Category: short stories

Posted on

Dear diary 4

From the diary of a fictitious woman

Dear diary,

I am having a day. Work was awful. I really hate when I do my work as effective as I can and some stupid people meddle. They fuck my stuff up and I get the blame? Nah, not with me. I accept a lot and stay quiet and level-headed most times, but enough is enough. I am in charge of the lists, I have my own methods and ways to organise everything. The thing is, if they have no idea how to do things, they should keep their fingers from my files. Double the work is not double the fun.

I feel so disconnected from my life right now. I wish it was different and I wish I knew how to change it. Once again I am sitting on the couch, with a drink and the TV flickering in the background. I should make dinner, but I feel paralysed from the day. I need to let off some steam. In a healthy way. I am too acquainted with the unhealthy ways.

If I had any talent, I would learn to play the piano. Then again, my neighbours would probably be less impressed.

I am spending too much time on Instagram these days. I am not even one of those who compares myself to others. I just watch reels of cooking, carpet cleaning, or new music.

My music tastes are very poppy these days. Unused to be edgier. Not anymore. I am growing older and older.

It’s raining outside. And it is still warm. It smells divine. But everything inside is growing moist. So I will have to close the windows soon. Moist. That’s a word many people don’t like. I don’t know why. I am often clueless. Maybe I am today too. Maybe I was wrong about work. But it rubs me the wrong way. I do my job and I do it well. All in.

Always. Always all in.

###

329 words

Posted on

Dear diary 3

From the diary of a fictitious woman

Dear diary

The night is falling and  I sit outside with my ebook reader in my lap, plugs in my ears and a bottle of beer next to me. Candles are lit around me and I am wrapped in a blanket. It is still summer but the sun goes down quite early and the air was crisp. It was cold. I had planned to read but to be honest, the beauty of the sky derailed me. There were so many stars to see and the moon shone bright. A couple of clouds tried to cover and hide the scenery, but they were too thin to do much harm.

I wish I had someone to cuddle up to when watching the stars. Texting with Fred is nice and all, but it is not the same as having him here. And we shouldn’t be texting at all. He told me about a new woman in his life. I want him to be happy. But what we have, it is not easy to explain and a new girlfriend would probably forbid him to stay in touch with me. We aren’t doing anything wrong. Just texting and supporting each other. But it is a deeper bond than mere friendship. I don’t have the words to explain what he means to me and what his presence in my world means to me. It is just very unconditional with him. At least most of the time. Sometimes when he asks for money and tells me soon after how much he loves me – it makes me feel cheap. As if I am buying his love. A love that we don’t want. I want his care and his respect and his friendship. But if I am honest, it’s true. I also want his love. I think he knows that I am lonely. And alone. Alone and lonely. I think it makes him feel safe, because I am an easy target. If he lulls me in, I will do as he says. But I am aware of the situation. I know exactly what is happening. Maybe that makes his manipulations even worse.

How can we all share the same sky? There are wars and horrific things are happening all over the world, but those evil people are looking at the same beautiful stars, and they wish upon the same shooting stars too. How can that be? It’s cold and I should read. But I have a headache. It’s getting darker and darker. A couple of my candles burnt out. And I wish I hadn’t stopped smoking. Weird thought. Weird thought indeed.

###

434 words

Posted on

Dear diary 2

From the diary of a fictitious woman

Dear diary,

Today, I went down a rabbit hole on Instagram. It was a rabbit hole of people talking about their ADHD. And I was propelled back to the time when someone first mentioned that I could suffer from it as well.

It was mid 2020 when I met Melvin online. There was an instant connection through mutual interests. He was a lot like me in many things, but he was also diagnosed with ADHD. While we chatted back and forth he planted the seed that I could have it too. Fast forward to October 2020. We met for the first and last time. The connection we had online was there in real life too. It was very nice. It wasn’t love. It was something different. It was understanding, respect, curiosity, and lust too. We spent a great weekend together. I was quite weird, in hindsight. But I couldn’t change it. After that weekend, we only spoke a couple of times briefly and then he blocked me. Maybe I was too much for him. I don’t know.

When I connect with someone, I become needy. He was the last person I connected with like that. After Melvin, there was no one. No one new. Fred was and will always be there. But he is Fred. And nothing else.

So yeah, I got tested. I got diagnosed and then everything went downhill. My self-confidence plummeted and nothing was ever the same again.

I had dinner tonight. Real dinner. Cooked and all. And I even cleaned all the dishes and pans afterwards. I didn’t leave anything out to soak until next week. On the other hand, I had to run my laundry a second time because I left a batch in the machine. For two days. It happens. It shouldn’t. I wasn’t raised that way. But it does.

My lunch for tomorrow is prepared. I am done for the day. I am sitting in my bed under my blanket while I am writing this. I will probably watch a film again. Or find a show to watch that has more than two seasons. I cannot read tonight because of a torrid headache. Maybe I deserve that one. Who knows?

I don’t know. I don’t know much. Weird that I thought about Mel when I watched those IG vids. I wonder how he is doing. Then again, it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. Maybe just a little bit.

###

Part 2 of probably 27. People mentioned in this part are inspired by real people.

I am waiting for the sun to go down to go on a walk. It’s a super blue moon tonight. (Full moon) One of 4 in a row apparently. Thank you for keeping up with me 💜

Posted on

Dear diary

From the fictitious diary of a young woman

Dear diary,

Today, I have spent my day sleeping, reading and watching TV. I did not go outside. I did not breathe in any fresh air. I love these nothing-days, and yet, they make me feel guilty. We know that I don’t have any reason to feel guilty. I am alone and I don’t need to answer to anyone. But I was raised differently. Seeing the laundry that needs to be folded or ironed, eating like a teenager, those things are not what is expected of a grown woman.

I felt lonely today and there is not much I can do about it. I tried to get in touch with Fred. But he has his own issues. Mostly money again. I am not willing to support him financially anymore. We are not a couple anymore. And I think getting in touch with him when I am lonely is like muscle memory – turning to the one I know. A comfortable move. Rationally I know that it is stupid. That I am stupid. But the mind is not rational, we both know that.

