I wrote letters and words. They came to me in the middle of the night and were forgotten at the first light of day. I had to dig deep and think shallowly to paint a picture of me in ink. And when the last page is turned, something stays. Something unknown. From the past a future is born.
🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙
59 words – 3 minutes
I came here to love you with all my heart, because what we have is stronger than life and deeper than death. That’s the love I feel for you.
🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙
2 minutes – 29 words
For P
I was never able to fall asleep in someone’s arms; not until I met you. You once asked why and I joked and steered the conversation in a different direction. The truth is, the answer is Trust. I never trusted anyone until I met you. I never completely opened up, showing my strength and weaknesses. And then you came along and showed me that my weaknesses are my strength. You showed me that there are people who listen, give sound advice without judging, and are simply there without asking anything in return. You showed me that love is free. You taught me so much, but above all, you taught me to trust you. That thought alone; it is scary and freeing. I want to thank you and thank you and thank you, but I know: my love for you is enough. Love and trust. I love and trust you. And you do too.
🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙🌞🌙
153 words – 5 minutes
She fought to open her eyes because she knew it was too early to be awake. For two weeks, every night, without fail, she had woken up at 3:30. She sighed, knowing that there was no choice. She gave in and got out of her warm bed. She wandered to the kitchen, feeling the cold tiles underneath her naked feet. Something about that was comforting or at least, it was pleasant. She opened the cupboard, took a glass, then she opened the faucet and filled it with cold water. She brought the glass to her lips and drank. She didn’t gulp the water down; she enjoyed every sip of it, feeling it refreshing her body. She thought of it as “conscious drinking”. Before her thoughts could drift off to the absurd, she decided it was best not to think or have new thoughts. She yawned, setting the glass in the sink, briefly beginning to think why she didn’t put it in the dishwasher, but as with every other thought at night, she tried to push it away. If she allowed one thought, she knew she would begin to overthink and her night would be over. She scratched her thigh and without haste, she trudged back to her bedroom. She looked at her phone where she saw a couple of notifications, she ignored them all and opened the messaging app. “I am up” she wrote. Not waiting for a reply the put the phone down again. She grabbed one of her two pillows, turned to her stomach and got into her sleeping position. She began counting. It was odd, but it always helped her to fall asleep. 3:50. She saw the yellow digits of her alarm clock and drifted away. Like every night, without fail, for two weeks straight.
🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙
299 words – 10 minutes
I look into your eyes and I feel lost and found at the same time. I know that I am safe when I look into your eyes. The crackling tension between is electrifying and pregnant with promises of what’s to come. You raise your hand as if to wave goodbye and for a split second I am afraid that our spell is broken and our moment is over. Intuition takes over and I touch my hand to yours. Palm against palm. I can taste the air your breathe on my lips. The heat of your hand seeps into me. So much intimacy in one small gesture. I lick my lips and see your eyes darting to my mouth. Everything happens in slow-motion. Everything happens too fast. Your soft lips touch mine. Our hands – fingers entwined fall down, almost touching my hip. The kiss intensifies. Your tongue flitters against mine, chasing it, tasting it. It’s hard to breathe and to think. Ever so slowly, you pull away. Your breath is laboured too. I avert my eyes, looking at our hands, and I smile. I don’t want to overthink but your kiss is lingering on my lips, tingling. Yearning for more. More. More. It was only a kiss. But it was also so much more. Our hands separate and you take a step back. We are back in the real world, standing on the pavement in front of my home. I notice the cold and shiver. “I better get…” I don’t finish my sentence, only motion to the door. You nod, ready to turn away. “I should…” you don’t finish your sentence either, just nod in the general direction of the street. I don’t know what to do. I am not good with goodbyes. “I’ll call you, alright?” I nod. There must be something better to say, but my mind is blank. You smile and touch a lock of my hair on my shoulder; the you turn to leave. My fingers rise to my lips where I can still feel your kiss. It was only a kiss. But it was way more than just a kiss. It was a promise of something new. I watch you getting into your car and drive away. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out with two fingers, ready to be taken out of this blissful emotion. “I told you I would call” you say and I laugh out loud. “Yes you did”. I make my way up to my home. I am sure that I will not sleep a lot tonight, but it doesn’t matter; I am with you.
✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨
438 words – 11 minutes
prettige feestdagen en een gelukkig nieuwjaar
She wrapped herself in the comfortable blanket of darkness. There it was; again. Like an old friend visiting after months of silence. There they were; again. The tears that had no reason to be there. The emotions that were amplified by the fact that she had not taken her feel-good meds in weeks. They were there; again. She had known they would be back. Parts of her had been looking forward to the emotional embrace. Parts of her had dreaded the impact and the force of the reappearance of her old friend. The comforting blanket of sadness came just in time for the holidays. Was it worth fighting and going back to being numb? Or was the cold and empty reality the better choice? Irrational thoughts caressed her insecurities. Nothing and no one was irreplaceable. Not her. Not her emotions. Who was the true her: the one who was smiling, nodding, and accommodating everyone around her, or the one who easily let her emotions flow, who missed intimacy and closeness?
And while she was overthinking, crying silent tears, she wondered how many of her recent thoughts had been fake and manipulated by the intake of chemical happiness. She took a deep breath, smelling her pillow. A comforting witness of passed memories and deeply felt sorrow. I felt abject loneliness without you.
Sara sat on her windowsill with the toothbrush in her mouth. She looked out into the world; into the lives of her neighbors. An old couple was sitting at a table, having dinner. They didn’t talk, but something about them looked peaceful. It looked like a comfortable silence. She looked at the apartment above the couple’s and saw a young woman singing into a hairbrush while dancing in her underwear. It made Sara chuckle. She almost wanted to remember her youth, but she pushed that thought away with a slight shake of her head. She continued brushing her teeth and looking at her neighbors. The naked man doing his daily workout. The couple with the guests, laughing and clinking their glasses in celebration of something; maybe a birthday or an engagement, or some other happy event. Sara kept looking at the lives in front of her as if she was switching channels on the TV. When she saw a woman crying alone, hiding her face in her palms, she decided that she had seen enough. Sara pulled her curtains closed and all the memories of the lives she had seen faded instantly. Almost.
She trudged to the bathroom to rinse out her mouth and wash her face. It was such an automatic thing to do, she did not react when she caught a glimpse of her pale face in the mirror. Sara undressed and threw her clothes in the hamper. It was time to do a load of laundry, then again, it could wait another day. Making her way to the bedroom, she switched off the lights and found a comfortable position in bed. She switched on the TV and let the colors illuminate the dark room. Sara didn’t have anything particular to watch, and so she switched channels until she came across something that appeared almost interesting. After a couple of minutes of looking at the screen, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through social media.
Sometime during her evening routines, a thought had crept into her mind that didn’t let her go. She was alone. Lonely. Everything about her existence was mundane. She was an average woman without anything exciting happening in her life.
No one would spend time looking into her window. She was invisible. Sara grinned. It was a course and a superpower. Don’t let anyone notice you!
✨💜✨💜✨💜
Little author’s note (how very…!)
392 words. This was a very spontaneous thing to be written. There is something like an idea where I want to go and what I want to happen forming in my head. But we’ll see how that goes. I could just as well abandon this again in no time. I am aware that things could and should be elaborated, but this is the very first draft. There is not much thought behind these words (yet). No overthinking (yet). And definitely no editing of any kind. Remember, my first language is Luxembourgish, everything I write in English has to be translated in my head first. Imagine seeing an image in your mind and describing it in a foreign language you haven’t used like that in a while… Yeah, nothing is finished or perfect about this. But still, enjoy reading this short bit. 💜❤️
And he asked her: “Will you stay with me until the end of time? Will you stay with me until the day I die?” He tried to look into her eyes, but she was a blurry image, a mirage of a broken mind suffering through another heatwave. He mouthed the words over and over again, until they didn’t make any sense anymore. He sat on his bed, feeling every drop of sweat running down his overheated body. He dreamt himself into songs and movies and memories and places from the past. Anywhere but there. His phone vibrated next to him. “Hi, just checking in and saying hello,” the text read. He looked at the picture of the girl. She knew the good, the bad, and the ugly. Maybe this was meant to be after all. He ignored the text, grabbed his guitar that lay sleeping next to him on the bed, and drifted off to a creative headspace where the world faded, and nothing existed anymore.
