Tag: creative fiction

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and it was painted green

It was his birthday again. Five years had passed, yet the date never slipped by unnoticed. It seemed to arrive in the body before it appeared on the calendar, as if memory lived deeper than thought. Not the cake, not the candles, not the laughter that should have filled the day. What returned was the other birthday. Theirs.


They had been strangers then. It had started with a shared love for music, for humour. Messages becoming more flirty, more intimate. They were strangers who wanted too much, who admitted it too easily. It might have stayed suspended in words and distance, but she was invited in by his partner. Curiosity turned suggestion into plan. That was all it took. All three were driven by lust, anticipation, and a deep understanding of each other.


When they first saw each other, it was at the doorway. She rang the bell, and he opened the door. For a heartbeat they only looked. Then he pulled her in and kissed her before she could speak, before nerves had the chance to rise. The kiss was urgent, disarming. They made love there and then, sober and unguarded, while the house was still quiet and his partner had not yet returned.


Afterwards there was a pause, a different kind of silence. They lay together, skin still warm, catching their breath, almost laughing at how sudden it had been. They studied each other in that new closeness, the way strangers do when they have already crossed too far. That hour held a different intimacy, quieter, stretched thin with anticipation of what would come once she arrived.


When his partner returned, the atmosphere shifted but did not break. What had begun in urgency unfolded into something broader, more daring. Smoke clung to everything, and the sharpness of what they swallowed tilted the hours. Her heart raced too fast, her mouth dry, nerves dissolving into hunger. Clothes scattered across the floor, the room thick with heat and breath. His hands found her hips, his partner’s fingers traced her back, his mouth pressed against her neck. The light above them shifted colours, cycling through red, blue, violet. Green lingered longest, washing over their bodies as if it wanted to mark them.


There was a moment when she wanted to look away, the intensity too much, as though being seen so deeply left her exposed. He hovered above her with an astounded smile, and with quiet command he moved her arm from her face. Look at me, he said, his voice so certain it broke her open. The force of it scattered her, a million pieces of lust and desire, shattering under the weight of being seen.


And his voice again, later. That more than anything. We will keep her.


The words pierced deeper than any touch. They were not light. They were not a joke. They carried weight, heavy as a brand. Her body had tightened at the sound, and she believed him. For a moment she belonged. To him. To her. To both.


The weekend blurred. Sheets damp, tangled. Laughter breaking into moans. Her own voice raw, unfamiliar, rising again and again. The three of them insatiable, restless, as if the birthday itself demanded nothing be left untouched.


And then it ended. Celebrations always do.
Silence followed, heavier than words, and it grew quickly.

Final, unyielding.


Every year the memory returned. The door opening. The kiss. The quiet hour before his partner arrived. The smoke, the heat, the weight of their bodies. The way he moved her arm, the words he spoke, the way the light turned green and seemed to hold there.


They had been strangers then. They were strangers again. And five years later it was still painted green.

###

fijne verjaardagsweek 💜

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Echoes of Midnight

The bathroom tiles were freezing against my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth I’d left behind in bed. Not that the warmth had come from him—it was the blankets, maybe the fleeting heat from our bodies, but definitely not him. I caught my reflection in the mirror as I splashed water on my face. The tired woman staring back seemed distant, as if the night had stretched too far, too thin. My eyes were heavy, but sleep wasn’t what I wanted. Or maybe I just didn’t want to fall asleep next to someone I barely knew.

I grabbed my robe, feeling the soft fabric against my skin, though it did little to chase away the coldness that clung to me. The thought of returning to the bedroom made me pause. The stranger in my bed was a reminder of the choices I’d made tonight—choices that seemed so clear just hours ago but now felt like cracks in the night. Kicking him out wasn’t an option; it wasn’t his fault I was tangled in this mess.

I drifted into the living room and curled up in my favorite chair by the window. The night sky was so vast, dotted with stars that seemed too far away to care about anything happening below them. The familiar weight of the universe pressed down on me, and yet, for some reason, it felt less suffocating here, in this small bubble of quiet.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen longer than necessary. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating before typing a message I didn’t expect a response to: “Are you there?” It was more of a question for myself than for him. A way to feel less alone in this moment, a lifeline I cast into the dark, hoping for something to pull me back.

