Take away my fear

I wish you were here to take away my fear

Knowing that you are just around the corner

A touch and a swipe on the screen away

Today, I need you to be here in my ear

I need to hear your voice, your words

Just for me and for you; you and me and you

Your guidance would help me through this struggle

Giving away my thoughts and my control

I feel this mind is losing a battle again

But I don’t dare to get in touch with you

I can’t burden you with my egoism

But…

I wish you were here to take away this fear

I haven’t been going out in a while. Tonight I will enjoy myself. Usually, I am wearing black (apart from the shoes). Today, I am wearing red. 🙂

Well that was me going out. I’ve been stood up and I am quite pissed about it. I was looking forward to tonight. Instead, I am sitting at home with the family again. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to have them… But I was ready to socialise tonight, with the added bonus of music I like… So… As much as I said that I am not mad and that I understand, it doesn’t make me any less disappointed. I could have stayed on my own, but the mood was ruined and maybe I stood in my own way there for a moment… Too late now though…

The truth seeps in

I stand in a corner afraid to fall apart My dress comes undone at its seams And the truth seeps in. Your hands cover my heart They must be feeling the distress. Don’t leave. I look at you the moment I wake I feel as if I am standing in a corner My legs don’t know any way out And the truth seeps in. Your eyes bore into my soul They must feel what I am not saying. Please leave. And the leaves fall from the trees And the rain pours out of the clouds And we don’t know in which direction to go. And the truth seeps in.

highlights of the day

I did not do much today. Much to my husband’s dismay, I imagine. Lately, I am very tired. Exhausted really. There is no physical explanation, I had everything checked, and yet, I am tired all the time. During the summer months, my schedule at work is a different one. It allows us to go on daytrips with the kids and do other fun stuff we usually can’t do because of the number of kids. (I work at a daycare center for kids). My own kids are away a lot too. They have summer vacation until mid-September and they visit aunts and uncles and grandparents. (instead of having to go to summerschool or something like that). I work three days a week and have two days off. Today was an off day. I slept in. Or at least I tried. Truthfully, I slept until 8am and then I began to read the news on the internet and caught up with the social media. (twitter, IG, facebook, wattpad) I watched a bit of Netflix (the New Girl… I am not a particular fan of the show, but the episodes are short and there are a couple of funny scenes in it) and when I got hungry around noon, I made lunch. And this is the actual highlight of the day because for the first time ever, I made tomato-soup from scratch. It was fairly easy to do. And it was delicious with a tad too much garlic though. I read some more (an actual book!) and watched a movie (on Netflix again – handsome devil) and then I decided to take a bath – where I read some more (on my kindle this time). I cleaned the house a bit, but not too much, and then I sat down at the laptop to write. I had 789 words ready but then I had this feeling – you know the one? The one where you look at your words and realise that they are pretentious crap that no one wants to read – and that rightly so? Well, my post was deleted. I made myself a cup of coffee and ordered two tickets to a concert this Saturday, before I finally decided to write anyway. They say a writer needs to write. I don’t consider myself an author – I have an issue with labeling myself and other people.

I have not been inspired to write stories lately. I can’t put my finger on the reasons, but I guess it has to do with the fact that I am so tired. I do have ideas, but as soon as my pen hits paper, they are gone. Weird, but it happens to all of us. It just feels like an internal drama to me, because I used to sit down and write entire chapters of stories. I haven’t done that in years and in a way, I don’t miss it but I feel that I should write for the people who read those early stories. Almost as if I feel guilty. But only almost.

From time to time, I wonder what makes me special and unique. And I can’t come up with anything, really. I am kind and compassionate, I try to help as much as I can. I am a dedicated mother, a shy person, I can be funny and sometimes outgoing too. I am loyal, supportive, I can speak to you in four different languages, I know how to use words with an emotional impact and I like music a bit too much. But are those really things that define me? Is the fact that I chew chewing gum while driving my car something that makes me me? Sometimes, I feel like a little kid. At 34 I should have figured life out, one would think, but is there really something to figure out? I like to go with the flow and I like spontaneous decisions – when I can make them. I don’t like surprises and I don’t like mean people. But I like men and men knowing how to play the piano and use their words correctly – that’s something I love a lot. (how did this fact slip into this?) I like sunrises because they are more hopeful than sunsets and I like clouds. I like the sound of rain when it is pouring (and it is raining a lot right now) and I marvel at rainbows like a little kid. I love soap bubbles and voices. And green eyes. Feeling appreciated too…

How this post started out with my day and ended with a description of me, I don’t know. Of all people, I am the one who knows me the least.

I wrote some posts in this book lately:

Burnt Wood

They will not take a lot of time to read because they are all under 500 words long – some of them aren’t even 100 words long. If you ever want to know what else I write, you should try and hit the link. I am a pretty great person, you know? I just don’t always have the right way of looking at myself.

So… you really read this far? Thank you. And now I exceeded the initial word count by 100 words. Isn’t that something?

Here… you deserve a song:

Radiohead – man of war (from their album OK NOT OK 1997-2017)

I enjoy this song a lot. (I didn’t watch the clip, lol)

 

Have a great time…

Cathy

Still in love with you

Sore
Thoughts.
Invisible
Lines.
Lovesick.