It’s Sunday night and I should prepare my overnight oats for tomorrow and maybe a salad for lunch for work tomorrow. But as so often these last times, I lack the energy and the motivation. I have to do it anyway or I will eat a bunch of unhealthy stuff again.

During a nap, I had that dream again. Of me being married and pregnant. I wonder what this means. I don’t have any intentions of ever marrying. And there is no man in my life who would be possible marriage material. And a kid? I can barely take care of myself, having a kid of my own would be the worst idea. But maybe I would be less lonely?

I’ll go make my lunch. And watch an old film. I like old films. Their pace is different. Their stories are different.

I really need to find a hobby or something. Sleeping the hours away when I am not at work cannot be healthy. But what do I know?!

What do I know indeed?!

###

I have been playing with the idea for a while. The diary style writing. Obviously, this is not about me, but maybe there will be hints of me here or there. I want to make this a personal challenge. If I can write an entry every day until work starts again mid-september, it would be a success. We’ll see how it will go.

Posted on

a love so deep (flash fiction)

With every heartfelt word you uttered, she found herself falling deeper and deeper under the spell of your captivating presence.

Despite her best efforts to resist the pull of her emotions, she was powerless to fight the inexplicable connection that had blossomed between the two of you. There was something undeniably magnetic about the bond you had forged, something that made it nearly impossible for her to imagine a life without you in it. And even though you were older when you first met, you too felt the same overwhelming sense of wholeness and belonging in her company. It was as if she had become a guardian of sorts, someone who showered you with the kind of unconditional love that defied logic and reason.

She knew your darkest secrets, the very ones that had sent other women running, yet she embraced them without hesitation, accepting you completely for who you were. The intensity of your shared emotions was nothing short of overwhelming, creating a pull so powerful that it seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Every stolen glance, every gentle caress, ignited a passionate fire within your souls that refused to be extinguished.

You found yourself constantly captivated by the mere thought of her, replaying your conversations in your mind and savoring the melodic sound of her laughter.

As time passed, the bond between you only continued to grow stronger, with each new discovery deepening the profound connection you shared. She became your confidante, your safe haven in a world that often felt tumultuous and overwhelming. You marveled at her ability to see through your carefully constructed walls, gently coaxing you to reveal your true, unguarded self.

The age difference that had once seemed like an insurmountable obstacle now felt inconsequential in the face of your all-encompassing love. Together, you had created a world of your own, a realm where judgment and fear had no place – a world where your profound connection reigned supreme. In this sacred space you had created together, time seemed to stand still, and the outside world faded into insignificance.

Every moment spent in each other’s company was a testament to the rare and precious bond you shared. The way she looked at you, with eyes brimming with adoration and understanding, made you feel truly seen for perhaps the first time in your life. Your conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from lighthearted banter to profound discussions about life’s greatest mysteries.

In her presence, you found the courage to voice your deepest fears and wildest dreams, knowing that she would receive them with open arms and unwavering support.

The physical attraction between you was undeniable, a force of nature that sent electricity coursing through your veins with every touch. Yet it was more than mere desire; it was a spiritual connection that transcended the physical realm. In her embrace, you felt a sense of coming home, as if your souls had recognized each other from a time long past.

As your relationship deepened, you began to see the world through new eyes. Colors seemed brighter, music more poignant, and even the simplest pleasures took on a heightened significance. She had awakened something within you that you never knew existed, breathing new life into your very being.

The transformative power of your love story continued to unfold, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and intimate moments that seemed to defy the constraints of time itself. Every day brought new revelations, each one cementing the unshakable foundation of your relationship.

You found yourself marveling at the way she could anticipate your needs before you even voiced them, her intuition a showed the profound understanding you shared. As you navigated life’s challenges together, your bond only grew stronger. The obstacles that once seemed insurmountable became mere stepping stones on your shared journey. Her unwavering support became your anchor, grounding you in moments of doubt and elevating you to new heights of self-discovery. In turn, you found yourself becoming a better version of yourself, inspired by her strength and compassion.

The depth of your connection manifested in countless ways. A simple glance across a crowded room could convey volumes, your silent communication a language known only to the two of you. The gentle brush of her hand against yours sent shivers down your spine, igniting a passion that burned as brightly as the day you first met. Even in moments of silence, you found comfort in each other’s presence, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a soothing melody that calmed your restless soul.

As time passed, your love continued to evolve, taking on new dimensions and revealing hidden facets. You discovered that true intimacy went far beyond the physical, encompassing a spiritual and emotional connection that seemed to transcend the boundaries of this world. In her arms, you found not just a lover, but a kindred spirit, a partner in every sense of the word. Your restless and fragile soul had finally found a safe home.

###

fiction – 826 words – reading time: 4 minutes

it’d been a long time since I wrote something like this. It fell out of my fingers Wednesday night. It was late and I couldn’t sleep. I had this picture of a couple in my head, who against all odds seemed to be drawn to each other and who were perfect for each other no matter how much they fought it.

After yesterday’s petty post, I decided to published this (as a scheduled post). It is not quite as good as those stories used to be, but in time I will get back up there.

