don’t leave

​I am here. Wide awake, when I should be sound asleep. All alone, when I should be with you. Your scent still lingers on the pillow next to me, and I pull it closer to me. It makes me safe. Safer than I am without you by my side. I want to inhale it and bring you back to me. I am not ready to let go.
I knew that this would happen sometime soon. I knew, that one night, I would wake up, and you would be gone. That night is now. You promised you would never leave me. But you broke your promise. You did this to us.
I came home, and your bags were packed, ready at the door. You said you would go back to your mom’s until I found a new place to stay. But where am I supposed to stay? I don’t have the right to work here. I don’t have much money left and the friends – they are yours, not mine. Not one of them will offer me a couch to sleep on, because no matter how you’ll twist and turn it, I’ll stay the stranger, the foreign woman, who gave up everything for you. You couldn’t look at me when you walked out of the door, and I refused to scream and shout at you. I refused to call you back. I refused to cry in front of you.
Maybe that was my biggest mistake. Maybe I should have fought for you. Maybe I should have asked what was going on and where it all went wrong. I didn’t even think about it. I just saw you and your bags and the determination in your eyes. And the sadness too. I let you go, and it broke my heart.
It’s the middle of the night, and I am still clutching your pillow. I don’t want this to end. I am not ready to let you go. In the spur of the moment, I grab the phone and dial your number. I take a deep breath and sit up straight. I pull your pillow onto my lap and straighten the cover around my legs. On the third ring, you pick up and for a moment, I am speechless. No words are ready to be said.
“It’s me.” I finally say, still running my hand over imaginary creases in the sheets.
“I know,” you say. I wish I could hear more hope in your voice. Instead, I hear weariness and sadness.
“What happened?” I ask, coming straight to the point.
“Everything. Nothing. I am dried up,” you confess and, wouldn’t I know what you are talking about, I wouldn’t understand. But I do. You have lost your creativity. The worst possible scenario for a painter. You haven’t touched a brush since I am here. I am not keeping you from your work, at least not consciously, but you don’t paint anymore.
“Is it my fault?” I ask, dreading the answer. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it’s the natural way of creativity. It’s like a wave, sometimes all consuming and there and other times only barely tangible. Almost nonexistent.
“Maybe,” you whisper, and I can feel the tears burning in my eyes. I knew it, but I didn’t want to hear it. I am confident that I will never win your heart over your art. You live, breathe, sweat for your art. I can’t win this war. And I shouldn’t want to see it as a war. It’s a part of you. One I fell in love with, too.
“I don’t want you to go,” I finally say, after a short silence that was heavy on the line.
“I don’t know what to do. It’s all I can do. I am good at it.” I can practically see you running your hand over your bald head. Back and forth, feeling the stumbles underneath your fingertips.
“I know. I know.” I whisper, and I can feel you pulling away even further from me. You are slipping through my fingers, and there is nothing I can do.
“I can’t sleep without you by my side. I never thought that I would be addicted to you like this,” you say, and I feel the same. It gives me a little hope. I can’t sleep without feeling your body close to mine and hearing your rhythmic breaths.
“But I am draining you. Why can’t I be a source of energy for you? Why can’t I inspire you?” I don’t want you to answer. I don’t want you to crush my heart even more.
“I don’t know. I wish I would know,” you sound as if you are crying now and I long to hold you. I don’t want to make you miserable. I want to make you happy. I don’t want to make you sad. I want to bring you joy. But I am not ready to let go. Not yet. I let go of too many things lately. You are not one of them. I refuse to let you be one of them.
“Can I come home?” Your question pierces through my thoughts, and I don’t know what to say. I smile – no, grin – I want to say so many things, but there is a big lump in my throat, and it prevents the words to roll off my tongue. Not even a sound comes out. I panic. What if you take my silence as a ‘no’? You clear your throat while I still struggle to make a sound. Tears wet my cheeks. Happy tears, because you are coming back. Soon. It won’t be like it used to be and I know that. Everything will change between us, and yet, I crave your touch and your kiss. I need you to take me into your arms and pet my hair gently. I like it when I lean my head against your shoulder, and your hand racks through the lengths of my hair. It soothes me.
“Yes,” I finally croak.
Before anything else can be said, you are gone. There’s only the familiar sound audible. Disconnection. I look at the phone as if it could answer all those unasked questions. What happened? Where are you? The beep sounds mocking, and I put the phone face down on my the nightstand. What did I do? 
I rub my face with my hands. So much drama over nothing. But how am I supposed to make your creativity come back? There is nothing I can do.
Not even five minutes later, I hear your key in the lock of the front door. I run my hands through my hair, to flatten it a bit. It’s a silly move, but it makes me believe, that I look much better now than before. I wait. Patiently. Nervously. The bedroom door opens, and you are back.
You sit on the bed, wringing your hands, looking down at your feet. They are naked. I come closer to you. Putting a kiss on your shoulder, resting my head on it.
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” I whisper, and you turn in my arms. Together, we curl up in a ball under the sheets. You are still dressed. It doesn’t matter. You are back. You put his head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat. I kiss your head. Our fingers entwine, and we stay silent. Eventually falling asleep like this. Nothing is as it was before. It will never be the same, but which direction it all will go – I don’t know. In my heart, I know that you are not back for good. Someday soon, you will be gone. And I will be alone.

