Tag: love

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remembrance

I came across your blog today. It’s frozen in time. Your last post was published Nov. 27th 2020. A few short weeks later you left us forever. I clicked the link because I longed for your voice. It was always like a warm hug, even when you were terminally ill. There was humour and sarcasm and not everyone got it. Some people are easily offended. You always knew that I wasn’t one of them. That’s why I got to read your mature pieces too.

You were my mentor. I don’t easily attribute that role to anyone, but for you it was true. When I was ready to disappear and give everything up in 2018, you hunted me down and found me on FB. You convinced me to keep writing, to persevere. You helped me find my voice and be okay with sitting in my niche. I don’t write modern poetry, never did. I write from the soul and you understood that before I did. I remember how I tried to fight it and to tell you that I was just another young bored housewife, but you didn’t allow me to celebrate my pity party. You stood up for me, for my voice when I couldn’t. I could never forget that and I will be grateful. Always and forever.

I’d like to believe that you are proud of me, of my writing, but also of the woman I became. You once said you love every inch of me. It was not meant to be suggestive, not really. What you meant was that you liked my mind, my way of thinking, even when I was overthinking. And I loved you back just as much.

I came across your blog today because I wanted to see how many are inactive. Too many to count. I unsubscribed from them all. But I cannot and will not unsubscribe from yours. I was wrapped in a blacket of grief that was completely unexpected. I think about you often, always with a smile. The smile is there now too, but so is the hole you left that will never be filled. No one was and no one will ever be like you Robert. Next week you will be gone for 5 years.

Thank you Batman

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Throwback Thursday: Bicycle Randomness, Then and Now


I wrote the original Bicycle Randomness in 2018, a quiet burst of fragmented truths, scribbled from a place of unfiltered feeling, raw and a little chaotic. Today, I still write lists. But the feeling is different. The ground beneath me is steadier now. The words may have changed, but the impulse to name what is real to me remains. I invite you to see a scattered portrait of who I was and who I am. (Bicycle randomness 2018)

  • I no longer need to explain myself. That freedom is new, and I welcome it.
  • I like who I am becoming, and I do not feel the urge to apologise for who I was. No regrets.
  • There is calm in my mornings now, even when I fill the house with music.
  • I live in a home that fits me, even if it surprises others. It’s filled with colour, but it is not cluttered, I don’t like knickknacks. There is (unique) art on the walls, I cherish it immensely.
  • I still write every day. It is not a ritual. It is a pulse. It is my way to breathe underwater.
  • I do not need people to get me. I just want to be met with kindness. I am an acquired taste. Like wine.
  • I am not lonely. I just like my own company. It’s unusual, but it is true for me.
  • My hair is silver in places, and I like it more than I ever thought I would.
  • My kids are growing into themselves. Watching that is a gift. They are amazing people and they fill me with pride.
  • I love music that makes me move, that makes me think, that inspires poems. I love music. And I love silence too.
  • I show up with care, not with pursuit.
  • I still cry sometimes, because I care more deeply now, not less.
  • I used to seek meaning in every interaction. Now I let some moments pass.
  • Everything happens for a reason, but I no longer need to know or understand it. I know how to accept it and live with it.
  • I am good in my job as a preschool teacher. I do not need praise to know it.
  • I like small groups, deep talks, and early nights. And late nights too.
  • I no longer need to be understood by those who are not willing to listen.
  • The contradictions are a part of me. They are a part of my writing too.
  • I have boundaries now. They are firm, and they are kind.
  • I am not overwhelmed, just selective.
  • I do not share everything. That is not secrecy. I just don’t need anyone to know everything anymore.
  • I say no with ease. I say yes with care.
  • I am not chatty, but I say what I mean and mean what I say.
  • I do not chase. I respond.
  • I am not looking for drama. I am choosing peace.
  • I still love making lists. They keep me grounded.
  • I do not regret anything. Every path led me here, and I like this place.
  • I still read horoscopes, not for answers, but for the poetry.
  • I am more honest now. Especially with myself.
  • I no longer ask why. The answer is rarely satisfying.
  • I believe in consistency, not intensity. Though I know that I am both. Consistent and intense.
  • My softness is deliberate. My strength is quiet.
  • I know my worth. I know what I need.
  • There are stories I no longer need to revisit to understand myself. It’s called growth or healing. That doesn’t mean that the past doesn’t affect me anymore, I just know how to deal with it from a place of peace.
  • I am not waiting. I am living.
  • I am not holding on. I am here.
  • I am not unfinished. I am just in motion.