(10 minutes, 166 words)
I am lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling. Shadows are dancing, encouraged by the wind that is picking up outside. The heat is almost unbearable, even at midnight. The breeze that finds its way inside my bedroom caresses my naked skin. I can’t even fathom the thought of wearing any clothes right now. A nervous kind of energy keeps me awake. My mind is tired, and my body too, but my heart races, and my thoughts keep straying back to you. I miss you; that much is true. After a couple of very intimate and intense weeks, the unlabeled thing we have seems to cool off. And I don’t like that feeling. It’s an old feeling, of course. And it is probably all in my head. As I grow older, attachment issues become real and realer. The fear of rejection or abandonment is almost crippling. Almost. You know, for a moment, I was very sure of you and your love for me. We were together every waking minute that wasn’t spent with work for either of us. We got to know each other; you got to know me. I allowed myself to be just me. Maybe that adds to my insecurities.
Oh, the heat. The heat is a challenge tonight. Time is ticking away, but I still miss you. The distance between us, is it growing because we are comfortable with each other and the space the other takes up in our life, or is it growing because the closeness between us is becoming too much? I am overthinking. I wish I weren’t. I wish I could just grab my phone and send a text. But I can’t, or I won’t, out of fear of becoming someone suffocating. I start counting. It always grounds me in moments like this. Almost like a meditation. It helps my mind to become blank.
The mattress dips under a stranger’s weight, and I am startled. My heart almost jumps out of my chest, and I feel adrenaline flood my body. My breath comes in ragged pants. I must have dozed off or zoned out. I did not notice the door being opened. I am glad I gave you a set of keys. And I am glad you used them to let yourself in.
It is well past midnight now. I smell the soothing scent that is coming off your body. And I can feel your heat. You are naked too. It’s too hot to wear clothes, I think again. You seem to agree with that. You put your head on my chest. I feel the rough stubble of your growing beard on my sensitive skin. It does something to me. I kiss your hair and comb it with my fingers. You moan lazily. I try to remember my earlier thoughts and emotions, but they are old and unimportant right now. It was something about distance and growing apart. Silly me. I must stop these self-sabotaging thoughts from overtaking my sanity.
You put your hand on my hip, and it feels right. Your heat and mine mingling, turning into something unique. Something that only we can create. It’s a fascinating thought that every movement we share and every breath and every word and every touch, every smell and every laugh, and every tear, and simply everything we share is unique. We can repeat words and recreate reasons to cry or to laugh, or to fight, but it will never be the same as the original instance.
Your arm grows heavy on my stomach, pinning me into this position. You are about to fall asleep, and I noticed we did not really talk. You came home into my arms, and you feel safe enough to let go and drop your guard. We discussed this before, the magic of feeling safe and protected with each other, the magic of easing the nervousness and unrest we both feel all too often. I smile and try to take a deep breath. Your head on my chest is heavy. And I can feel the sweat turning into something sticky between us. I never liked that with another man in my life, and I hated it when someone breathed on me, but with you, it doesn’t bother me. I love everything about you. My mind wanders again, and I start counting again. I need to sleep soon. I kiss your hair again, careful not to disrupt this peaceful moment. I love you so much; it is almost scary.
I scold myself and tell myself that this is not the moment for negative thoughts. One…two…three…four…five…six… The shadows are still dancing on the ceiling. A serene moment. I breathe in again. You, your scent fills me, and I smile. My hand keeps caressing your back lazily. Seven…eight…nine…ten… I slip away.
(23minutes, 802 words)
Out of all the girls he had ever had a crush on, she was the most intriguing one. She loved him, that much was clear; but she also challenged him. She showed him how to love and trust again after the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of the last woman he had loved openly and freely. She was reliable and had lots of integrity. She always meant what she said, and he had never once caught her in a lie. Oh, she had an eccentric mind and she was weird in all the right places, but she knew how to handle him and he knew how to handle her too. She had a unique sense of humour; a bit like his, and a lot of general knowledge, she was intelligent and kind. Whenever he needed something, she was there to provide. Advice, money, a shoulder to cry on; she was always there.
Once, he had felt that she was becoming too close and in a weak attempt to push her away, he had tried getting to know another girl, but the new girl had quickly become a bore and she had not understood him in the least. And he needed to be understood without needing to spell everything out. And so he went back to his honey babe luv. They fought that night because she was jealous and didn't want to admit it. But he knew her better than that, and in the end, he had made sure that she felt loved by him. They made up and became even stronger than they had been before. Their bond, their connection was special. Unique.