THANK YOU for reading

Posted on

Storm

I see it, but I can’t stop it. How many times have people said they are undetectable and safe to sleep with? Well, Storm believed them. Because Storm is a believer who easily falls in lust and trust. Now, he is falling apart. And there is nothing I can do.
And so I watch him from afar as he gets weaker, physically and mentally. I want him to go out and live. Savour every second he has left. I want him to fight for his life. But he stays hidden from the world, believing that no one will feel his loss. If I could only make him see how wrong he is. So wrong. I will miss him. I will feel his loss. He’s obsessed with films about his condition now. Every day he watches them in a loop. The normal heart. It’s my party. Philadelphia. An early frost. Longtime companion. Those films play on repeat, adding to his personal hell. It’s like punishment. But maybe I am wrong and every tear he cries for the characters on the screen is cleansing? Could this be his way of healing? How can I pretend to know how he feels when I don’t? And he doesn’t talk. He locked himself away in a world where his untimely death is the only certainty. If I could make him understand that people can survive this, but they need support and the will to carry on. They need their medication too. Storm refuses it all. It’s suicide. Slow and painful. And he doesn’t want me to save him. I can’t save him if he doesn’t let me in.
So I sit in my corner and I wait. Every new sunrise he lives to see is an achievement. Not mine, but his own. I am surprised to see him take a shower today. And he cleans his home too. There’s a glint in his eyes. A determination that hasn’t been there for a long time too. I don’t understand what is happening. Or who. But over night, he changed. Why? And why does it unsettle me? My soundless screams aren’t heard. My pushes and shoves are mere ghosts of a touch on his skin. Don’t do it Storm! Don’t do it! Don’t…

I was infected with HIV when I was seventeen. It’s Aids now, but I don’t want help and I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be seen as the sick one. I don’t want them to see me deteriorate. I don’t want this disease to steal my life. So I do it myself. My party. My beginning. My end.
I love you,  goodbye. Storm

***

December 1st is world AIDS day. The numbers of new infections are still rising, or again. There are many ways to protect yourself. Apart from the obvious one, one of them is to educate yourself. Don’t play with your health or your life. xx

Posted on

wonsaponatime

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, lived a lonely King by the name of Gideon. Gideon had known a lot of miseries and in its wake, he had forgotten how to laugh and be silly. His days were filled with grumbling and moaning about his so sad sad life. Day in and day out he sat on his golden throne, barking orders and sighing. His face had a constant frown etched on his forehead and for many of his entourage, this was the only facial expression they knew. This was the same expression they saw on paintings and in drawings of the king.

Then, one day, the young and lonely King was bored again, and he decided to take a stroll through the high gardens of his castle. Looking down the walls he saw the bustle and jollity of the market underneath. For the first time, his curiosity about the life outside of his castle was sparked and he decided to visit his underlings. The sad King Gideon marched through the gates with bodyguards close by, ready to protect him from the peasants. But King Gideon was a fair man and his underlings respected him. The market was filled with farmers and traders who sold their merchandise. He was taking in the normalcy of life when a young foreign Princess fell off her horse and landed in front of the lonely King’s feet in a rather clumsy manner. Her dress was sprawled all over the cobblestones. Her hand was dipped in the excrement of an animal and her face was contorted, revealing her embarrassment and her disgust when she looked at her dirty hand. The King felt a strange sensation in his gut when he saw the beautiful woman on the ground. The sensation traveled from his belly up to his face. A twitch at the corners of his mouth happened and turned into a grimace on his face; one that tugged at the edges of his mouth and turned them upward. The King’s entourage froze. They had never seen him with such an expression on his face and at once, they decided that he was unwell from the proximity of the peasants. There was no other explanation, and they decided the King needed to be ushered back into his castle. A doctor was called to find a meaning to all of this.

The elderly doctor made the King undress and examined him from head to toe. From left to right. Front and back, too. He listened and he tapped, he pushed, and he pulled and after a long time of humming and scratching his bearded chin, the bespectacled older man rubbed his bald head and shook it. He was rather helpless and had no cure for the King’s strange condition. He was sure it was no physical sickness that was ailing the king. It had to be something else, but the doctor didn’t know what.

The young Princess, who had traveled for many moons, felt guilty about being the reason the mighty lonely King was poorly and so, she had stayed at the castle and awaited the verdict of the good doctor and the King’s entourage. All of them were helpless and saddened about King Gideon’s state of health. The thick stone walls reverberated with sad wails and the Princess took all her courage and asked to see the King. She was curious to see him again. The counselor was not amused and tried to brush her off, but she politely introduced herself as Princess Andresa from the Kingdom of Cameronia. She told the purpose of her visit: she wanted to apologise, and to bring the King a gift from her homeland, far far away. She asked for permission to spend the next three nights at the court, in order to regain her own strengths after a strenuous journey and to gain her strength to resume her traveling.

The audience and the stay were granted by the King’s personal counselor and the Princess was allowed to see the King in his throne room later that same day. A crowd of personnel had gathered to see the foreign Princess and to hear her public apology. Word traveled fast in the castle, and the squires and knights, farmers and traders, millers and bakers, politicians and aristocrats, all had gathered in the throne room.

In her nervous state, Princess Andrea held her hat in her hands and played with its rim, brushing her fingers over the ostrich feathers. She didn’t dare raising her gaze to look at the sad and sick King and when she was advised to do so, she knelt on the steps that led up to the mighty throne. The floor was cool and hard. Even through the thick layers of her dress she felt the cold against her knees.

“Dearest King, I owe you an apology,” the young woman whispered. The King nodded for the Princess to go on and speak up, but because of her bowed head she didn’t see it. A guard nudged her foot with his boot to get her attention and the Princess lost her balance. Just before she fell down the steps on which she knelt, she yelped. A mysterious sound escaped the King’s mouth and everyone present stared at him in astonishment. His face was contorted in that strange grimace again. Out of the crowd an anonymous voice screeched: “It’s the Princess. She has our lonely King bewitched. To the stake!” Murmuring voiced agreed and heads nodded. “Beheaded she shall be!” Declared a counselor of the mighty King. The Princess was startled and kneeling anew, she made her way closer to the King, crawling across the floor. She was fearing for her life, although she did not know her crime.

“Mercy, your Majesty. Please, have mercy,” she pleaded and looked up into the King’s face for the first time. What she saw surprised her, and she turned around to see the crowd cheering for her head to be speared at the marketplace. Didn’t they see what she was seeing? Where they blind? The King looked down and a new frown installed itself on his forehead. It was as deep as if it had been there for many years. It made the young King look old and weary. Another murmur went through the crowd. The King raised his hand, and they were silenced. “He’s back to normal!” the Princess heard a loud whisper coming from behind her back. She didn’t dare to react.