I was about to set the phone down when it buzzed. The screen lit up with his face, and my heart did that annoying thing it always did when he called—skipped a beat, like it was preparing itself for something bigger. I hesitated, knowing this was probably a mistake, but I answered anyway.

“Why are you still up? Bad dream?” His voice was gentle but direct, like he knew exactly where my mind had gone. He didn’t bother with pleasantries; he never needed them with me. I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me, so I added a soft, “Yeah.”

“Are you alone?” The question stung more than I wanted it to. I hated that the answer wasn’t what I wished it could be.

“No,” I whispered, hating how small the word sounded.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes. I’m in the living room, watching the stars.” The words came out quieter than I intended, like I was confessing to something I wasn’t sure how to explain.

There was a pause, a soft sigh from his end. “Okay,” he said, and I could hear him moving, the sound of his footsteps padding softly, just like mine had moments ago. The rustling of sheets, the faint creak of a door—it all felt so intimate, yet so far away. “I’m putting you on speaker,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Just so you know if it sounds different.”

And then the music began.

It was slow at first, the gentle hum of piano chords that floated through the speaker, filling the silence between us. I didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter. The music wrapped around me, like it had been written for this moment, for this quiet between us. Each note felt like a breath, exhaling the tension from my body.

I leaned further into the chair, pulling the blanket from the couch and wrapping myself in it. The softness against my skin was a contrast to the cold that lingered in my chest. The night air was cool, but the music, his music, made me feel warm. Warmer than I had felt in bed with that stranger. Warmer than I had felt in a long time.

The stars outside seemed to shimmer a little brighter now, their distant light more comforting than before. I yawned, the weight of the day—or maybe just the weight of everything—settling over me. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until this very moment. I yawned again, this time louder, unashamed of how the exhaustion sounded.

“Sleep tight, baby girl. I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured through the music, his voice low and comforting. It was the kind of promise I wanted to hold onto, even if I knew it was impossible. But tonight, in this fragile moment between wakefulness and sleep, I believed him.

I smiled to myself, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket. Maybe he really was my safe place. Maybe that’s what I’d been searching for all along, though the thought felt fragile, like it could shatter if I held it too tightly.

As the music continued, the world around me began to blur. My eyes fluttered closed, and the last thing I felt was the softness of the blanket, the soothing melody still playing, and the echo of his voice lingering in the quiet spaces of my mind. Tomorrow, I might remember his words, or maybe they’d drift away like the stars outside. But for now, they were enough.

For now, I was safe. For now, I slept.

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Fractured Lines, Unbroken Circles (new short story)


The café was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. A few patrons sat scattered around, engaged in quiet conversation or lost in their own thoughts. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries, the kind of scent that clings to memories.

Ethan sat across from her, fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup, a habit he hadn’t quite outgrown. His gaze drifted to the window where pedestrians hurried by, oblivious to the conversations unfolding inside. It had been over a decade since they’d first met, and longer still since they’d been anything more than friends. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point in the last few years, they had settled into this comfortable rhythm: meeting regularly, sharing pieces of their lives, talking about everything and nothing. Still, there was something different in the air today, a quiet tension that neither had acknowledged yet.

She watched him in the quiet way she had always done, studying his face as though seeing it anew. His once sharp features had softened over the years, and while the lines near his eyes betrayed age, they also told the story of someone who had learned to laugh more freely. Time had changed them both. It was a strange thing, she thought, to know someone so well and yet wonder how many versions of them you’ve missed.

She shifted in her seat, her hands resting lightly on the table, fingertips grazing the chipped wood. There was something she needed to say, and though they’d always been good at finding the right words with each other, this conversation felt different. More delicate.

Ethan glanced up from his cup, sensing the change. His brow furrowed, not in worry, but in curiosity. “You’ve been quiet,” he observed, his voice low and familiar. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze searching hers for some clue as to what was on her mind.

She smiled, but it was a small, thoughtful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just thinking,” she said softly, her fingers absentmindedly running along the edge of the table. “A lot’s changed between us, hasn’t it?”

Ethan’s lips tugged into a half-smile, though his eyes stayed serious. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It has. We’ve both changed a lot.”

There was an easy understanding between them, forged over years of shared history. They had been lovers once—briefly, a lifetime ago, it seemed now—but that had faded, a fleeting chapter in a much longer story. After a long silence following their breakup, they had found their way back to each other, rebuilding their relationship as friends, as confidants.