my heart is fading

Oh my heart it is breaking
Shards ready for the taking.
And I can’t keep faking
Maybe it was too much to take in.

Loneliness befalls me
It’s plain for everyone to see.
I stopped floating in this muddy sea
Begging you, please don’t set me free.

But you turn around and go
Everything inside is sinking low.
And I want to hear that it isn’t so
But you keep walking away, slow.

I refuse to believe in this!
We lived in ignorant bliss
And nothing was amiss.
This can’t be our final kiss.

The sorrowful truth lies heavy on my heart
I thought we were so smart,
That our love was a work of art.
Maybe we were doomed right from the start?

Wherever you may go, I wish you many things
But remember no one will offer my sins.
The truth is, we were under each other’s skins
Deeper than anyone before or ever since.

touch me

You touched me
Your voice
Your words
Your soul.
I want to touch you too.

You saw me
My needs
My wants
My soul.
I want to see you too.

Everything you do to me,
I want to give it back.
The way you make me feel;
Beautiful colours filling huge gaps.

Always standing out for you,
Reassuring me
That I was never one of a few.
That’s more important than anything else will ever be.

my love

My love is like the rain. Starting as a drizzle. Turning into a cloudburst. It soaks you to your bone.

My love is like a cherry. A small bud that turns into a blossom. And then it turns into a delicious fruit.

My love is like a song. A melody once heard; it turns into the most important piece of music ever played.

My love is like the sand. Graced with lightening, it becomes a work of art. One of its kind.

My love is like spring. New and beautiful. Filled with tears too?

My love is like summer. Hot and passionate. Searing heat burns my skin?

My love is like autumn. A breeze. Comforting. Ever changing.

My love is frail and filled with desire. Not with demands, but with longing for an everlasting story.

My love is like the words I write. For you. Only for you. Raw. Unmasked. All consuming.

My love is hidden underneath layers of fears and doubts. But it is not hopeless. It can easily be found and uncovered.

My love is your love. Your love is my love.

Black Clouds

Something dark comes our way.
Dooming and glooming it will take residence inside of us sucking the light from within.
Black hole, swallow us all as darkness creeps over my weary soul.

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Love Yourself!