“Princess Andrea, speak! What is that witchery that makes me feel odd here,” the King pointed to his belly, “and here,” he pointed to his cheeks, “and that only seems to happen when you are around? Speak and lift the maleficent spell at once.” The King’s voice boomed through the halls and the Princess cowered in front of the man.

“It’s not a spell, your Majesty. It is happiness, and you are smiling.” Loud whispers echoed in the hall.

“Smiling?” The King got up from his throne and marched down the steps. He halted in front of the kneeling Princess and motioned for her to get up too. “And that fluttery feeling in my belly? Is it going to kill me?” The King feared for his life, but the Princess smiled. The King laid a hand on his flat stomach, the fluttery feeling was back upon seeing the glint in the brown eyes of the young Princess. Princess Andrea blushed. “You are not sick, your Majesty. Feeling love is not going to kill you. It is how people feel when they are in love. It’s normal.” The Princess had always known that she wasn’t made to take the groom her parents had chosen for her, and so she had visited many Kingdoms in the hopes of finding the one where she could find a cure for her own lonely heart. Her heart had fluttered when she had seen King Gideon for the first time. A gorgeous man with a divine smile, standing tall. Strange that he didn’t have a clue about the worldliest feelings. The King frowned and whispered: “But you are a stranger, I cannot make you my Queen, can I?”

The young Princess felt brave and faced the King again, this time she made their eyes meet. Her own stomach felt the somersaults inside of her.

“You are the King. You make the rules. And if finding love, happiness and companionship with a stranger, is what makes you less sad and lonely, then you should change the dusty old rules.” The Princess smiled and lowered her eyes again. In the crowd, she heard sharp intakes of breath. The halls were silent. How dared she speaking with their king in this manner?

The King faced the crowd, then he scrutinized the young Princess.

“Right.” The King turned around and took a seat on his throne. He put his finger against his lips and the frown reappeared, but then a smile chased it away and the King stood up. The smile on his face became more and more comfortable and it was no longer a foreign grimace. Even the people in the hall saw how handsome their young King was when he wasn’t frowning.

“I hereby decree that I will take Princess Andrea as my Queen. The wedding shall be held in seven days,” the King cleared his throat: “If Princess Andrea agrees, of course.”

While he went over to his new fiancée, the crowd was confused. The King raised his voice one last time: “Go my beloved friends and arrange your King’s marriage. You will all be invited to a magnificent feast.” King Gideon let his knuckles caress Princess Andrea’s cheek. “Do you want to be my Queen?” The Princess nodded shyly. “Will you show me how to laugh and to love?” The King asked furthermore, and again, the Princess nodded. “Will you start with a kiss? I have never kissed anyone, apart from my mother. I am curious about kissing.” This time, the Princess didn’t nod. She leaned closer to the King, their chests touched and then the Princess laid her lips on the King’s. The fluttering feeling in the King’s stomach intensified. Normal, he thought. I have never been normal before. He smiled again.

Seven days passed with Princess Andrea teaching King Gideon about life and love. They had picnics and ran around the gardens. They shared food and went swimming. They read books and watched the stars. They spoke about the past and the future.

And then, the day arrived. The wedding was held, and a feudal feast was arranged. Blossoming flowers decorated the entire castle, and the guests were dressed in their most impressive frocks. Music was playing and everyone was dancing and laughing. The guests kept observing the newlyweds, who only had eyes for themselves.

King Gideon had finally found his Queen. She showed him how to love and to live and to laugh.

And lived happily ever after.

FIN

###

I hope you enjoyed this fairy tale. The title is a word John Lennon invented and I decided to borrow it for this tale. The original was written in 2014, but it was rewritten and revisited today, there could be more character development (something that was completely missing from the original), but for today, this is fine with me.

Posted on

Voices (revisited)

It’s cold and I wrap my cardigan closer around my shivering form. Still, I don’t want to turn around and walk back home. It’s not time yet. Not now, maybe never. I enjoy the peaceful, quiet and loneliness that surrounds me. There is no sound but the wind and the waves. The wind blows widely, cutting against my skin. The sand feels cold underneath my bare feet.

Nobody is at the beach. It’s a lonely place. Abandoned. The sky look almost black, only thick clouds make it appear grey here and there. I know that in a few minutes, it will open up and soak me in cold rain. I stop and turn to look out across the sea. The waves are nothing more than white lines that crash eventually. Some are higher, some are almost flat. But they all come to me. As if they need to tell me what they saw out there. The ocean looks threateningly big and once again, I feel small. Around me, everything is big and meaningful. I am nothing but a grain of sand. Not important at all. I’m nothing. No one. The realization hits me hard; it always does and the resulting tears sting my eyes. I pretend that it’s the cold air nipping at my skin, but I know that I am lying to myself. And I also know the reason. He is back again. His voice in my head. And one day, he will kill myself. My demon. It’s someone who promises love and only offers sorrow in the end.

There are days when everything seems pointless. Nothing makes sense. Every fight seems to be lost and I feel obsolete. It’s what he tells me when I am trying not to listen. There is no reason for me to breathe.

The lines between the ocean and the sky turn into a blur and I wonder how it would feel to drown. Would it hurt? Would I fight it? Not that I have any intention of walking towards the freezing swallowing ocean, but I wonder about those things.

There are days when I long to feel that serenity I imagine one feels when death almost wins. Finding inner peace and being able to keep that feeling inside and letting go of everything else; it’s utopia. Nothing else matters anymore.

There are days when it would be so much easier to simply give up and fade away from earth. Who would care anyway? It’s what my demon encourages me to do.