(…and I will keep going and going and going.)

Life is a work in progress. We evolve and change all the time, even if it feels subtle, but when we look back, it becomes visible. I am still the same, and yet I am not who I was. And I will become someone I am not yet some day too.

Cathy

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Dear Stranger (again)

Dear Stranger,

The last letter I didn’t send isn’t that old. The ink has barely dried, and here I am again, bleeding the next onto the screen. That probably sounds dramatic, but it isn’t. For the first time in a while, I feel serene. I feel at peace. And you are a part of that.

You are always a part of me, it seems. Even when I want to deny it, brush you off, or push you away, you remain. You sit quietly in the background of my thoughts. I don’t always look at you directly, but I know you are still there. I feel you.

For a long time, I was filled with chaos. There was a storm inside me I couldn’t calm. I was the waves and the ocean, the sky and the clouds. I was the sun and the storm, burning and flooding at once. I was too much of everything, and none of it made sense. I carried so many emotions without knowing how to set them down.

But something shifted. Something softened. And now, clarity surrounds me like a slow breath I forgot I was allowed to take.

I imagine you’re wondering where we stand. That’s fair. I know I haven’t been consistent lately. I say very little for a while, and then I offer an invitation to come clean away my leftovers. I pull away for days, and then I open the door, even if only metaphorically. I say, “come to dinner,” knowing we both won’t act on it. But the offer is real. The intention behind it is real. I feed the people I care about. And I care about you.

No matter what I say, I like you. Quietly. In my own special way. Without expectations, but also not without hope that you feel the same.

The other night, I had half a mind to ask if you wanted to come stay. Just for a couple of days. Let the dust settle. Find your own piece of peace in a safe haven. Because somehow, breathing feels easier when you are near. Even if we don’t say much. Even if we say nothing at all. I carry the hope that I allow you to breathe easy too.

It’s not about romance. It never was. It’s something else entirely. A thread between us, older than us, surviving despite everything. It frays sometimes. It tangles. But it doesn’t break.

I just wanted you to know that you still matter to me. Not as a memory. Not as a mistake. Not as regret. But as someone who calms the noise. Someone who reminds me that, even when things are confusing or uncertain, there are constants. And you, strangely, are one of mine.

You give me peace, dear stranger. Not always, I’ll admit that. But often, you do. And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for your presence in my life, however it is shaped.

always,

Sweetie

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from absence to presence

Posted for Mental Health Awareness Month

Some things take years to name. And still, they shape every part of who we become.

I was born into absence. Not into poverty, not into physical violence, but into a silence that shaped everything I later became. There was a house, there were adults, there were routines… but there was no soft place to land. No arms that held me without conditions. No voice that asked, “How do you feel?”

Instead, there were expectations: be good, be quiet, be helpful. Love was a test I had to pass by sacrificing myself. If I loved my mother, I had to take care of her needs when I was only four. If I loved my family, I had to disappear when my presence became inconvenient. I was never hit, but I was unseen. I was never starved, but I was hollow.

I remember sitting by the window, dressed up, waiting for my father’s car to pull up. But I waited in vain… he didn’t come. The excuses were shallow. I felt forgotten and hurt. My grandmother would sneer and say that even my father didn’t care about me. She was also the one who told me I was not worth the air I was breathing… a waste of skin. My mother was too numb, too caught up in her illness to protect me.

Later, I learned my father couldn’t bring together the family he had left and the one he chose next. He didn’t know how… probably because of guilt. But none of that softened the silence he left behind. His absence was louder than words. I learned early that love could leave. That silence was safer than asking for more. That presence didn’t guarantee anything. That fear never fully disappeared. I still carry it… the fear of being too much, of being left, of not being enough to stay for.

There were days I wanted to disappear. Not dramatically. Just… fade. I often wondered if anyone would notice. Or care. I didn’t feel real unless I was needed. And when I wasn’t, I disappeared into myself. There were no diagnoses, no interventions. Just a little girl carrying grief that wasn’t hers. Until I was seven years old, I barely spoke to anyone outside my immediate family. I was silent at school, silent among strangers. It wasn’t shyness. It was something deeper… a sense that my voice didn’t matter, or that it wasn’t safe to use. No one did anything about it. No one felt the need to find out why I didn’t speak. And so I learned early that my silence was more acceptable than my presence.