Here I am. Standing on the balcony. Staring ahead of myself. Just staring into the sky and thinking. I love the clouds. The sky. The sun. The moon. Just imagine that the same sun shines down on all of us. Isn’t that amazing? It doesn’t matter where you are and who you are. We share the same sun. The same sky. That simple thought – it makes me happy. Brings peace to an already quite peaceful mind. Yes. Lately I feel peace within. I am not sure where it comes from. It doesn’t come from the outside. No one influenced it to be there. Yet it is. Despite the dark, there is light.
Anyway… While I was standing there, watching the clouds, I began to smile. I was alone and I smiled. And that smile turned into a chuckle. And a thought came to my mind… I love myself! I mean… Wow! When did that happen? I loved music. I loved men. I loved books and stories. I never loved myself. Huh! Stunned I sat on a chair. Drenched as it was from all the recent rain. But that thought needed more pondering. I love my achievements. My life. I am even starting to love my body. I am quite compact. Fat in places too. But it’s okay. Because I am beautiful. Another wow moment. Another moment spent staring into the sky.

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There is light. You should go and love yourself. (And that was a quote from a Justin Bieber song… Although, isn’t he singing ‘f@#$ yourself’?)
So, with a wet ass from the wet chair, with a Justin Bieber song in my head, with a very new thought in my mind, I felt like sharing this.
And I felt like reminding everyone who is reading this, to love themselves too. I mean, take a step back and admire who you are. Who you became. Focus on the good! Be happy!

Yep… My contribution to this writing day is a surprising one. I surprised myself. I am still smiling.

Thank you! Thank you. 😘

Mettle by T E Morris

There are days like this when I am not feeling myself. A bad day. Days like this are days when I feel like punishing myself – my body. Just to feel it. To feel that I am still there. I am too close to take a blade. To mark my skin and feel the flesh tearing apart. To see rivers of blood on my wrist.
And so I do what I am doing best. I try to ignore that nagging feeling. I would drink myself into oblivion. Just to stop that feeling. But I can’t do that today. I need to function for the family. And what else is left?
There is nothing there. But too much is not okay. I just can’t voice it. I can’t say what it is. And I only know half of it anyway.
We all have those days, right?

Yesterday I had a good day. I felt sexy, desirable. I had self-worth.

Today I am not feeling myself. Or maybe I am feeling too much…

One of those days…

Sometimes I am greedy. Greedy and needy. Needy to hear nice things. To be complimented and validated.
Pitiful, is it not?
And then someone says something shallow but nice and the need is satisfied. Just like that.
And then someone says something shallow and indifferent and the need grows stronger until it turns into self-loathe and mirthless chuckles aimed at myself.

I had a lonely day. Which is only half true. There’s a difference with being lonely and feeling lonely. I was not lonely, but I felt lonely. Like a teenager I was waiting by the phone for a message from someone special. Because as I mentioned before, I am greedy and needy, and today I was in need of a special friend. He didn’t know. He is not a mind reader and that’s why he still doesn’t know. And time-zones are a pain in the posterior too. And since I am complicated and always afraid to bother other people with myself, I let my thoughts run in circles, fill my journal with thoughtless thoughts and meaningless meanings. And of course I listen to music.
My friend still didn’t react. But my day is about to get busier. Monday night is Movie night with my best friend.

Here I am, debating with myself if I should apologise for taking up this space. But the space is there. And I am there. I can take up as much space as I need. And if someone can relate to my special case of madness, than I welcome you to my inner circle. Virtually. In reality, that circle is closed. No one would survive anyway, lol.

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But you know? I know that I am valuable. I just forget about it sometimes. And I just need to hear nice words (or praise) more often than others.

xx

anger

I abhor the way you smile at me when I know how much you hate me.
Aw, did that make you sad?
I am never angry. Not even a little.
But you should watch your back.
I don’t care enough about you and I am not brittle.
I cut you out of my heart and out of my mind; not too blind anymore to see.
This should touch you right in the middle.
Just imagine how much worse these words would be, if I was mad.

*insert evil laugh

A/N: and while I wrote this, I realised that I am not an angry person. The right angry and mad emotions have no home within me. Which is rather good.