I shake my head as I am trying to make those thoughts stop. Getting rid of that awful voice that is trying to pull me under is hard; it’s a battle I will lose some day soon. I don’t want this. I don’t want to surrender. I don’t want to submit to my demons. But it is stronger than me. He is stronger. It’s a deep dark hole I fall in from time to time, orchestrated by his words. Manipulating me like a puppet on a string. If I had a knife I could cut the strings. Sometimes, the hole is so deep that there is almost no way to get out of the dark and lonely place. Sometimes it’s a battle I win without much fight, and the right scent, the right notes can make me see the light again. It makes me emerge from the dark. But not always. Not always.

I struggle. An internal war is raging inside of me when all I need is inner peace. It looks so easy. For me, it isn’t.

The rain starts falling in big drops. In a matter of minutes, I am soaked to the bone and frozen. It’s freezing and the beach is still abandoned. I know that I should move to go home. I know that I should put on my socks and shoes, or I will catch a cold. But I can’t. I cannot move. I am paralysed. Something is holding me back. My hands fall to my sides, and I feel my shoulders slump. My head bends down, and I fall to my knees. My soaked cardigan is heavy on my skin. Pulling me down with an invisible, yet strong hold on my shoulders. I bury my face in my hands. Accepting my defeat. It comes out of nowhere. Or maybe it comes from somewhere. I cannot think. Shivering in the cold, with my long wet hair pasted to my face; I feel like give up.

I give up.

For the first time in a long time, I am willing to give in to the voice in my head. I am too tired to argue and to fight. I am too lonely to breathe and to exist.

“Take me with you!” I beg the cold emptiness surrounding me. It is the last surge of energy before my inner self combusts. My heart burns from the exertion. Ashes are all that will be left within me.

I cower on the beach. Alone. Painfully aware of all my flaws. Painfully aware of the inside me hole that is devouring me. Too tired to fight. And why should I fight anyway? He doesn’t let me fight.

What is there left here for me?

This place holds no shelter for me. I want to fade away and vanish. Too jaded to go on. Too hollow. It’s like I am in a trance.

I hear a noise and startle. I look up. I wake up and see where I am. Realize what I am doing. I’m trembling from the cold. A smile creeps up on my face. She is here to save me.

It’s always like that.

Two personalities inside of me. Fighting to get the reigns over me. One of them is overly optimistic, always positive and supportive. Always honest and chatty. The other is a suicidal pessimist. One day, he is going to win. One day, she will not be there in time to wake me up and win that secret war at the last minute. I know it. It scares me. But I am powerless. It’s not in my control.

The sky clears up. No more rain. The wind eases up. I am dripping wet. Sand is sticking to my clothes. I don’t know how long I knelt in the storm.

I move. Going home. Whatever that is. Wherever it is. But I am not paralysed anymore.

I enter my home. It’s empty. Almost no furniture. No voices. No colours. No you. No me. Nothing. I can’t stand the silence but I endure it. I should put some music on to drown out everything that haunts me. But I can’t. Not now. I can’t deal with the overstimulation of different sounds right now. The hardwood floor is wet from my clothes, and I undress. Struggling to get the wet clothes off my raw skin.

I decide to take a shower to wash away the emotions of the morning and the cold that fills my veins. But his voice is persisting today. He wants to see me perish and he can’t be washed away. He keeps entering my thoughts

I sigh into the foggy steamed bathroom mirror. It’s going to be a long week. It’s going to be a daily fight. I wish I could hibernate. Let the voices in my head fight it out and whoever wins can take over my body and soul. Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want with me.

What if the winner was me?

***

The original of this piece was written a long time ago (in 2014). I stumbled across it today and edited it a bit… It’s a heavy piece, not happy at all. And that leads me to say: I am in a good emotional place. All is okay over here.

Posted on

no one but you

One more night. Just one more night. No, I am greedy; I want more. Your hands on my hips. Imprints on my skin. Tattoos on my soul. Again and again and again. You in me. Us together. I could die like this. And I do. Many times over. Your heat slips into me. It will stay there. Just behind my navel, waiting to be released the moment angels whisper into my ear. Your breath weights heavy on my neck. Your tongue – scorching hot, tracing my jawline. Tonight you will leave a piece of you in me. Something that will never fade nor vanish. There are stars behind my eyes. Blinding my mind. I breathe in, inhaling the scent of our lust. You leave traces on me. In me. Everyday. Always. Forever. My fingertips are gliding across your back. Grounding me. Grounding us. One more night. Every night. Just you and me. Us.

Posted on

Sunday Scribblings #144 – Reflection

Every Wednesday Aaron publishes a prompt on his blog. This Wednesday the prompt was “reflection”. Aaron is a prolific blogger who has a couple of reoccurring categories, check out his blog, I am pretty sure there are things you’ll like. For me, the Wednesday prompts help me to stay creative and, for now they also help me to keep the streak going. I haven’t posted daily in a long while, but did so for the last 53 days. As for yesterday’s post; it was just a sentence but it was exactly what I was going through. As I mentioned on Friday, I had guests and I think we grossly overdid it. At least I didn’t drink and write.

###

She sat on the couch, looking out the panoramic window. In the distance she saw the orange and red reflections of the street lamps. It was raining outside. It had been raining for many days straight now. Leaves were blown off the trees, she saw the shapes and shadows of them flying in the rain, but it was dark, there were no colours. In her living room, candles shone their light across the floors. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and held on to her cup of freshly brewed tea. Her gaze was still focussed on the flickering lights in the distance. It was a beautiful and captivating view.

Lately she kept thinking about that one friend who was more than a friend but not exactly a lover either. Or was he? For years she had not wanted to label things. After all, everything they had was weird and she was sure to keep their first years together a secret. No one needed to know the intimate details of their relationship. What was born out of a drunken night chatting with a stranger on the internet and had turned into a sexual thing right away, had turned into a deep friendship without anything sexual involved anymore. It had taken time. A lot of time. Years actually. And many silent periods too, but they had always found a way back together. Like two halves that could only be complete in each other’s orbit. There were feelings. The kind of feelings that made it hard to keep things the way they were. There was love and care. Not strictly romantic but more than platonic either. Maybe it was love and she didn’t know it. She hadn’t felt love in a long while. Maybe she didn’t know what love really was?

