untitled_ 20181125

I just had an awful nightmare, and I couldn’t manage to get my heart rate back to normal for a long while. Like a child, I am afraid to go back to sleep now. Add the small fact that I am not sleeping in my own bed – I am visiting my sister in Germany.

I took this picture yesterday. No filters, no tricks. I saw the reflection of the sky in the water and had to take the pic. My kids didn’t see it until they saw the picture. The angle is not perfect. If I had held the camera a little higher, I would have had the entire tree on the right in the picture. I think that would have made it even better.


Currently reading…

I am thinking about making this a thing. There are times when I read a lot and times when I don’t read at all.

The last books (novels) I read were in German. “Gut Gegen Nordwind” and “Alle Sieben Wellen” by Daniel Glattauer (who is an Austrian author, I believe). It’s a series. Are two books a series? Or is it just a sequel? Semantics. The first book was a recommendation. My friend said that he liked the book a lot and that it has a sequel. If I had the chance, I should read them both. He talked about them Friday over dinner, and I was done with both books Sunday in the afternoon. I loved them that much. And I have to admit, thank god for Kindle. I think I would have lost my interest if I had had to wait for the paperbacks.

Since then, I did not read any novels. I began a few but couldn’t get through them. Here I should mention “Vurt” by Jeff Noon, and “Straight Boy” by Jay Bell. Both books are on my nightstand. But they didn’t grip me enough for now.

Currently, I am reading this:

“It’s Kind of a Funny Story” by Ned Vizzini. I admit I watched the movie right before I ordered the book. And I haven’t read the entire book yet – hence, currently reading. Reading about Ned Vizzini and his struggles that resulted in suicide, I became curious to see how he wrote this novel. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to read how he wrote about depression and mental health…

I am a demanding reader. If I am not gripped by the story or the narrative of it after reading 3 or 4 pages, the book will find a place on the shelf. Sometimes, books stay there for years until I give them a second chance, sometimes they stay there forever, unread, unloved. But sheltered and safe. I could never give away any of my books (and I couldn’t sell them either.)

I am a weird person with weird opinions. But I believe that every book is something magical. Someone sat at their desk and designed an entire universe. They got frustrated with their characters and were proud of them. They shared their mind and every waking (and sleeping) hour with those people. Writing a novel is satisfying, but it is draining too, and one a writer lets go of their baby, a void opens up in them. What was theirs becomes someone else. The visions and imageries they had when they wrote will be different for every reader (based on their mindset, upbringing, experience, past and present life…). Reading is subjective. Writing is too.

When I look at a book, I don’t only see a story and pages filled with words; I see weeks and months of hard work.

Every writer always leaves a bit of themselves in every book. đź’ś

What are you reading right now?


I never meant to start a war

I never meant to start a war, but here I am hurt and bleeding. Losing a battle with myself. I know how to hurt myself; which words cause the most damage; which thoughts will leave me paralyzed. And yet… I do not avoid them. I keep battling myself. I never meant to start a war, but here I am. Crying silent tears; choking on my breath. I cannot regret and I cannot redeem myself. And yet… I keep going over the same things in my head. I never meant to start a war, but I am losing. Wallowing in my bruised thoughts. Drowning. Suffocating. Going under in a sea of cutting blades. I wish we had never met. Get out of my head. Voices – be silent. Hands – be still. I never meant to start a war, but that’s who I am. Hurting, bruising, yelling – drowning myself.

I Never Meant To Start A War

(Repost from November 17th 2017)

Send help…

… I have a terrible cold. My nose is either runny or stuffed. My eyes are constantly tearing up, making them all puffy – and I look like I am crying all the time. My throat is sore. I can’t breathe. And… Overall, I have a cold. A can of pity would help immensely.

(As you can maybe tell, the mood is good – for now!)

Thank you for your support and my apologies – for days, I am not posting anything and then this… (You know you love me!)


I would love to be able to say that your soul is beautiful, but I know better

I would love to be able to say that you have a kind heart, but I know better

I would love to be able to say that your mind connected with mine, but I know better

I would love to say that I don’t think about you anymore, but you know better

I would love to be able to say that it didn’t mean anything at all, but I know better

I would love to be able to say that we were meant to be, but I know better

I would love to understand what happened, but it is better I don’t.


She kissed the scars on his wrist, licking the skin with her tongue. She felt his heartbeat.

At one moment he had not wanted to exist. But he was still there.

And she began kissing and tasting and touching him more eagerly. His mere existence in her life made her breathe easier.

Message on a bracelet

It says: They see you! To remind myself that I am not invisible, even if I often feel like it. The way I observe people, they observe me too. The way I see them, they see me too. I am here. I exist… A link in a chain. Damaged beyond repair. Hiding behind masks and opinions, even when I am naked; simply out of fear that my mind is ugly and my body too, and that I don’t deserve their love. I’ve been told so for decades. It is in me. And when one stopped saying it, another one stepped into my life and took over. It is hard to see anything other.

I would never intentionally harm or hurt anyone.

Maybe I feel too much. Maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe my mind is sick; And I am afraid that everyone who matters in my life will eventually be sick of me and throw me out with the trash.

I don’t want to be that person. Yet here I am. Doing what I am not supposed to do. I deserve love. Self-love too. I am worthy of it.


Made at myintent.org

I would change my sadness with yours just to see if it is the same shade of black as mine.

question ?

What happens to all the words we never say?

What happens to all the thoughts we pushed away?

What happens to all the emotions we begged to stay?

What happens to us when we censor ourselves every day?