I could have vanished. I could have become numb. I could have chased oblivion and found comfort in destruction. I didn’t. I chose a harder path.

I chose presence.

Not because I had help. I didn’t. I had three therapy sessions and one blister of medication. That was in 2019, when I was 36, proof that some wounds linger long before we name them. I couldn’t talk about what hurt because my voice was locked somewhere inside my chest. I survived not through intervention, but through instinct.

I wrote. I bled into pages. I listened to music like it was scripture. I held myself in the night when no one else would. And somehow, through all of it, I also held others. Quietly. Faithfully. Unrecognised.

And when I asked for help… on the rare occasion I reached out, raw and exposed… I was told to get professional help. As if all my self-healing, all the decades of surviving without imploding, meant nothing. As if I were still the damaged one. Maybe the idea of my wholeness makes some people uncomfortable… maybe they need me to stay small.

But I am not damaged.

I am someone who turned silence into language. Who turned emotional starvation into fierce love. Who broke cycles instead of repeating them. I am a mother who gives what she never received. I am a teacher who sees the invisible children. I am a woman who carries her contradictions with grace.

There are still parts of me I don’t often speak about. I used to hurt myself. Quietly. It gave shape to the ache I couldn’t explain. Pain made me feel real when nothing else did. I never hid it, but no one ever asked. I stopped, eventually… replaced the blade with a pen. But the memory of those moments still lives under my skin.

And there are moments, even now, when I am struggling. When I am thinking about how easy it would be to numb my fears and pain with a blade against my skin. Just once. Sweet relief. But I don’t. So far, I have been able to resist that temptation.

Sometimes, even now, anxiety sneaks in. My heart races. My breath shortens. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I recognise it. I let it pass. I stay with it now. I don’t run. That’s how I know I’ve changed.

There is still fear. Still sadness. Still those days when I feel like I’m unravelling. But I am not ashamed of them anymore. They are not signs of failure. They are the soft reminders that I have depth, that I survived, that I still feel.

I once said, “Despite it all, I turned out quite normal.” Someone laughed and said, “With all due respect, you are not normal.” And they were right. I am not. I am not numb. I am not simple. I am not easy.

I am still here in the quietest, most enduring ways. My husband has been part of that quiet. His support isn’t loud or showy, and we don’t speak about most of what’s written here… by my choice, but he is there in the small things. In the steadiness. In the way he leaves space for me to be as I am. That matters more than he knows.

I feel deeply and live honestly. I want to be seen… not to be saved, but to be seen simply as the person I am. And even when I fear I’m too much, I overthink and retreat. I quiet myself before anyone else can. I try not to take up space. But deep down, I still hope someone might see me and not turn away.

I turned from absence to presence by refusing to disappear. I stitched myself together with poems, small victories, and the decision to keep loving… even when it hurt. Even when it was not returned. Even when it would have been easier to break.

This is who I became: not someone untouched by trauma… but someone who made meaning out of it. Not someone who pretends to be okay… but someone who is okay because she stopped pretending.

I am not broken. I am whole… in all my layers. And I did it myself. And I am still becoming.

If you’re reading this during Mental Health Awareness Month and wondering if your story matters… it does. Even in silence. Even in struggle. Even when no one sees the work you’re doing just to stay. You are not alone.

Thank you for being part of my present.

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Threads on SoundCloud

Threads – Where Words and Music Connect

There’s something incredibly fulfilling about creating something that feels both personal and shared. Threads, my latest collaboration with Daniel Cavanagh/Weather Systems, is exactly that—a spoken word piece wrapped in the emotional depth of his music. It’s the third time we’ve worked together, and I can honestly say it’s my favorite so far.

This collaboration started with a moment of vulnerability: I reached out and asked. Sharing the poem felt vulnerable, but Daniel saw something in it—a resonance that inspired him to compose the music that now breathes life into the words.

The poem reflects on the unseen bonds that hold us together, fragile yet unbreakable, like threads spun in the quiet moments of our lives. Narrating it felt like opening a door to my own vulnerabilities, but hearing it take shape within Daniel’s music was transformative. The gentle chords rise and fall like the rhythm of breath, creating a quiet tension that pulls the listener into a reflective space where every word feels suspended in light and shadow.

Crafting the words was a journey of its own, but hearing them unfold within Daniel’s music felt like discovering a new dimension of the story. Together, we brought Threads to life, each adding something uniquely our own. His music doesn’t just accompany the poetry—it expands it, turning it into something larger than itself.