Inner light
Never bright.

Little known truths
Of love. Loss.
Vulnerable. Almost unbearable.
Empty heart. Heartbroken.

Words lick my skin
Inside. Craving the sin.
These truths became fantasies
Heaven weeps. Lost minds?

Yielding strength. We gave up.
Old wounds become new scars.
Untouchable thoughts. Forever hidden memories.

(Dedicated to my best friend who passed away two years ago. He shared the Thin Lizzy song “still in love with you” with me one night. (Sharing music was our thing.) I listened to that song earlier and that’s what inspired this poem.)

Hurt

One leap and
You’ll be free
But you fear the hurt

The hurt you’ll feel
The hurt I’ll feel.

If we changed directions now
Into the future, away from the past?

But I fear the hurt
The hurt I’ll feel
The hurt you’ll feel

You will not leap
I will not jump
Together, we fall

5 years ago…

On December 21st 2012, I started this very blog. It was the day that had been predicted as the end of the world because the Mayan calendar ended that day. I cannot remember what made me start this thing, but it is one of the few things I seldom neglected. Back in the day, I shared a lot of music and rambled about it. That was until the day I realised that I don’t know anything about music. And even though I am passionate about it, I am in no way qualified to write about it. I began sharing my poetry and my writing but due to poor tagging I kept myself in my own little space. I didn’t read this blog or that either. I just wrote for me and used this space as a safe haven for me and my inner turmoil. Not much has changed since and yet… And yet. I am censoring myself and my words a lot more. For no real reason. But I am a bit more shallow these days. At least I think I am, I am not sure how regular readers see it.

I am sharing mostly poetry or short stories these days. The music is still present but not as much anymore.

There are times when I am more quiet. Those are the times when I am well and balanced within myself. Then, there are the times when I write a lot and the manic depressive episode is palpable through the screen. I don’t do it on purpose, but I don’t talk a lot to people; I need to write excessively during these times or I will implode. It is a part of who I am. And I am not looking for fame, but if readers can rely, I feel a little less alone. (And they do too.) And that’s something that means a lot to me. Comments are rare, but I cherish them all the more and it warms my heart to see the same usernames and avatar pop up in my notifications again and again.

Today, we are celebrating 100 followers here on micqu.wordpress.com It’s a small number, but I love it nonetheless. No post ever has 100 reads here… Most have around 10 to 15, depending on the tags I use.

Happy anniversary to us. To you and to me. And thank you for the generous gift of your time. I will never be able to repay you. Here’s to 5 more years and many more after that.

Lots of love,

Cathy

https://micqu.wordpress.com/category/about-me/

20170708 (untitled)

Awoken by the sound of a dropping eyelash
Floating to the pillow, loaded with memories
A puff of sleeping breath prolongs its journey
Hiding it from the world; making it disappear.

awake

She lay awake in bed; wide awake. The time on her alarm kept moving forward until it was 04:26 in the morning. She only heard silence. No birds tweeting in the trees, no chirping in the grass. In the far distance, she thought she had heard thunder, but maybe it has just been a plane. What kept sleep so elusive? It was a memory.

I made a mess,” he chuckled. I need to take a shower,” he said still trying to catch his breath. “Will you stay on the line?” She was somewhat surprised by his request, but she agreed. “I won’t take long,” he added. She heard the rustle of his sheets and the padding of his naked feet on hardwood floors. Doors opened and a shower curtain was pushed aside and then she already heard water running. She could almost see the water cascading over his naked, still flushed body. She heard how the water got caught in his hair and how it was released with a splash against the tiles. She heard bottles being open and shampoo being squeezed out. It was all so mundane, yet so intimate. And then he began to hum. She smiled. She loved listening to him. He wasn’t holding back. Just being himself. It filled her with a sense of serenity. Words were added to the sound of water. They didn’t make sense to her, and yet… She kept listening in. The water stopped and the curtain was pushed back again. Was he brushing his teeth now? The sheets were rustling again. “Are you still there?” “Yes, I am” she said fondly. “I need to go, I need to meet with my brother.” It wasn’t how she had the call expected to end, but he never did the expected. “I’ll get in touch, okay?” “Yes, yes okay. Take care.” “It was nice talking to you, sweetie. Bye” It had taken three months before he got back in touch.



She had been listening to his new record. It had been released weeks prior to her sleepless night and one particular song felt familiar. For days she wondered why. Until it hit her like a brick wall. That day in the shower, he had hummed the melody and sung some of the chorus’s words. Had she inspired a song? He hadn’t said anything in that regard but still… A girl can dream, can’t she?
“It’s in the way you need me,” he sang.
5am. The sky was changing its colour. A little over an hour before the alarm would go off. And she tried to hold on to his memory. A man who had since left her life. She still saw him at the edge of her life, but it became easier to ignore him these days. It became  easier to not wait anymore. Most days anyway…

holes

​There are holes in the ground
Fill them with the debris of our love
Scattered fragments of our souls
Floating in a sea of tears.
This was not what we signed up for
Emotional baggage bringing us down.
Hauntingly whispered ditties ring in our ears
Out of tune,
Lost synchronicity
And what remains of who we were lies buried in the ground.