But there was always a lingering question, a quiet “what if” that neither had addressed out loud.

She looked down at her coffee, watching the steam curl upwards, dissolving into the air. “Do you ever think about us?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “About what we were?”

Ethan didn’t answer right away. He shifted in his seat, his fingers pausing in their habitual tracing of the cup. “Sometimes,” he said slowly. “I mean… yeah. But it feels like that was a different time. Like we were different people.”

She nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle around them. “We were. We didn’t really know who we were back then, did we?”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other. There was no need for explanations—they both knew. Back then, they’d been young, unsure of themselves, and what they had had burned bright but briefly. The years since had been a slow evolution, a growing into who they really were. The connection they shared now felt stronger, but different. And it was that difference she needed to acknowledge.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” she continued, her voice calm but deliberate. “About you. About us. And how much you mean to me.” She paused, watching him carefully. “I love you, Ethan. I do. But not in the way we thought we would love each other back then.”

Ethan’s expression didn’t change right away. He sat still for a moment, absorbing her words, the weight of them settling into the quiet space between them. His fingers tightened slightly around the cup, but his voice, when he spoke, was steady. “You mean… you’re not in love with me.”

She nodded, grateful that he understood. “I’m not,” she said softly. “Not in that way. But I love you all the same. It’s just… different now.”

He let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair as if the air had been sucked out of his chest. But there was no bitterness in his expression, no trace of hurt. He had expected this, perhaps not in so many words, but deep down, he had known.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding to himself more than to her. “I know what you mean.”

She watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more, to fill the silence with some kind of resolution. But he remained quiet, his eyes distant, though not in a way that felt alienating. It was more like he was turning something over in his mind, letting it settle into place. And maybe that was the beauty of their friendship—there was no need to rush through the emotions, no need for dramatic confessions. Just understanding.

“I guess part of me has known for a while too,” Ethan finally said, his voice quiet. “It’s just… you don’t always want to say it out loud, you know?”

She nodded. “I didn’t either. But I felt like it was important.”

He studied her face for a moment, and then smiled. It wasn’t the smile of someone who had lost something; it was the smile of someone who had found clarity. “I get it,” he said, his voice lighter now. “And I love you too, just in a different way.”

Relief washed over her, and for the first time in weeks, the tension she had carried with her seemed to lift. She had known Ethan wouldn’t take it badly—he was too self-aware, too in tune with his own feelings for that—but there had still been a part of her that feared the conversation might change something irrevocable between them. But as she looked at him now, she realized that what had changed was not their friendship itself, but their understanding of it.

“So where does that leave us?” Ethan asked, though his tone was easy, playful even, as though the answer was obvious.

She grinned, feeling lighter than she had in years. “It leaves us right where we are,” she said, her eyes bright. “Still friends. Still close. Still us.”

Ethan chuckled, leaning forward, his arms resting on the table. “Best friends,” he corrected, his smile widening.

She laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Best friends.”

And in that moment, it felt right. There was no lingering sense of loss, no question of “what if.” What they had was enough—more than enough. It was stronger than the fleeting romance they’d once shared, more enduring than any past relationship. What they had now was the solid foundation of years spent growing, evolving, and learning who they were, both individually and together.

As they sat there in the fading light of the afternoon, the café slowly filling with the quiet murmur of other conversations, she realized something. They had already become the best versions of themselves, and they were lucky enough to witness that evolution in each other.

And maybe that was all the love they needed.

###

1271 words

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Always in your soul (poem)

Tell me, if you know it all?
The depths of my heart, the weight of my soul.
The memories we’ve forged, the dreams we’ve shared,
The laughter, the tears, the bonds we’ve dared.

]If I must depart, please, don’t let them fade,
The moments we’ve cherished, the memories we’ve made.
Hold them close, keep them alive in your mind,
Let them guide you, a light that will never be unkind.

For in the void of my absence, I fear,
My essence may vanish, my memory disappear.
So promise, you’ll carry them on,
That my spirit may live, even when I’m gone.

Let my laughter echo, my smile shine bright,
My embrace linger, a warmth in the night.
For in your heart, I’ll forever reside,
A part of your soul, your constant guide.

So, tell me, if you know it all?
The depths of my heart, the weight of my soul.
And if I must go, promise you’ll never let,
My memory fade, my essence forget.

