what everyone thinks. Or watch progress and profits go right down the sink. Welcome opinions from everybody. Dare to be honest, step up, and see. Do the right thing, it’s what we all must do. As if not me, or you, then who? So leaders and managers, please hear what I mean. Talk to your people, don’t leave them unseen. Listen, take action, and let them all see. Your care for people is a priority. “Trust is all about the consistency of reliability.” Mac Macdonald - (LAPD Solutions) (Feel free to share this with anyone/anywhere)