Tag: creative

Posted on

All Saints

Yesterday, it was Halloween and today is All Saints Day. In different parts of the world, those days have different meanings.

Where I am from, Halloween used to be that fictitious day seen on TV in American shows, just like Thanksgiving. We never understood it because it never existed here. But somehow, Halloween made it over the big pond and became a thing here too, and although trick or treating is still not common, it happens here too. More common are big parties at clubs and bars.

When I was a kid, All Saints Day mattered a lot. My grandpa passed away when I was ten and my grandmother insisted we visit the cemetery every year on November 1st. Uncles and aunts were present and the visit to the cemetery was followed by a big family dinner – lots of alcohol included. A year before my grandma passed away, it was on November 1st as I was driving her back home after dinner at my aunt’s, she apologized to me for how badly she had treated me as a kid and for how cruel she had been during my childhood and teenage years. It came completely out of the blue. I never expected her to even acknowledge the abuse I had suffered. But, it mattered. It didn’t erase the scars on my skin or on my soul but it mattered. I don’t think I saw her again after that night. She passed away on November 12th 2016. I remember those moments vividly because I was so focused on the road, there was a lot of fog and it was dark.

For years my aunts and uncles, and I too tried to keep up the tradition and do what grandma would expect of us. We gathered every November 1st at the cemetery. But true to my label as the black sheep of the family, I refuse to go there today. I don’t need to stand in front of a grave to remember this woman. And I surely don’t need to pretend to be part of a family that does not even reply to texts or phone calls. Petty? Maybe. Childish? Surely. But I need to do what is best for me and my mental health. There is a part of me that feels obliged to visit the cemetery this afternoon and that part also wants to see the family and be a part of them; but there is also a part of me that absolutely loathes going there. In the end I will decide on a whim.

I have been thinking about her a lot these last days and I think it was fuelled by me not being all too well. I don’t want to blame grandma for any of this, but the time of the year and everything that comes with these days still has an impact on me.

I am 40 years old. But when it comes to past hurt or pain, I am still (and will always be) a child.

It’s the middle of the night. Hopefully, goodnight. By the way, check out my IG account (@micqu_1), maybe there is a pic or two you’ll enjoy.

Posted on

we are a moment in time

Your head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat - we are real

Our hair weaved together in long tresses  - we are harmony

Our legs intertwined, spinning, lifting us into blue spheres - we are ephemeral

Two souls, yours and mine; powerful connection - our spirits become One

Everything is possible in this serene moment - we are perfect

One last shared breath, we glide into a transient state of silence

Surrounded by stardust and unconditional love - we turn into all-consuming peace.

Posted on

make this nightmare go away (short fiction)

I woke up with a racing heart and ragged breath. I looked around myself to ground my weary mind. I had that dream again. The dream in which I saw my mother get on the bus and leave me behind. Except, it wasn’t a dream; it was a memory that haunted me since I was a child.

I was a grown-up woman, doing what grown-ups do. I worked forty hours every week – sometimes more. I met friends, went for drinks or dinner with them. Occasionally, I fell in love. More often, I craved the physical connection a body could offer. A physical connection was easy to find, love – not so much.

Someone was stirring next to me, and I couldn’t remember his name. I should have felt uncomfortable, but I didn’t. Waking up next to someone I didn’t know was not uncommon for me. I would not rely on him to distract me from my childhood memories. I didn’t trust him. He didn’t feel like the protection or safety I needed; the nameless man next to me was only another warm body to make me forget the longing and the emptiness that spread through my body like cancer. The older I got, the more cells were infected. “Go back to sleep, honey,” his gravelly voice mumbled. I snorted. Those were the exact same words my mother had said before the doors of the bus closed behind her. Or was it my imagination playing tricks on me?

I pushed the duvet off my body and let my feet connect with the hardwood floor. I needed something real, something that earthed me. Goosebumps rose on my naked skin. I couldn’t say if it was the lingering memory of the reoccurring dream, or if it was the chill from the starry night sneaking in through the opened window. I decided that it didn’t matter.

There were so many little thoughts every day, and most of them didn’t matter. Once in a while, I felt as if I didn’t matter either. My weekdays were filled with responsibilities, work, and duties. There was no room for anything else. My weekends were wasted with alcohol and casual affairs who did not fill the voids I was looking to fill. I didn’t allow my mind to come to terms with old wounds. But the mind and the soul knew that I needed to take better care of myself; hence the dreams.

I was afraid to be abandoned and to be left behind. It was easier to keep everyone at arm’s length and stay distant. It was more comfortable to pretend that I was happy than to lower my masks and show the real me. In truth, I had no idea what happiness felt like. Happiness with a partner. Someone to share my life and my fears with. Once in a while, there had been someone special, but we weren’t in touch a lot anymore. Different live paths had led in different directions. And maybe my expectations were too high? All my life, I had been searching for love, for a person who made me feel safe. Perhaps I was just too blind to see him? What if I was too weak to hold on to the one who mattered most?

I took my phone from the nightstand, and the illuminated display showed the loneliness of my life. A couple of shallow notification that I wasn’t interested in; I pushed them all away with a couple of swipes.