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Dear diary 5

From the diary of a fictitious woman

Dear diary,

How weird is it that I always start the same way? I could be more creative. But I am not.

It was a quiet day. The usual. Work. Home. Wondering what life is all about. Seeing all the chores but being unable to tackle them. TV in the background for some company. I ignored by my brother’s phone call. I know I am weird. I complain about being lonely and alone, but when someone wants to connect, I push them away with all my might. I love Kev. But he only knows half of me and after a day of masking at work, I cannot mask in my social life anymore. I lack the energy. I simply let his call go to voice mail. Maybe he thinks I am on a date or out for dinner with the girls.

There are no girls, but he doesn’t know that.

Sometimes I wonder if people see or smell on my skin that I used to be happier, that I used to be married. Do they smell the failure? I don’t want to think about it.

These last days I am in a funk. I am going down memory lane too often to ignore that it doesn’t do me any good. There aren’t too many happy memories and there are too many things I would change if I could make it all over.

No one ever tells you how it is, being a woman my age without children and without a man. I get the occasional sneer when I out my social status, but nothing much. It’s different for Kev. He is a man and he has a fiancée and two kids. No work though. Which must be hard too.

I need to go grocery shopping. It takes energy to do that. I should prepare myself a nice dinner and lunch for tomorrow at work. Maybe a bath would be nice. And a meditation before sleep.

Yes, I should try that.

ADD:

I made lunch, but ate a half pack of crisps for dinner. The bath was great. Very relaxing. I got to release some tension too. My fingers still know where to touch to make it good. I am tired and can’t find my headphones. I am just adding this as a reminder to eat healthier. I should buy healthier snacks.

Whenever I think about healthier eating habits, I also wonder why I should put in the effort to look nicer and thinner. Then A very small voice whispers: do it for yourself.

Perks of living on my own? No one cares about wet towels on the hardwood floors, no one cares about air drying my less than perfect body. It’s a little bit of freedom.

But where are my headphones?

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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

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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

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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 💜

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In me

Within my soul, a thunderous sound,
A cacophony of thoughts abound,
A tempest raging, a symphony unbound,
Yet to the world, a silent hum resounds.

This inner voice, a restless sea,
Crashing waves of intensity,
Echoing emotions, so wild and free,
But outwardly, a tranquil melody.

Beneath the surface, a furnace burns,
Fueled by passions that endlessly churn,
A volcano of feelings that constantly yearns,
While on the surface, a gentle tune turns.

This silent hum, a mask so thin,
Concealing the storm that rages within,
A constant battle, a never-ending din,
Yet my outer calm, a siren’s hymn.

Oh, how I long to let it all out,
To unleash the noise, to end the doubt,
But this silent hum, a prison without,
Trapping the roar that longs to shout.

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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.

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embracing the elements

I yearn to feel the moon's ethereal caress,
Its celestial glow igniting my skin,
A primal connection, a deep longing confessed,
A sacred fire that burns fierce within.

The rain, a symphony of life's renewal,
I crave its cleansing drops upon my soul,
To wash away strife, to make my senses whole,
And let my spirit's thirst be quenched anew.

The night's cool air, a breath from the divine,
I wish to taste its crisp, rejuvenating might,
To fill my lungs, to intimately entwine
With nature's timeless embrace, day and night.

This primal yearning, this deep, consuming desire,
To be one with the world that surrounds,
To let my spirit's very essence ignite,
And in this union, true serenity be found.

I yearn to feel, to touch, to be utterly consumed,
Enveloped by the moon, the rain, the night's embrace,
A passionate dance, a sacred, ecstatic plea,
To live, to breathe, to bask in nature's grace.

Angels from above keep vigilant watch,
Their celestial presence a guiding light,
Shielding us with wings of unwavering love,
As we surrender to nature's eternal rite.

Their whispers of wisdom, soft and divine,
Remind us to let go of earthly pride,
And open our hearts to the mysteries sublime,
That in nature's embrace, we may truly reside.
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bird in a cage

My soul soars high, wings unfurled,
Yet this body, a cage, my world,
Trapped within, I yearn to break free,
To dance and sing, to truly be.

A symphony plays within my heart,
Melodies that never depart,
But my voice, silenced, cannot sing,
This silent song, a caged bird's wing.