If you’re drawn to reflective spoken word or music that lingers in the quiet spaces of your mind, Threads offers an experience that invites you to pause, feel, and connect. It’s the kind of piece you might return to when you need to sit with your thoughts or immerse yourself in something deeply introspective.

You can find Threads on SoundCloud here.

This collaboration holds a special place in my heart, not only because of the work itself but because of how it came to be. Daniel trusted my words enough to create this music, and together, we built something I’m proud to share. I’d love to hear your thoughts—how does Threads resonate with you? Thank you for listening and for being part of this journey.

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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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a love so deep (flash fiction)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

###

fiction – 826 words – reading time: 4 minutes

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

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

THANK YOU for reading

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the bittersweet paradox

The capacity to feel deeply, to hurt deeply, is what allows us to also love deeply, to find joy in the midst of sorrow, and to discover the profound meaning that lies at the heart of being human.This emotional depth is both a blessing and a curse – the price we pay for being able to engage with the world and with each other on such a visceral, meaningful level. When we open ourselves up to the full spectrum of human emotions, we make ourselves vulnerable. We risk being hurt, devastated, consumed by anguish.

Yet, it is precisely this willingness to be vulnerable that enables us to form the deepest, most nourishing bonds. When we hurt deeply, it demonstrates our ability to invest ourselves completely in relationships and experiences. The pain of heartbreak is the flip side of our capacity to love passionately.

And it is this depth of feeling – our range from ecstasy to agony – that allows us to find profound beauty and meaning amidst the sorrow. In the darkest of times, we can still uncover moments of transcendent joy, profound gratitude, and abiding hope. Our emotional complexity is what makes us fully, viscerally alive.

This is the bittersweet paradox at the heart of the human experience. The very qualities that leave us susceptible to suffering – our sensitivity, our capacity for attachment, our willingness to be emotionally raw – are the same qualities that enable us to engage with the world in the most meaningful way.

To feel deeply is to hurt deeply. But it is also to love deeply, to find exquisite pockets of light in the darkness, and to discover the profound significance that lies at the core of being human. It is the price we pay for being fully, gloriously alive.

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burning embers of our soils

When our eyes first met,
Time seemed to stand still.
An electric current surged through me,
Igniting a spark that could not be stilled.

In your gaze, I saw reflections of myself -
Fragments of a soul I thought I'd never find.
An inexplicable bond, a cosmic alignment,
Entwining our hearts and minds.

We are two halves of a whole,
Kindred spirits, destined to be.

A connection that transcends this plane,
A twin flame, eternally.
No words can capture the depth of this love,
This union so divine.

Our souls intertwined, a dance,
A love that is timeless, ever-sublime.
In your arms, I am home,
A sanctuary of warmth and light.

Our bond, a lighthouse in the stormy seas,
Guiding us through the darkest of night.
Though the world may not understand,
What burns between us, this holy fire -

We know the truth that lies in our hearts,
A love that will live forevermore.
This love, a sacred, eternal blaze,
Ignited by a single, fated gaze.

A bond that transcends time and space,
A twin flame, our souls forever embrace.
In this embrace, we find our way,
Through the shadows, into the light of day.

A love that will never fade or die,
Our bond, eternal, until we cease to be.
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lessons of nursery work

The days at the nursery, they still linger,
Memories of little ones, their joy and wonder.
Their laughter, their smiles, they touched my heart,
A time in my life, where I played my part.

I watched them grow, day by day,
Helping them learn, in every little way.
Guiding their steps, soothing their fears,
Moments that now, bring me to tears.

The simple things, they taught me so much,
The value of patience, a gentle touch.
Their innocence, their pure delight,
Reminded me to cherish each moment’s light.

Years have passed, but the impact remains,
In the lives I’ve touched, the bonds that sustain.
I see their faces, now grown and tall,
And I know, my work was worth it all.

They greet me with warmth, a familiar face,
Remembering the days, in that special place.
Their eyes light up, with a knowing smile,
Reminding me, my efforts were worthwhile.

The lessons I learned, they still guide my way,
Kindness, patience, and love, every single day.
The little ones, they left an indelible mark,
A legacy of joy, that will never depart.

Though the path may change, and time moves on,
The memories I hold, will forever dawn.
A humble role, yet one that made a difference,
In the lives of those, I was privileged to serve.

