My moon

I gave you my moon to shine a light in your darkness
I gave you my moon so that you could control the sea
The light was blinding me and left me lost in the dark
The seas's rough waves were embracing my weak body
I gave you everything so that you could protect me
And now I am slowly drifting out of your reach
Slipping through your fingers, because you are not there
My moon became your light
My moon showed you a way out of your eternal night

Sunday Scribblings #115 – self-care

Aaron over at  shares prompts on Wednesdays to write a little something. Often, it sparks ideas, but just as often, I don’t write for these prompts. Today, the new Sunday Scribblings prompt was announced: self-care; in honour of this Sunday’s International self-care day.

For some, self-care is having a long bath, meditation and writing in their journal. For others, self-care is a quiet evening at home with a bottle of wine and no phone. Some stay in bed all day and are unavailable to the world. Other turn the music up, and sing and dance along.

For me personally, it is all of the above, depending on the initial mood.

But something else is self-care too: admitting that something is not what we wanted, and moving on; finding something else.

Today, this means something very specific for me, to walk away from the job I started in May and going back to the place I left in July 2021. My former boss got in touch and offered a position; that was last Friday. She said she had to run it past her superiors, but if I was interested, I was to sent in my CV and paperwork. I did so on Monday. Today I got the call that the job is mine and that I can start in September. Just in time for the start of the new school year. I will be actively working with kids again – I missed that, help and support their homework, organise other activities…

I admit, I am afraid to be judged when I tell people that I changed jobs 3 times in one year just get back to the start. But I also believe that some times one has to move backwards to be able to move forward.

So this week, my self-care is moving forward by moving backwards.

And now, I will write my job resignation letter. (I have no idea if that’s the right way of putting it, hehe)

amor fati

In life, there are many ups and downs, but everything happens for a reason. We walk on a predestined path while seemingly choosing our destination at free will. I believe in free will. At the same time I also believe in a journey we are meant to experience. Sometimes, it feels as if our world […]

amor fati

The above post was read today and was brought back to my attention… I am sharing it because it is 6 years old and is very relevant to me these days. ❤️💜❤️💜


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)

Friday Song

Paolo Nutini – Acid Eyes

From the album “Last Night in the Bittersweet” (2022)

Great album, I have to say… It’s the Scottish singer/songwriter’s fourth studio album and is released 8 years after Caustic Love (2014)

It’s my daughter’s 12th birthday today, which means that I will spend the rest of the day in the kitchen. Worked. Ate lunch. Little break. Now on to make a cake and all the other stuff I want to spoil our guests with tonight ❤️💜❤️💜


Perfect Imperfection – poetry
Out of the Dark and into the Light – poetry
A Life in Frames – short stories
Heart of Stone – novel
Drowning in a Sea of Voices – poetry
Unquiet Minds – poetry

My 6 published books, they are all available on Amazon, or with me… (The shared link is German, but you can also look on .com or or .ca or… you get it; worldwide.

I love touching and looking at my books. I am very proud of them 💜❤️💜❤️

Dear Stranger

You did it again.

Once again, you said that I am perfect for you, that I should move over. That we could live in a nice house by a stream, sitting outside in the evening, by the fire, making music, making love, smoking… A grand piano inside and a large bed; both for creative experiments and as outlets too…

Twirling thoughts.

Once again, you said that you love me, that you love my mind, my integrity, my patience, my sensual side, everything.

You planned a future for us.

A sandcastle build on clouds.

But there was one condition: me losing weight, you losing weight.

As much as I like you, I will not drop any kilos for anyone but myself. And if the weight is the only thing preventing a relationship from happening, then maybe, just maybe, you are a shallow man who does not deserve to know more about me.

Because that too was mentioned again: I am mysterious to you and you don’t know me. Once again I said that you just have to ask, and as expected, you backef off saying that I frighten you.

There was so much to unpack lately… So many mixed signals.

Fortunately, I know how I feel. Believe it or not, I do.

You tell me that you love me and take it back two messages later stating: “not in that way, you know that, but I love you”.

The thing is, I don’t take back my words, I love you. But you are annoying as fuck. I will not save or fix you. I accept you with the chipped edges and the broken mind and soul.

Ah well, it doesn’t matter. I am not passive agressive. I simply know my place and I know my role.

I know when I am needed and how, and I know that you trust me. I don’t take it for granted, it is very important to me and it matters and I will never betray your trust and your love.

Goodnight my lover xx

Old words

We don't deserve the desert moon 
And the burning trees.
Too many words hurt our throats;
We can't outrun our fears fast enough.

Our eyes are closed, ignoring the sun
Hiding in treasure chests.
The wind blows tears into clouds Filling an ocean with salt.

We will never understand
That this is the end of our smiles.

Stars are the only dreams left
And we save ourselves in dark fields of burnt trees.

We don't deserve the cleansing rain.

Do I exist when I don’t write?

Once, I would have written everything down… Onto your screen or into my journal. But not anymore – or better yet, not right now. I am growing tired. I am weary of this and of me. Of (my) reactions. Of the same stories being told again and again, the only thing that changes are the words. The narrative stays the same. I am afraid to become numb. Or to be too overwhelmed. In both instances, I cannot think clearly.

Someone told me recently: I’ve been through hell, and I know your terrors, but they are nothing compared to mine.

I should have screamed and yelled but all I did was agree with them and become silent. What makes them say that their ordeal or their struggles are worse than mine? They are different. But I believe that mental pain, soul-pain cannot be measured or compared. Statements like that make me grow silent. I don’t see the point in arguing. I just silently disagree and disengage from the conversation.

I shared a picture of myself on IG last night. Two different people, people who I met at different moments in my life, sent private messages saying that I look very happy. I thanked them politely. I am smiling… That much is true.

But I am also masking… It’s the job… I am around adults all the time and I need to be neutral and functioning. I need to listen, observe, and reflect and I need to judge, analyse and write reports about people. And that is draining. Very much so. It is exhausting, and it feels as if I don’t have a moment for myself anymore. I need that though. I need that to recharge my batteries. And I need mornings to sleep in once in a while. Moments to rest. That too is not happening a lot anymore… And it sucks. The lack of personal time is certainly a reason why I don’t write everything down anymore.

Ah well… A new week is around the corner. It’s already July and I am wondering where the time went. Next Friday, my youngest will be 12. The week after that, the summer holidays for the kids will start and then soon, a vacation for the family – if the COVID rules allow us to travel… One can never know these days.

For now, I am on my way to bed.


Sleep tight

(PS: the title, I think I already used that years ago, or used that sentence in a post. It came to my mind just now, but there is something familiar about it and I cannot put my finger on it)