He scratched his chin and looked at the selfie she had sent in response of his own. He smiled fondly and wished for her to be there. He decided to call her. He loved her. He wanted to care for her and to protect her. He wanted to share every little thing with her. "Mmh ja allo?" was her typical way of answering the phone. He chuckled. She was saving him a little more with every moment they spent in each other's company. And he began to tell her about his day.
The wave of sorrow is lapping at her feet, trying to get to her. What if she has an invisible expiration date written across her forehead?
And while he was sitting on his bed letting his fingers feel the strings of his guitar, his thoughts wandered back to her. It irked him that she kept insisting that she was not in love with him. It had been ages since he had allowed a woman to get this close to him and he started to question his feelings for her now too. Was he falling in love? He couldn’t possibly allow that, could he? She was a friend, a confidant. She easily lent a nonjudgmental ear and whenever he hinted at his financial issues, she gave him money. That way, he had paid for many therapy sessions, for meds, and also for some cannabis, without ever asking for an explanation or anything. She complimented his art and encouraged him when he needed it; when he doubted his abilities or his sanity, but at the same time, she never nagged or demanded anything from him; apart from being there. And he had no qualms promising that he would be there; always. Because that was what he intended to do. He wanted to keep her in his life. She was the best that had happened to him in ages. And yet. He was confused and unsure. Somehow he needed her presence to have a good day. Without her, something was missing; someone was missing. He had tried to take a step back, but it was so hard. It agitated him, made him nervous to push her away; to think that he had to exist without her.
What if he lost her while protecting himself? What if she was just like his ex and couldn’t handle his rejection? What if? No. No, she was different. She had integrity. Everything she said proved to be trustworthy. She never said or promised things she couldn’t keep. And her intelligence was a turn on too. She was sexy and beautiful and in recent times, she was the only woman with the ability to get him aroused or turned on. There was no one else. When he woke up at night from a bad dream, she was there. When he couldn’t sleep, she was there. When he craved ice cream but couldn’t afford it, she was there. She was always there for him. Keeping her promise. It scared him. He let her get too close. He couldn’t handle it. Maybe if he pushed her away and maybe if he was not there for her – breaking his own promise; maybe then she would break and show her true face. Perhaps she would show that she was just like all the others, ready to hurt him as soon as he dropped them? But, no. He couldn’t imagine it from her. They had so much chemistry together; something all too real. He was afraid to be a failure or a disappointment in her eyes. He was afraid that she could leave his life. And he was not ready for that.
His fingers kept fiddling the strings of his guitar while he lay on his back in his bed. When had she become the last thought at night and the first thought in the morning? When had she become his every thought during the day? The realisation hit him hard, he could keep pretending that he was not the guy to see a relationship with her in the future, he could keep insisting that he did not daydream of breaking out of his life to leave and start anew with her; but it was all a lie. He wanted her. He needed her. But she had made it clear that she did not want him. She hadn’t said anything, but he was pretty sure it was because he had let down his guards. He had told her everything – almost everything about himself. He had made room in his heart for her. He was needy around her. He was honest and genuine and raw and emotional around her. He hated it, but she made him a better man. The next song he played was for her. She would never know, but it still appeased his mind.
Next to him, his phone lit up. “where are you? The day has been all wrong without you.”
It was her… Yes, the day had felt wrong and incomplete. He grinned, maybe she was pretending too. Maybe there was a chance for them in the future. There was a little bit of hope. It was all he needed for now. Just that little bit of hope.