I padded down to the bathroom to relieve my bladder and splash some water in my face, then I took my robe from the hook attached at the door and pulled it around me. I didn’t want to go back to the stranger in my bed, but I didn’t want to wake him up and throw him out in the middle of the night, either. In the living room, I sat down in my favourite chair next to the window. I could see the sparkling dots on the dark firmament.

“Are you there?” I sent a message to the person who meant more than most to me. I didn’t expect a response at this late hour; I just wanted to make sure that he would think of me when he woke up. I was about to put the phone down when it vibrated in my hand. My heart went like mad when I saw his face on the display, but I accepted the call anyway.

“Why are you still up? Bad dream?” He didn’t waste any time with pleasantries; he knew me too well. I nodded my head and added an affirmative sound.

“Are you alone?” I hated that my reply was negative, but I answered truthfully nonetheless.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes. I am in the living room watching the stars.” I almost whispered.

“Okay.” I heard some rustling as if he was getting out of bed, footsteps followed, and then some more rustling. “I will put you on speakerphone. Just so that you know if the sound is different.” And then I heard the first chords of a piano song I wasn’t familiar with. Like a soothing blanket, it washed over me. There were no words, just music, and it was for my ears only. The sounds alleviated some of the chills from my body, and I grabbed a blanket from the couch to wrap myself in it. I nestled deep in the blanket and yawned. I was tired; it surprised me how much so. I yawned noisily again.

“Sleep tight, baby girl. I will always be there for you.” I smiled. Maybe I had found someone safe, but the thought became frayed as the music faded, and I drifted off to a dreamless sleep again. Maybe tomorrow, I would remember those words, or maybe they became a part of a distant memory too.

Posted on

Today (a to z)

Today a warm feeling spread inside my skin. I was dancing alone, losing my mind—Sun on my face, you in my heart. Today, I am waiting for the world to understand: I am not running. Not from you, not towards you. Today is not tomorrow; I know that well. My heart is not healed, my mind a fragile dream. Today, I am smiling because you were a part of me. Tomorrow, I will mourn your loss again. Come and go; tomorrow happens every day. And if I break down? I did it my own way. Today, I don’t care and don’t hold back. It was a good day.

Posted on

after it is all over

On the other side of the light

Sits a woman staring at me – blind.

I cannot see the words she screams

I am too busy coming undone – as it seems.

I must go, I must leave

“You are a liar, a thief.”

The sky is filled with diamond tears

The floor is laid out with age-old fears.

I cannot run,

I need a song.

The mirror hides my true face

Leaving me worried that my reflection fades.

And the clouds are on fire,

My thoughts are tired.

I want to drown in a serenity wall

Being at peace – is all.

But here is me, looking at the light

I turn away, too much night, not a single fight.

The wind is howling, kissing my naked skin

If I could, I would fly on its wings.

But I am trapped in my golden life

Until the day comes and my soul died.

***

This one was written after an unexpected anxiety attack a couple of days ago. (are they ever expected?!) I don’t get them often anymore, and it left me scared and agitated for too long. I am struggling. With everything. With who I am, but also with the quality of my writing. I can’t imagine going back to work in 5 weeks. I am too afraid to see people. I am good at home…

Posted on

Broken Julia (a to z)

Jaded eyes in a pale and gaunt face. Longing years had cost a lot; her beauty, her happiness, her sanity. Every pore of her body told the story of her life—the story of her love. It was long gone, but still there, a constant companion. He had sworn that he felt abject loneliness without her, but he had shown it with rejection. Broken Julia.

She was old and weary, still feeding off the fantasy man who had chosen to leave her for someone new. The craving, the want, the need for him, it consumed her every night and every day. He was her toxic obsession. She jumped when the doorbell rang. Broken Julia.

Jittery, she opened the door to a postman and signed for a parcel he held out to her. She grabbed the cardboard box and slammed the door shut. She reached for a knife and slashed the box, impatient to empty its contents on her sofa. She sighed. She liked what she saw. Broken Julia.

Julia called him, and after some convincing, he agreed to meet with her one last time. A plan came together in her mind, and with the little something from the online store, she had everything she needed to make him love her again. She dressed in a long dark skirt and a black shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her face looked even paler and thinner than before. Broken Julia.

He looked good, too good; she noticed him long before he saw her. It gave her the advantage of storing these pictures of him away for later use. After all this time, he had to suffer from their separation too, but he seemed to be happy, jaunty. She saw him scanning the coffee shop for her, and when their eyes met, her heart raced, and her stomach twisted into tiny little knots. He approached with long confident strides, and kissed her cold cheek, tracing her arm with a finger. Her eyes followed the move and it made room for new fantasies and memories. Broken Julia.

It felt good to have him back. He was hers again, but she disliked the distance between them. He had joined her for a drink, but he was not there. Putting on her most alluring mask, she asked if he would buy a cookie for her. She took advantage of his absence, producing a small flask from her purse—the online purchase. An elixir to make him love her again. She poured every last drop of it in his coffee cup and waited. Broken Julia.