She was aware that she did not know a lot about him. She only got to see glimpses of what he chose to show her. And the same could be said for her. She didn’t want to show him how damaged she really was out of fear to make him leave. She allowed him to talk and she provided a safe haven for him, it was important to her that he felt safe with her. Sometimes he spoke so much that he took all the air in the room and all the space in the world and she did not have any place to put in a word or a thought herself. And most days that was okay for her. She was a listener, a thinker. But there was that one day she could not forget. The day they had a huge fight on the phone and he kept yelling at her that he was suicidal and that his family had suffered for most of his childhood. He got angry when she said that she understood him well, insisting that no one had experienced the hell he had endured and survived. Well, she had. And when he finally listened to her and let her explain what exactly she understood and why, he calmed down immediately. He stopped yelling. He apologised and told her that he had had no idea their pasts were close to the same. Of course he also asked why she had never said anything earlier, after all they’d known each other for years by then. He wouldn’t have listened, she replied. And he agreed. It was the first time he acknowledged that he had been using her for years and for many different things and reasons. When he had alienated everyone of his friends, she was still there. When he was fighting with his brother or his girlfriend, she was there to listen. She was always there for him. He had been hurt often, but she had always been there to lick his wounds with him. “Now I love you even more,” he had said that evening, assuring her that one little fight would not be the end of them and asking the same of her: to not push him away because of the angry words he had uttered.

But who was there for her? Who was willing to listen when she was in pain, when she wished she could erase her existence from this earth as easily as one can erase a mistake from the screen? Not for the first time, she noticed that she had trust issues. She didn’t trust anyone to bare all of her. It was the reason why she was alone and felt lonely sometimes too. She only showed small parts of her to the people around. She played her cards close to her chest. Not because she wanted to appear mysterious, but simply because there was no other way for her to exist. She didn’t know anyone who was willing to get to know her. Or maybe there were people but she kept them at arm’s length out of fear of not being loveable enough. And yet, there he was. A daily part of her life. Someone she dreaded to lose or push away with something stupid she said. It was why she didn’t dare opening up to him all the way. It was why she did not fight for her own rights when she was with him.

The tea in her hands had gone cold and she saw her own reflection in the window now. Her overthinking mind had made her miserable once again. She sighed. If she could only be braver and stronger than she was. Her phone vibrated next to her, announcing an incoming text message. She sighed and took a deep breath before she looked at the display. Of course it was him. It was a simple “hello” but it made her smile. She wanted to keep him in her life. She needed him to be in her life. Even if her thoughts became a hurricane during lonely hours; overthinking everything they had said and shared, and even the things they had never said or shared. “I’m all yours”, she replied. “I know Sweetie. We have to talk…” Fear gripped at her, and her heart was racing when the phone in her hand rang. His voice was soft, and almost fragile when he told her about his day, and about thinking about them and their past. She wondered if he had had the same thoughts as she had had. “It’s time we face the truth, Sweetie. We belong together.” Her own face was still observing herself through the window. She was shaking, almost in physical pain. Outside, leaves were still dancing in the dark. This was the moment she had been dreading for such a long time. Would he leave her now or would he come clean? And while she was still overthinking, he explained that he had been reflecting their relationship for most of the day and came to the conclusion that he loved her. He was in love with her. He wanted to get to know every facet of her without holding anything back. He was not asking for anything in return just yet, only for her to love him back. And she did, but she didn’t have the words to admit it for now.

She stood up from the couch, wrestling her comfortable blanket off her legs. “Are you sure?” she asked, looking at herself in the window, and wincing at the question that had just left her mouth. She heard him talking but couldn’t understand everything he said. From the inside out, there was a sort of relief claiming her, overwhelming her with a lightness that almost had the ability to make fly. Nothing made sense, except, everything made perfect sense. She had been unsure of him for a long time, and now she knew that whatever they were, whichever label fit them best, was unimportant. The important thing was that there was love and care and understanding. But mostly love. There was a lot of love. Her fears lost their heaviness with his confession. And she began laughing out loud. “Yeah?” he asked and she replied “Yes”. They kept talking on the phone the same way they so often did, but this time there was a silent promise in every word that was said. A certainty that fortified their existing bond.

And every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face smiling at her. She shook her head. Overthinking often made her miserable and it made her avoid situations where she had to be honest about her feelings and emotions. But she was not alone. He was at her side. And he had been for many years. She didn’t remember why she had been so unsure of him, when he had been the only constant in her life. Maybe this was love. And maybe this was exactly what and who they had been all along. The things that had seemed lightyears away, were right there for her to take. He was right there for her to love, to be vulnerable with, and to explore whatever else life would offer them. Together. As more than friends. Two lovers.

Posted on

There you are

There you are, my friend. I almost missed you. Almost. But not really. I was afraid that you would be back and cover me with your grey veil. And I was right. You can never leave me. We belong together; you and me. I knew you’d be back, that’s why I enjoyed every day without you. I made the best of my carefree days. But I feel your pull. It’s strong. I cannot say if it is stronger or weaker than it used to be… But that’s not important. I am too tired to fight you. I am too tired to play hide and seek with you. At the same time, I am also determined to not be submissive and accept the way you want to take my power away from me.

I know, people will say that it’s the change of seasons. It’s the rain. The clouds. The time off work. They will roll their eyes and say: she’s at it again. Whatever they can find to put the blame on. But you are not SAD. You are my disability. You are what paralyses me and makes it hard to get out of bed. You are what makes me forget my personal hygiene because brushing my teeth takes too much energy from me. You are what makes me eye knives and cutters and remember the ways I used to hurt myself to cope with the feelings you imposed on me.

It’s hard to understand ADD and it is very hard to explain it to people as it is different for everyone affected. But the ADD is part of your charm, isn’t it?? It is part of why you come back again and again. Even if I don’t want you here. I don’t want to be miserable. I don’t want to be in pain. I don’t want to hurt myself.