And so I cherish, each moment past,
Knowing the impact, that will always last.
A nursery’s gift, a lesson so true,
That the smallest actions, can change lives anew.

###

i was grocery shopping tonight and while pushing my cart around, I met three parents of kids I worked with at the nursery. They all seemed genuinely happy to see me. They smiled, but it was not just their mouth, it was in their eyes too. And I noticed, that I left something of me with their kids during a very important time. We made some smalltalk and moved on. Usually, I am a power shopper. In and out in record time. At the checkout, I was unloading my cart when I was greeted again and I turned around to see a father with his boy. I saw the joy in the father’s face, while the kid drew a blank. The dad asked his son if he remembered me from the nursery, and of course the kid said no. And that’s okay. I remember this boy fondly, he was the first baby who I was responsible for (keeping track of his development, parent meetings…) and he was also the first child who took his first steps toward me at the nursery. The moment of pride was immeasurable. Many moments like that followed and they always left me in wonder. For me, it was never normal to witness children grow and bloom. It was and still is a miracle. It’s funny and sad at the same time. We are there to witness those milestones in the childrens lives, but they don’t remember us, they forget about us. It’s like we are ghosts from the past. I love working with young kids – babies and toddlers and I love my job. I am glad – I feel blessed, that I am allowed to work in a job I adore and that rarely feels like a burden. 🙂

have a great weekend

(PS I know that not everyone is a fan of kids, and you don’t have to be. Either way is completely okay and acceptable.)

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dedicated to my best friend

My friend, I saw the tears in your eyes,
A storm of sorrow, a clouded skies.
Your pain, I felt, your hurt, I shared,
For in this world, our hearts are paired.

Though the road ahead may seem so dark,
Know that I’m here, a guiding spark.
My hand to hold, my heart to lend,
For I am more than just a friend.

The burdens you bear, I wish to ease,
The worries that plague, I hope to please.
Let me be the light that guides your way,
Through the shadows, to a brighter day.

When the world feels cold and unyielding,
And your soul, it seems, is slowly yielding,
Remember, my dear, I’m standing near,
To offer comfort, to dry each tear.

Together, we’ll face the storms that come,
And find the strength to overcome.
For in this life, we’re not alone,
Our bond, a fortress, a guiding stone.

So let me be the one to hold you tight,
To be your shelter in the night.
I’ll be the anchor to your drifting heart,
A constant presence, never to part.

My friend, I know the pain you bear,
But know that I will always care.
I’ll be the shoulder you can lean upon,
The light that shines when all seems gone.

So dry your eyes, my dearest friend,
For I am here, until the end.
Through thick and thin, I’ll be your guide,
For in this world, we’ll walk side by side.

###

i have trust issues. I don’t confide in people and I very rarely ask for help. I don’t open up easily. And I don’t take friendships lightly because it is hard for me to make friends. It has always been, but after two friends abandoned me for being too much me, too eccentric and maybe too selfish too, it became even harder. I never regret that these people were my best friends at one time and I called them so. Because it was right at the time. Nowadays both these women are strangers. Both these women kind of broke up with me. Both these women wanted me for themselves. I was not even my own at that time, I couldn’t share anything at all. Some days I would love to know how they are and what they are doing in life. I have to actively keep myself for getting in touch for the wrong reasons. (Which is curiosity more than the want or need to rekindle the old friendships). I drifted off from what I initially wanted to say in just a few sentences. I have acquaintances, I know how to do small-talk and banter. I can be charming and flirty, with men and women alike. But I have very few friends. The above poem was written for my best friend who is having a hard time right now. I don’t have much to offer, but I have my words. I offer them freely to my friends. My friends, like me, becomes silent and quiet when unwell. But I am always there and make it known too. I love you my friend and will always be at your side. Come what may.

by the way, I sold the first copy of Fire & Rain yesterday, through this site. On desktop, you can find the purchase button on your right. On tablet or phone, you need to scroll all the way down to find it.

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ghosts in our home (new poem)

A breath in the night sky,
Cool and quivering like a lover’s sigh,
Once every few moons,
Our spirits kiss,
Tender and warm, a fleeting bliss.

Covering our souls
Like rain; with love,
Soft droplets caressing from above.

We remember past words,
Whispers under our skin,
A tactile memory, thin and worn,
And oak trees in the storm,
Their rough bark groaning, forlorn.