She runs through the night, heavy footsteps are following her. Eating up the space between her and her predator. Her lungs are burning and her legs are slowing down; her muscles are tired and shaking from the unusual exertion. Her breath puffs out between her lips in visible clouds. Panic is all she can feel. And cold. It is an icy cold, fueled by the terror that spreads inside her bones and infests her entire body. The footsteps behind her come closer. She keeps running. At least she tries to keep running. Panting. Gasping. Fighting for air. She is trying to fill her lungs with oxygen, but she doesn’t succeed. Her breathing is too shallow. Her heart races too fast. It is quiet in the dark. Lonely in this winter’s night. She can only hear his steps. Her own steps. The blood in her ears. Please, please. Please! she whispers into the gloaming nothingness. She sends silent prayers to every divinity she remembers, asking that someone will stop the demon behind her. But the cold in her heart lets her know that she will not be saved. Her soul is lost. Rotting. Decaying. Turning to dust. She will be forgotten. Erased from this earth. And no one will know that she ever existed. She never left a notable trace. The woman rounds a corner, losing foot on the slippery pavement. She struggles to get her feet under her body again, partly because her limbs are exhausted, partly because in her haste, she stepped on her scarf that came loose. She turns around, feeling the wet pavement underneath her palms. She tries to crawl away from the creature that has been following her, looking at him. Eyes wide, she finally sees him up close as he takes long strides in her direction. He isn’t running anymore. Like the predator he is, he comes closer. And closer. She makes one last attempt to get up and run away, but her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. It doesn’t follow her orders, and when he kneels in front of her, with his long cold fingers enclosing her throat she looks in his dark eyes for the first and last time. Black like obsidian. A dark abyss. Beautiful. Beguiling. Pleading? As if they were asking for forgiveness and permission, all at the same moment. But then he blinks and the gentleness she thinks she has seen is gone. It made room for something cruel and soulless. The hand around her throat closes and her breathing air becomes less. And less. She tries to gulp in some oxygen, but the hand on her throat prevents it from reaching its destination. Her body spasms. Her hands touch his wrist and her legs are flailing, trying to find enough grip to push away from her murderer. “Please, don’t let me die like this” are her final thoughts before she feels a strange and uninvited sense of lust. Her eyes keep staring at him but her soul is on its way out of her body. The horror and confusion she felt will be forever painted on her face. In rivulets, blood runs down her throat from where his sharp claws held on to her. The demon lets go of her empty vessel, and pushes angry tears off his face with the back of his blood-stained hand.
I have to do it. I will die if I don’t. He bares his fangs and with gusto, he buries them where his claws left a bloody wound on the woman’s throat.
The heat leaves her body as one last breath, one last puff of air is pushed past her lips. He stills his hunger. His thirst. His need. Until he feels the energy of his young victim setting in his veins. He sighs satisfied, but he wants more. He needs more. He can never get enough. It is the nature of things. He lets go of the limp, pale body and gets up. He looks at her. Grief is painted all over his face. He is desperate for a companion, a mate. But who could ever love what he is? Who he is? She was his first for this night. A good start. Invigorating. Growling, he pulls his fangs in. A tortured sigh escapes his lips as he turns to leave. One last look at his prey and the peaceful way she looks. All dead people have this look. At least the ones who died because of him. If he could only feel some serenity. Not much, just a glimmer of it. If his tormented soul could only find peace. He is not asking for eternal bliss, just a moment of calmness in his mind. His hands turn to fists in his pockets as he pushes the string of weak and romantic thoughts aside. This is his life. There is no choice. No other option. His hunt continues. It has to. It will never stop. Because if it does, he will cease to exist. And with him, the tiny fragments of the souls of the people he has had the privilege to empty of their blood would be gone too. He can’t let that happen. They all are part of him now. Memories of them are in his bloodstream and nurturing his body. Squaring his shoulders, he walks into the dark moonless night. He was always a man of honour and principles. At least he has been before he turned into this… A demon… A walking nightmare… The taker of the last breath.
(Originally written in August 2017, edited today.)
Wasn’t she the perfect woman? She knew how to cook and clean, to iron and keep a house tidy. She knew a lot about proper and sane food, was great with finances, and never messed up the washing. The fridge was always filled, as were the closets. The bathrooms were clean, the kitchen too. She knew how to fuck – giving and taking, without too many limits. She knew how to drive a car, was good with kids, was intelligent enough to hold conversations about politics, religions, spirituality, but also about music and movies and books. She liked quiet nights in, but also going out and socializing. She was financially independent because she had a job that paid the bills, knew how to schedule and organise her days that everyone but her was cared for. She had a unique sense of humour but could not tell any jokes. She was clumsy sometimes but hated to give up control. At the same time, she was wishing for someone to take care of her, calm her down, and tell her what to do. She was not the most beautiful woman, and her mind often played tricks on her, but she was passionate and supportive, and loyal. Her hair was untamable, but she laughed it off. She was not the nagging kind but needed lots of time for herself. She was not jealous – or didn’t show it. She sang all the time and her journal was a trusted companion anywhere she went. She was enough of a mystery that she did not share her inner turmoil with her partner. But she had no secrets either. While kneading dough, she thought about all this and it led to another thought: if all this was true; why was she lonely and alone? Wasn’t she marriage material? And why was she getting a divorce? She sighed, pushed every thought aside, and began pushing olives into the focaccia dough, all the while singing along to U2’s with or without you.
reflections of an unquiet mind 