It’s cold here, and the emotions in my belly are threatening to leave through my eyes. Never through my mouth. There is no voice in me when you are there. There are no words. Only silence. And it is the loudest scream you’ll never hear.

What can I do to escape you? Where can I hide when I know that you will always find me. I cannot run away from you. You are my cage. I love you, set me free.

There is nothing I can do. If I’ve learnt anything it is that I need to let you happen to me. I need to allow your presents and your presence and make the best of it. And when you are here, clinging to my skin, like a parasite to my thoughts, I need to take care of my self. Because no one else can. It’s all in me. I can shower myself in kindness. I can be nice to myself and go easy on me. I am sure I can do it once you decide to leave again. And I know, even though right now the grey is threatening to turn into black – a black hole, I know that there is a sunrise to watch tomorrow. There is new music to hear. There are reasons to laugh out loud. But not tonight. Not when your grip on me is so tight. Not when I am dreading the dreams and nightmares you bring at night.

I’ll fight a silent battle until I am back to who I am. A shining star in my own right. In my own write. Most people won’t even notice that you are visiting once again. My mask is in place. If they can’t see it, it is not there. I am not there.

Posted on

Sunday Scribblings #142 – Escape

There were no more steps to take, no more roads to walk. The light was fading and the ocean was drowning in itself. During those cold winter nights she used to ask to be held, but things had changed. Nothing was the same anymore and she didn’t want to admit that she knew why. The world around her fell apart and she was tied to a boulder rolling down a mountain. She didn’t scream or yell. There was no escape. She didn’t know why she was here now. Everyday had been the same. An illusion of normalcy. But there was an underlying sadness, a melancholy undertone in everything she did. Until one day she woke up with desperation leaking out of her eyes.

The wild river was claiming her, and she didn’t stand a chance to fight for air. Everything that once felt good felt wrong now. Her skin felt too tight. Everything was tingling in the wrong way. Everything turned out to be nothing, in the end. And while she was walking and trying to remember where she was going and why she was feeling like going mad, the rain drenched her to the bone, as if it was highlighting her messy state of mind for everyone to see.

There was no escape from her mind and from her thoughts. There was no escape from the downward spiral and the change that was waiting around the corner. But she was trapped in the nature of all things that kept her hostage. She didn’t understand that there was a future for her. That things could be different. But something drove her to move. It was like something inside of her ordered her to put one foot in front of the other. She walked faster. And faster. Until she was running. Her lungs were burning and her legs felt heavy. She was not used to physical activities. But something kept her moving. The rain pelted her face, plastering her hair against her cheek. She was cold and shivering. Inside and outside too. She tried shaking everything off that held her back. She tried running away from herself. Running, just running. And it didn’t matter where she was going. She had to keep moving. She had to keep herself busy to escape the desperation that was clinging to her eyelashes. The sun set and the moon rose. The sun rose and the moon set. Day after day, and she kept moving. She kept running, until, in the end, her skin fit her mind again.

###

Sunday Scribblings are prompts Aaron shares every Wednesday on his blog: https://confusingmiddle.com/2023/10/18/sunday-scribblings-142/ I haven’t used a prompt in a long while, I admit. If you read yesterday’s post, you will understand. Check out Aaron’s blog and consider writing for those prompts, it is great fun and inspiring too.

Posted on

Favourite fantasy

“Look at me” he said to her and pinned her arms above her head. He looked straight into her eyes. The heat of his touch seeped into her. She wanted to turn her face away from him, but he didn’t allow it. It was too intense. Everything was too much. She was exploding. Imploding. Not thinking. Just enjoying. In that moment, he was everywhere. “I’m going to keep you” he said with a grin.

Little did she know back then that she could still feel his grip on her arm years later. Little did she know back then that she was set free the moment she drove back home. And yet… Out of an intense weekend, filled with memories, this was the one scene that came back again and again. The way he had looked at her right at that that moment. The way he had felt; in every way. And what all of this had done to her. That moment still made her weak in the knees. A passionate memory that turned into her most favourite fantasy.

Posted on

if I sat down to write…

I set some time aside to write. I sat down, got ready, and as soon as my fingers touched the keyboard I noticed that there weren’t any words. The words and thoughts were gone, and I had no idea where they hid.

I sighed and cleared my throat uncomfortably, but there were still no words in my fingers and even less in my mind.

They had left me. They had left me like people left once in a while.

How do best friends turn into strangers? And can a small fight be the end of a relationship? I began to wonder and there were too many thoughts all of a sudden. They were overflowing my mind and overwhelming me with such force that I forgot how to blink and how to breathe. This resulted in a coughing fit and tears streaming down my face. I was a sight to behold. I tried to remember what I was thinking, but as much as I tried, the thought was gone again.

Maybe there was something wrong with me after all. A lack of knowledge how to love and an inexperience to live – or die. Maybe I didn’t have a clue about friendships and relationships. Maybe I was too cold to feel anything. Or maybe I was too selfish and too egoistical. And maybe that was why there weren’t any words left to write.

Back when I was less tired and more forgiving, I had been more empathetic towards everyone. This also meant that I found reasons and excuses for people to hurt or use me and I allowed it. I had friends who liked that and took advantage of that.

I wasn’t a mysterious girl, I didn’t have secrets – even if people didn’t believe me. I was too lazy to have secrets and too chatty to keep them. I could be quiet and silent and I knew how to keep other’s secrets to myself. They weren’t anyone’s business anyway. It was a reason why I would never badmouth anyone after a break-up. They had their reasons, even if I didn’t understand them at that moment in time.

Wait! How did I get here and how do I get out?

The story and the poem I had thought were stored in my fingers weren’t there. I sat there empty-handed. Overwhelmed. Underwhelmed. Whelmed. So much was said and too much stayed unsaid.

I wrote it all, painfully aware that the many letters and sentences and words and paragraphs I left for everyone to read would never touch anyone’s eyes. Anyone? That’s not true. But not the ones who need to read what is aimed at them.