Fast fingers and slow minds,
Drunk with passion and wine,
The tang of berries on our tongues,
Sweet and heady, as we clung.

Let us float on dreams,
On the scent of night-blooming jasmine streams,
Until we reach our destination,
As ghosts in our home,
In the silence, our love’s quiet exclamation.

Now, with every twilight’s embrace,
We dance to the silent songs of the cosmos,
The air vibrating with our unspoken hymns,
Entwined in the waltz of the forgotten,
Our laughter, a symphony of spectral whims.

In the quietude of the dark,
When shadows play on the walls,
Our love rekindles the flame,
A gentle glow, the softest balm in the hearth of eternity.

Through the window of the soul,
Glimpses of eternity flicker,
As we trace the constellations,
Our fates written in stardust and moonbeams,
A visual feast for the heart’s contemplations.

So let the night envelop us,
A cloak woven from the threads of yesteryears,
For in the heart of our abode,
We live on, timeless and serene,
As ghosts in our home, forever unseen.

Beneath the silvered veil of the moon,
Our silhouettes merge, an ancient rune,
Cast upon the walls, a shadow play,
Telling tales of love, in an ephemeral ballet.

The stars, our audience, twinkle with delight,
As we spin stories in the fabric of the night,
Each movement a brushstroke in the sky’s vast canvas,
Our love, the palette from which all hues amass.

In the garden, where the wild roses grow,
Their petals spread like blush on snow,
The night air carries their sweet perfume,
Intertwining with our essence, in the gloom.

And there, by the willow’s weeping grace,
Our fingers touch, a delicate lace,
The fireflies dance, a luminous spree,
Witness to our love’s quiet symphony.

With every dawn, our forms may fade,
But in the twilight, our colors cascade,
For in this place we call our own,
We paint our love, in tones unknown,
As ghosts in our home, forever shown.

As seasons cycle, from spring to winter’s chill,
Time’s relentless march, against our still,
Yet within these walls, our moments defy,
The ticking clock, as centuries fly by.

The laughter of children, once filled the air,
Now whispers of joy, linger in despair,
The echoes of footsteps, a rhythmic beat,
Now silent, in time’s unyielding defeat.

But here we stand, amidst the flow,
Of hours and days, we used to know,
Our love, a constant, through the sands,
Of time, held firmly in our hands.

For though the world outside may age,
Our story’s written on an endless page,
In this house, where memories roam,
We are eternal, as ghosts in our home.

And yet, the heart does yearn,
For the touch that will never return,
The voice that whispers no more,
In the quiet night, it’s what we adore.

The longing, a river deep and wide,
Flows through the chambers where we hide,
A yearning for the past, so sweet,
Where love and loss, in silence meet.

In every corner, a memory waits,
A longing for the opening of the gates,
To the days when laughter was shared,
In this home, where we dared.

To love, to live, to hold on tight,
In the face of time’s relentless flight,
Our longing, a testament to what was,
In this home, where we pause.

To feel, to remember, to embrace,
The love that time cannot erase,
For as long as this house shall stand,
Our longing, hand in hand,
With the ghosts of our home, forever grand.

The scent of old letters, yellowed and frail,
Carries the ink of our tale,
A fragrance of time, sweet and sour,
In our hands, it blooms, a delicate flower.

The sound of a distant melody,
Plays softly, a forgotten rhapsody,
A tune that stirs the soul, deep and profound,
In its notes, our longing is found.

The sight of an empty chair, by the hearth,
Speaks volumes of absence, a silent mirth,
Its fabric worn, by years of wait,
Holding the shape of our shared fate.

The taste of tears, salt on the lip,
A reminder of love’s final trip,
Bitter and true, they fall like rain,
In their path, our longing remains.

The touch of a breeze, through an open pane,
Whispers of presence, amidst the pain,
A caress from the past, gentle and slight,
In its wake, our longing takes flight.

For in this home, where echoes resound,
Our spirits linger, forever bound,
In every sense, our longing thrives,
As ghosts in our home, through countless lives.

###

poetry – 819 words – reading time: 4 minutes

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i remember

i remember it well, the first time that I saw you. You were walking toward me, not an ounce of insecurities were showing. I was a bundle of nerves watching you as you approached me. I immediately noticed that we couldn’t be any more different, you with your penguin scarf and me in my floor-length leather coat. As I stood there, trying to maintain a composed exterior, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Your confident stride contrasted so starkly with my own jittery demeanor that I couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the enigma that was you. The way your green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and the contrast of our attire, seemed to encapsulate the very essence of our divergence in that moment. Though our outward appearance may have painted us as polar opposites, the magnetic pull between us was undeniable, drawing me in with a force I couldn’t resist.