He grinned, proffering the desired biscuit to her. He sat down opposite her and took a large sip of his coffee. She felt good. Her plan was working. If the elixir was as good as advertised, he would fall in love with her every moment now. Instead, he grew pale and held his stomach. He looked uneasy, queasy, and it made her worry. Something was wrong. Broken Julia.

He wanted to leave, but she reassured him that her house was just down the street and around the corner. If he wanted, he could wait it out on her couch. He obliged. He was sweating profusely now and bent over in pain. The ten-minute walk had never been so long. She led him to her home and to her couch, taking off his coat and his shoes. Once she was touching him, she couldn’t stop. He was protesting, but she undressed him, and he was too weak to put up a fight. Victory, she thought. Broken Julia.

His breathing became shallow, and his eyes were filled with knowing horror. He was about to die, and she was not saving him. He tried to move away from her seeing her for who she was, but his body was not responding anymore. Tired. Exhausted. He allowed it to happen. He took a deep painful breath, clutching his chest while she lay on top of him, running her hand through his sweat-drenched hair, and murmuring soothing words. The last person he saw was her; Broken Julia.

At first, she was shocked that he had died, but that was forgotten when she understood that he would never leave her again now. She dragged his lifeless body to the bedroom and heaved him onto her mattress. He was heavy, and it took all the strength she had to accomplish her mission. But now she had him where she wanted him. He was naked on her bed. He was hers again. Broken Julia.

She went back to the living room and collected his belongings. She found his phone and read through some messages and contemplated replying to some that made him appear alive. She decided against it. Instead, she destroyed the chip and the phone and disposed of them. No one would ever find him. He was with her. No one would take him away from her. No one. Broken Julia.

Once all evidence was taken care of, she went back to the bedroom where he lay on her bed. He looked as if he was sound asleep. Of course, he was not. His body was cold, and when she laid her head on his chest, there was no up and down of his breathing; there was no rhythmic sound of his heartbeat. Content, she sighed and cuddled close to him. Forever hers. This was perfect for her. Joined together in death. Broken Julia.

No one would have guessed that this tiny, jaded woman was filled with dark and twisted secrets. He would never feel abject loneliness without her. She would never feel abject loneliness again. She was happy. Broken Julia.

Posted on

Love

For one night, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.

For never. Forever.

For life; I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.

Posted on

Perfect girl

He lay on his back and stared at the sky. A glittering veil was covering the black. The moon was shining brightly; not whole yet. He felt the same, not whole. He had met his twin flame. He had loved her; made love to her. And then, then he had pushed her away. Dealing with those emotions was too complicated. And he was not a complicated man. He just knew that being with her felt like destroying himself. Being without her felt like missing a part of his soul. Her presence scared him. Almost as much as the knowledge that the sky is infinite and time is finite. He couldn’t admit that he was running away from her. It was easier to manipulate her into thinking that she was pushing him away. The truth was, he was missing her. He was missing the way she made his soul lighter and his thoughts less heavy. He missed how she inspired his work, and the sex. Yes, he missed how it felt to fill her out. He had had many girls and women in his life. They had never felt like her on his skin. Her kisses were like magic, her orgasms were bliss, his own release couldn’t be compared to anything he had ever experienced in bed. An intimacy that spread onto many levels connected them. From the moment they had first spoken, something had clicked. Profoundly. And now he was running away. He had an ugly soul, an empty heart, heavy thoughts. Others had described him that way. And he couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t care. She seemed to like all the facets of him. The good and the bad. And he was not prepared for that. He was not prepared to open himself to her, to let her see who he was. Who he is. Bare. Nowhere to hide his imperfections. He had always wanted to be seen, and to be able to be himself without getting strange looks. Now that he had met someone comfortable and sure enough of themselves to accept him for who he was, and he couldn’t handle it.

He slapped the grass next to him in frustration. Since when was he such a coward? Since when was he lamenting to have no one to love him, knowing full well that she was there. Was he so used to being hurt and rejected that being wanted and accepted scared him? That woman. She was addictive. Always on his mind. There was that fear of going back to her and letting her see his vulnerable side. There was that irrational panic that she could use it against him.

Until now, she never had. She had proven that she was trustworthy. He hated how much she completed him. He loved it too.

A raindrop landed on his forehead breaking his thoughts. From the porch his wife called him to get out of the rain, and go inside. He grunted a response and got off the lawn just in time, before the light dribble became a rainstorm. Minutes ago he had stared at the clear night sky. He had been sunken so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the clouds hiding the stars. Standing on the porch, he kept looking into the dark. She was his dark. Behind him, his wife was standing with a dishtowel. She was beautiful. He loved her. But she didn’t understand. She was not the one to fill that empty space in his heart. She was not the one who knew every secret, nothing withheld. But she was enough. She had to be. He took a quick look at his phone. He had no messages but he liked to see and know that she was online. Her profile picture was beautiful. For the moment, it was all he got from her. It was all he deserved. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Even if it meant leaving the safety of his family. After all, She was the one. His twin flame.