I cleared my throat again. Nothing of substance, nothing that mattered pooled on the keyboard. Maybe it was the lack of music in my ears. Maybe it was the hole in my heart that was like a black hole, sucking everything in. Maybe I was a villain without knowing and noticing it.

Does speaking one’s mind make that person a villain? Does calling out a friend make them a bad friend or person?

Whatever this is and wherever it came from, it seems to be my fate. My sentences come out too cryptic to mean anything at all, I thought to myself; this is why they think I have dark secrets.

The truth is: I am just tired to be who you want me to be, dear Stranger. I am myself and if that means calling out your manipulative ways, well, then tough luck. I love and care about you, but I am not a personal ATM and I am not there to support every dumb or stupid thing you do.

There, I wondered. Was there another letter to a Stranger in my subconscious? I pushed that thought away as soon as it had appeared. I had grown out of that phase a long while ago.

If only I knew how be kinder when I needed to be. And if only I had words when I felt like I was born to be silent.

If only and what if…

But I don’t believe in regrets and never did. And I still believe that everything happens for a reason. That people are in our lives when we need them and not when we want them. And that everything we experience is a lesson for the future – good or bad, there is no time and no place for regrets and guilt or shame.

I closed the lid of my laptop, unaware of the words I had just spilled onto my screen. After pushing the publish-button, I simply closed the lid and stopped thinking at all. No re-writing. No editing or proof-reading. I gave up. On myself and everything surrounding me. My mind became blank. As if it was empty. Everything good in me was flowing out through that dark hole in my soul and in my heart.

Fullstop.

💜🩷❤️🖤🩶🤍🧡💛💚🩵💙

It took these 818 words 23 minutes to be written

Posted on

My best friend H

I sit on this horrendously smelling couch. Again. This place. That smell. No matter how often I sit here, it never escapes me. It smells like piss and vomit, and still, I return here. Every day. Sometimes more than once. Because my friend calls me. In front of me is a low table. The legs have been sawed off to make it this low. It’s full of crap. Mostly crap. Some things on the table are important. Very important. Worth a fortune and the owner’s bliss. My hand sweeps over the table, and I roam through the little foils and tiny bags to find what I am looking for. Most of them are empty. My hand is trembling. I need it. Soon. I feel like crawling out of my skin and tearing out my hair. I crave it! My legs start shaking; I can’t keep them still. It’s like they are dancing with my best friend, but I am not invited. Not yet. My hands become more desperate and less precise. A prick on my finger. I don’t care where it came from. I need it!! I leave a little trail of blood-red drops on the table, decorating everything morbidly. But I don’t care, and I know that nobody else will either. We all just care about one thing.

We are in this together, and we are looking for the same thing. And I found it. A precious little package. I empty it over a spoon, before holding the bent and used cutlery over a candle. Candles, the whole room is lit by candles. Candles everywhere. The only light in the otherwise dark room. The stuff takes too long to melt on the spoon, and I start fumbling with my free hand, to roll up my sleeve. I want to be ready when my friend is ready. Again, I rummage around the table, and soon, I find what else I have been looking for — a syringe. For a moment, I wonder if it’s the same one that stung me earlier and if it is clean. But my urge to get my fix lets me forget those thoughts. My need is bigger than the thought about preserving my health. I don’t go to the doctors anyway. I have no idea if I am infected or not. I don’t care. The others don’t care either. We share everything. We are in this together. Always looking for the same thing, sharing the same best friend.

With trembling fingers, I fill the syringe. I need it. I need it now — no more time to waste.

My arm is ready. The vein is sticking out, eager too. The needle enters my skin. I always do this softly, gently. I like the feeling of the metal breaking my skin — a gentle penetration. At first, my skin resists, but then it gives in, losing the fight, and the sharp needle quickly warms inside my vein. I push down, and the calming escape from reality enters my body. I feel it flowing through my veins, spreading inside of me. It isn’t a stranger nor an unknown. It is my friend. I pull the syringe out and throw it on the table. I am not caring anymore. I found bliss.

My friend makes me tired. Always so tired, and he takes me to a dreamland. He helps me escape the grotesque face of reality. I inhale deeply and let myself float on a cloud of cotton. High and higher, I am rising in the sky. I can see down and look at all those people that want to hurt me. They can’t reach me, here on my cotton cloud high in the sky. No evil can reach me. My friend is there to protect me. He engulfs me with his warmth, and I feel safe as long as he is with me. Better than sex. Much better than sex. They don’t satisfy me anyway. They – the johns. They get off, and I get the money to buy an orgasm of my own. One that always comes. Always. Except sometimes. Sometimes, my friend refuses to come to me to help me forget. Sometimes, instead of flying higher and higher up in the sky, he lets me fall, shoves me down the stairs hard. And it hurts. The deception always hurts. But it’s because he loves me and he wants me to be with him longer and more often. He is possessive, my friend. And I want him. Only him. Only me. Only us. Together, we can conquer the world.

Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. When he lets me down, I fall deep. I am afraid without him. I am scared to death without his warmth. It makes me cower in the corner of the dark unfurnished room. Far away, where no candlelight can reach me. I make myself as small as possible. Invisible. I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear the screams. Make them go away! I close my eyes. I don’t want to see those faces. Make them go away! I wish for someone to hold me. Save me!

Leave me alone! I don’t need to be saved. Don’t touch me! I can’t have anyone touch me. I’ll break into tiny little pieces, like a glass that has fallen down and broke. And the shards will hurt and cut me deep.

Today, my friend didn’t let me fall. I open my eyes. I feel free. I feel good. I feel excited. I own the world. I see the zombies passed out around me. I am not one of them. My friend makes me invincible. I am not one of them. Not until the next time my friends calls me. Not until the next time I need him. My best friend, H.

✨🌙✨

(Originally written and posted on this very blog in 2013 and edited subtly in 2018. H obviously stands for Heroin. I was reminded of this today and even though I would probably write it a bit differently, I still think this is a strong piece.)