The enduring nature of our commitment to each other has been a source of great joy and strength for us. Over the course of 24 years, we have overcome numerous challenges and have remained steadfast in our dedication to each other. It is truly remarkable to consider the journey we have shared, from the early days of our marriage to now, where we find ourselves happily situated with our beloved children. The passage of time has only served to deepen our bond, and we have defied any expectations by growing stronger as a couple. Amidst witnessing the ebb and flow of relationships around us, we have held fast to our love, building a life and a future together that fills us with immense pride and gratitude.

The journey of life is indeed filled with ups and downs, moments of joy and challenges. It is during these trials that our resilience and persistence come to the forefront, shaping our character and strengthening our resolve. Navigating through mood swings and inner demons can be a taxing experience, but as individuals, we possess the capability to overcome these obstacles with unwavering determination. Finding the ability to laugh amidst difficulties and to push through moments of friction is a testament to our inner strength and adaptability. Embracing these contrasting experiences ultimately leads to personal growth and a deeper understanding of ourselves.

The story of how we met is one of those rare, serendipitous moments that seem straight out of a romantic movie. It was the year 2000, and I was just a month away from turning 17 when we had our blind date. I can recall the details as if it were yesterday. It was a crisp Monday morning, and I stood at the bus stop with my hair still damp from the shower. As I gazed up at the sky, I was greeted by the breathtaking sight of a shooting star streaking across the heavens. To this day, I am convinced that it was the celestial spectacle that graced the early hours of January 17th.

In that moment, I made a wish – a wish so pure and profound that it almost felt like a prayer. I wished that I would meet the man who would one day become my husband that very night. And incredibly, against all odds, that wish came true. It’s a surreal and almost magical experience that has stayed with me all these years.

I’ll confess that before that fateful night, I held little faith in the institution of marriage. Growing up in an environment where positive examples of married life were scarce, I was skeptical about the concept of lifelong commitment. Even now, to some extent, I still grapple with the idea of monogamy. Perhaps it’s a lingering effect of my youth, an insatiable yearning for a love so potent that it can never be extinguished or fully satisfied.

But while I am still longing for a deeper connection, I also know when I look at you, or when I put my head in your lap at night that we were meant to be in each other’s lives. Where else could I be myself? Who else would or could love me like you do? Who else could and would put up with my recent moodswings? Who else would or could make me laugh like you do?

the answer is: no one. No one. Because you and me, that’s what makes us us. That’s what makes this bond unique and strong and unbreakable. Are we passionless? Maybe to the outside world we are. Then again, showing our connection, whispering between us, long eye contact, laughter and light ribbing, that’s who we are. We love each other. You see, our love transcends the boundaries of ordinary affection. It’s a deeply rooted connection that intertwines our souls and brings out the best in each other. The world may not understand the depth of our bond, but in each gesture and shared moment, the strength of our love shines through. It’s in the subtle glances, the shared jokes, and the unspoken understanding that we find the purest expression of our love. And in this unique language of love, we are fluent, speaking volumes without uttering a word. This is the essence of us, an extraordinary love that defies expectations and flourishes in the quiet moments, where our hearts beat as one. This is the true beauty of our connection, a love that resonates beyond the ordinary, creating a symphony of emotion that only you and I can compose together.

We are perfect in our imperfections. I love you.

###

love letter to my husband – 916 words – reading time: 5 minutes

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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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What is love?

What is love to a child who was never held when they cried?

What is love to an adult who was rejected when they unmasked?

What is love for a person who feels unlovable?

What is love for someone who owns the world?

💜❤️

What is love and why does it lift you up?

What is love and why does it break you down?

What is love and why does your heart skip a beat?

What is love and why do you play that song on repeat?

❤️💜

What is love and why does it hurt?

What is love and who offers it freely?

What is love and why is it so hard?

What is love? Who has an answer to this, really?

💜❤️

What is love?

Who is love?

It is that feeling floating between you and me. There but unseen. It is in us and oozes out of every pore. While we always want more. It is you and me and us and them. It is the air we breathe and the steps we take. It is the thoughts we think and the smiles we give. Love is all we need. It is you and me and us and them.

❤️💜

I LOVE YOU!