I am a spirit, wild and free,
Yearning to roam, to live, to see,
Yet this shell, a prison so unkind,
Holds me back, my true self confined.

I may be bound, but my mind is not,
It paints the world, a vibrant spot,
And in this dance of heart and mind,
I find the freedom I once pined.

Though my body may be trapped in place,
My soul soars high, with passion's grace,
For I am singing, with no voice heard,
I am flying, a caged, yet boundless bird.
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About You’re still the one

“You’re still the one” is a novella I wrote in 2015. It was the second book of a trilogy, the others being called “I think I am falling for you” and “Every Second, Forever”. The latter has been posted in its entirety on this blog.

The posts are scheduled to be shared every other day… (19 chapters in total). Now, the story has not been rewritten or revised, this is how I wrote it all those years ago. It can be read like this (that’s why I share it) but a couple of potholes prevail.

This is one of the stories I thought I had lost but found again a couple of weeks ago.

I am quite aware that these stories are not for everyone, but I am proud of my writing, of the stories I thought up in my mind, of the characters I created. Of course there is a lot and I mean A LOT of room for improvement.

But anyway, come with me on this journey. A journey that accompanies Noel and his daughter Ava as they move back into the town they left. They encounter old loves and new interests while Noel also is confronted with old emotions and new feelings.

I will, of course, keep posting daily; though on the days a part of the novel is shared, I will refrain from posting a second time. Enjoy the story.

I wish you a lovely December and thank you for your attention and support.

(I seem to have trouble with vocabulary tonight… Sorry about that)

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Just a love letter to my husband

Yes, it is what it is.

I am often aloof. I am withdrawn and hidden in my head. I live in my bubble and don’t share my inner battles. I feel lonely and misunderstood or neglected.

But there is one constant in my life and he has been there since I was 17 (I was 16 when we met and turned 17 six weeks later). My rock, my hero. Patrick.

And you know, there are times when I wish I was single and there are times when I think it is best to call it quits.

But honestly?

I cannot imagine my life without him. I tell him everything. And I mean everything. There are no secrets because whenever something happens, I turn to him. Always. I tell him everything that happens. Sometimes it takes a couple of days or weeks, but in the end, there are no secrets between us.

And it’s the little things that I love most. Like, when he does the groceries (and he often does them) he brings me my favourite chocolates or crisps. Or I absolutely love the fact that we go out weekly, on Wednesday. Okay, our teenagers often push us to leave the house and go for dinner, but if no one is sick and if work isn’t interfering, we have our date night every Wednesday.

Why Wednesday?

It goes back to when we started dating in 2000. I was only allowed to go out on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Of course, when we moved in together and had kids, those date nights stopped, until Amalia was 7 in 2007 and in her class several parents got divorced. The kids decided that we needed alone time to stay in love and that they were old enough to be alone for two hours every week; no babysitter needed. And so, it started. Ollie was 12 by then, Giulia was 9 and Amalia 7. In hindsight, they were young, but they were responsible enough to stay home or else we would not have done it. They could reach us at all times and we were never more than 10 minutes away by car. It stuck, even during COVID-19 lockdown, the kids would make dinner for us… Several times, they also played restaurant. We ordered takeout, but they took our orders, served drinks, guided us to our table… Of course, we would eat together, but it was important for them that we had our night. And even when they were not home… I remember a Wednesday when Giulia and Amalia were with an aunt and Ollie was away with the boyscouts. They demanded photo proof that we got out of the house. We tried to trick them – it was summer and we sent a pic of us having dinner on the patio, but we were scolded afterwards… The rules got stricter… We now need to leave the house and the garden 🙂

Anyway… It’s okay for us. We are the couple that talks animatedly. We laugh and discuss and listen and talk. It’s rarely silent on our table and even though I am attached and addicted to my phone, when we are at dinner, we only take out our phones to show each other something…

I haven’t tired of my husband yet – there are highs and lows, of course there are. But I look at him and I am reminded of the million reasons why I love him.

And the most important reason why I love him is: because he is who he is.

I love Patrick for who he is and for who I am with him. I love everything about him. Well, at least almost. Love also means compromise, LOL

Then again, what’s not to love about a handsome intelligent gentle giant?

Right… It’s been 23 years… (We met in January 2000) We will make it another 23…. and more. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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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.

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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.