~ A New Chapter ~

For years, See. Think. Write. has been the name behind my writing – a space where I could observe, reflect, and put those thoughts into words.

But over time, as with everything else in life – things change. My writing has changed.

What began as a broader writing blog gradually became something more personal: a collection of original poetry and prose shaped by emotion, experience, memory, and all the things that are sometimes difficult to say.

So, it felt like the right time for a change.

Welcome to Unsaid .

The new name reflects what my writing has increasingly become: ‘words for what we cannot say‘.

The rebrand is more than a new name and logo. It is a reflection of how the page – and my voice as a writer – has evolved. The minimalist identity, literary typography, muted tones, and subtle details are all designed to give the writing room to breathe.

See. Think. Write. was where it began.

Unsaid. is where the words have taken me.

And there is still plenty left to say.

– Preston

Three years on

Three years on,
and I still keep
the Facebook posts and
the pictures
we have together

I’ve been keeping them (hidden)
from my profile
all this time

in the hopes that
someday
I may share them again

hoping that
someday
we’ll get back together.

But it’s looking highly unlikely
with each week,
each month,
each year,
that passes.

– Preston (17/08/26)

Preston’s Turns of Phrase

The Edinburgh Minge

(as opposed to the Edinburgh Fringe)

Traċċi

Sodda vojta
Riħa tiegħek fuq l-imħadda
Xagħrek fuq il-liżar

– Preston (06/03/23)

in the mirror of the bar

I catch a glimpse of myself
in the mirror
of the bar

dim red lights,
vape clouds in the air,
bodies writhing
all around me

my friend hands me a vodka coke

I catch a glimpse of myself
in the mirror
of the bar

dancing to the rhythm of the music

this is me
letting loose,
letting go
being me.

– Preston (12/06/25)

In-Nixxiegħa

qalbi deżert,
għatxana,
mejta
għal dik il-qatra ilma
fuq xofftejha,
ilsienha;

bla tama

sakemm
dħalt f’ħajti dakinhar,
u bqajt f’moħħi,
u ġarrejtek fi ħsibijieti
kull fejn mort

u bħall-qtar tal-ilma 
iqattar 
mill-vit imnejjek tas-sink,
bdejt tersaq aktar qrib
il-post li 
ftit huma dawk 
li
jirnexxielhom jidħlu.

u issa 
l-ilma nġama’,
l-art saret vaska.

sibt iċ-ċwievet
u ftaħt il-bieb tal-kantina,
li darba kont ħlift ma jerġax
jinfetaħ,

bil-mod…
bil-mod…

in-nixxiegħa tal-ilma ġieri
sabet triqitha
‘l isfel,
nieżla,
tarġa, tarġa

ħallejtek tidħol f’qalbi 
bil-mod…
bil-mod…

b’idejja max-xifer tal-bieb
lest
biex nerġa’ nagħlqu
mal-ewwel sinjal
t’uġigħ,
ta’ dubju

sakemm 
qalbi faret bl-imħabba…

u issa,
wara snin
magħluqa f’dik l-iswidija
li hemm imħaffra, 
moħbija
taħt l-art –
ġol-qafas ta’ sidri –
il-fjura
inti erġajt tajtha n-nifs tal-ħajja,
tajtha l-kulur,
max-xhur
kibret,
iffjorixxiet
sa fl-aħħar;

tama
imħabba

– Preston (27/06/25)

When the Veil Falls

At age 75 he seems at peace,
that he’s done it all;
resigned, almost retired.
Like a deck of faded cards,
worn thin from the weight of belief.

Today he is
hounded by the masses:
How is that done?
Explain it to us!
Teach that to us!

Meek and humble
sat on his chair at the table,
a lifetime of experiences being handed out freely,
coming out like a rabbit out of a hat
in a matter of minutes.

My heart sinks.

Gone now are the silks and smoke.
The curtain is drawn, the illusion is over.

And yet what lingers isn’t just the magic undone,
but the will to create it in the first place –
that tireless desire to dazzle and deceive.

Beneath the polish of practiced gestures,
there is only flesh, only bone,
yet seemingly the coals lie still very much afire
underneath.

That one trick which he doesn’t reveal
a sort of last grasp at something

“I really wouldn’t like to reveal that trick”, he says
calm yet firm.

A secret to be buried with him.

– Preston (25/10/2024)

This bed

This bed isn’t just
any bed
anymore

It’s where you rested your head yesterday afternoon,
where we made love the night before,
where we lay down;
your face buried in the crevice between
my neck and shoulder,
your hand on my chest,
where we
talked about
us;
how we met,
how we started dating,
how far we’ve come,
our future.

Now this bed isn’t just
any bed
anymore

It’s the same bed we woke up in this morning
side  by   side.

– Preston (16/01/2024)

Voice Message

This is the 7th time hearing your voice message,
you, me
side by side,
is all I can envisage.

– Preston (05/10/23)