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.

Sunday Scribblings #143 – silence

Every Wednesday Aaron shares a writing prompt. This week it was “Silence”. Visit his blog for weekly prompts and other cool post (like questions of the week and movies he hasn’t seen). It will be well worth you while. I like these posts and although I don’t want to commit to writing for these prompts every week, it is also great fun to get involved. If you look in the search bar for Sunday Scribblings, you will find that I used my voice and did not stay silent. And I like that quite a lot.

My mind is never silent. The above photo was taken yesterday during the afternoon. I was cleaning some stuff and got caught up with these journals. They are the homes of many thoughts and memories. They hide the beginnings of stories and allowed me to write down poems without spell checker or grammar checker. These journals, that picture is also a testament to my inner struggles. My sorrows and joys. Everything is written down in there. Secrets disguised as fiction, fiction disguised as reality. Nothing is as it seems. And although everything is true, nothing is. The words and memories are reminders of those exact moments. They don’t mean much anymore, but a decade ago they were true and real and important enough to be written down. One moment these words were everything and the next the turned into nothing. Noteworthy is also, that I rediscovered many letters and postcards, tissues and scraps of paper that helped out as paper when sudden inspiration hit, and pictures too. Pictures of people who don’t exist in my life anymore. Letters of people who don’t have a voice in my life anymore. Memories of people who don’t hunt my dreams anymore. I spent a lot of time with old thoughts, and to my surprise they didn’t try to hurt me anymore. They lost their power over me. Haunting thoughts and memories are silent now. Just like so many people who used to be a part of my life and aren’t anymore.

Silence is never easy for me. Silence feels like rejection. It fuels my insecurities. Silence is rare. And because it is, I am already filling the next journal with parts of me. My story. Relatable or not. Important or not. It doesn’t matter, but I know that writing is my saviour and it keeps me sane when everything else is silent. Or when it is too loud.

Do I make any sense or are these mad ramblings of an unquiet mind? What do you think?

It’s the loudest silence that writes the most beautiful words. Don’t be afraid to listen to your mind. And write. Sing. Dance. Everything will be okay. And one day, you will be able to turn the page of your journal. One day you will open it for the last time and close it too. There is nothing left to add. Just, silence.

Sunday Scribblings #142 – Escape

There were no more steps to take, no more roads to walk. The light was fading and the ocean was drowning in itself. During those cold winter nights she used to ask to be held, but things had changed. Nothing was the same anymore and she didn’t want to admit that she knew why. The world around her fell apart and she was tied to a boulder rolling down a mountain. She didn’t scream or yell. There was no escape. She didn’t know why she was here now. Everyday had been the same. An illusion of normalcy. But there was an underlying sadness, a melancholy undertone in everything she did. Until one day she woke up with desperation leaking out of her eyes.

The wild river was claiming her, and she didn’t stand a chance to fight for air. Everything that once felt good felt wrong now. Her skin felt too tight. Everything was tingling in the wrong way. Everything turned out to be nothing, in the end. And while she was walking and trying to remember where she was going and why she was feeling like going mad, the rain drenched her to the bone, as if it was highlighting her messy state of mind for everyone to see.

There was no escape from her mind and from her thoughts. There was no escape from the downward spiral and the change that was waiting around the corner. But she was trapped in the nature of all things that kept her hostage. She didn’t understand that there was a future for her. That things could be different. But something drove her to move. It was like something inside of her ordered her to put one foot in front of the other. She walked faster. And faster. Until she was running. Her lungs were burning and her legs felt heavy. She was not used to physical activities. But something kept her moving. The rain pelted her face, plastering her hair against her cheek. She was cold and shivering. Inside and outside too. She tried shaking everything off that held her back. She tried running away from herself. Running, just running. And it didn’t matter where she was going. She had to keep moving. She had to keep herself busy to escape the desperation that was clinging to her eyelashes. The sun set and the moon rose. The sun rose and the moon set. Day after day, and she kept moving. She kept running, until, in the end, her skin fit her mind again.

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Sunday Scribblings are prompts Aaron shares every Wednesday on his blog: https://confusingmiddle.com/2023/10/18/sunday-scribblings-142/ I haven’t used a prompt in a long while, I admit. If you read yesterday’s post, you will understand. Check out Aaron’s blog and consider writing for those prompts, it is great fun and inspiring too.

Sunday Scribblings #115 – self-care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Scribblings #89 – handwriting

Every Wednesday, Aaron at https://confusingmiddle.com/2022/01/19/sunday-scribblings-89-handwriting/ shares a new writing prompt. This week, the prompt is handwriting.

Handwriting can reveal a lot about people, there is an entire science about it, but honestly, I never really took the time to get into it.

My own handwriting is very much depending on my mood. But, it is often quite sloppy and I often have people at work commenting on it. In a hurry, my handwriting is hardly legible.

I noticed though, depending on the pen, my handwriting gets better or worse.

Many years ago, a person who was a friend back then gave me a fountain pen. I adore that one and use it all the time. Used – until I lost it at the hospital at the end of last year. It’s a long(er) story that I will not get into right now. Anyway… I loved that fountain pen and was devastated when I lost it. I ordered a new one. Exact same – pretending that it will be a birthday present to myself. Imagine what happened? Yeah… No surprise, I found the pen at the bottom of my handbag the exact day the new one arrived in the mail. My handbag is a large tote bag with lots of room. I bought it online last year. I am not sure it is still available, but here is a photo.

It looks better in real than on the pic. Hehe… I own at least 4 more bags from Society 6.

Back to handwriting. I share pictures with handwritten poetry quite often. And many people compliment me on my penmanship. It’s a nice thing, I think.

Both are things I wrote. One is legible and one is decipherable. Hehe.

How’s your handwriting? Do you write by hand at all?

Sunday Scribblings #80

Every Wednesday, Aaron shares a prompt on his blog: http://confusingmiddle.com. This is week 80. The prompt is Hello. Here we go.

Hello, he whispered into the headset and when he heard her voice he knew that

Everything would be okay. She was the only one able to ground him;

Listening to him without passing judgment and without stars in her eyes.

Love. He had said, “I love you.” Twice. Was this friendship turning into love?

Overwhelming emotions, a feeling of unconditional understanding, and yes; love.

She had him at Hello.

Sunday Scribblings #69 late

You felt it, too, the moment when I needed you. But you were far away. And it was already too late. The hands of time were moving on, not waiting for us to come along. Too late. The sun awoke and went back to sleep; the moon played hide and seek. And we were too late. Too late to understand, too late to grab each other’s hand. You faded like a shooting star, like the last chord played on the guitar. And it was too late. Too late to bring you back to me, but I know, you see? I felt it, too, the moment when you missed me out of the blue.

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Every Wednesday, Aaron shares a prompt over on his blog. This week’s prompt was late. Make sure to take a look at his blog; he shares interesting stuff. I haven’t written for the Sunday Scribblings in a while, and the above was very impulsive and, indeed, late. I hope you still enjoy it. And now, visit Aaron in the confusing middle.

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