Letters

I love writing letters – as you can see by the regular yet fictitious letters to stranger that I write. I adore receiving letters and postcards, but to be honest, it is seldom that I have anything surprising and interesting in my mail. *sigh*

Years ago, Paul wrote letters to his followers. I wish I could pull it off, and I receive one of his letters too. It was at the very beginning of me following any blogs on here—time flies.

Anyone wants to write me a letter? Anyone wants a letter from me? Just speak up in the comments.

This reminds me that I need to go to the post office. I need to send of four sets of my poetry books. One is left because they haven’t gotten in touch with their address.

*sigh* I think, I need some attention. xx

No regrets

I was asked if I regret certain moments from my life, and if I would want to change them. My answer has been the same for a long while now:

No regrets.

They trap us in the past, chain us

to an

illusion. They keep us from moving forward and being free

Regrets make us miserable

Every choice we make and every decision we make leads us to where we

are.

with every action, we grow and with every connection too,

Good or bad – life is a chain of lessons.

No regrets.

This is the theory of the Butterfly Effect. Long before I even knew that my way of thinking has a label – a name, I lived by it. I would not change a thing about my life. Not even the worst ordeals I experienced. Everything shaped me to be the person I am today. But, I also admit that with this in mind, it can be hard to make choices. I tend to overthink and overanalyse most situations. How I react and what I do might always be logical or relatable for others, but it is for me.

This, of course, clashes with my statement that I am an impulsive writer, which I truly am. My poems are not sophisticated; they are not reworked and rewritten until every word has been changed a thousand times. No, I write the words that come to my mind and seldom go back to change them. Once in a while, I feel as if I wrote the same poem since 2015. It’s the same theme, the same words, just different days. But… Here too, no regrets.

No lifeline. Drowning in words that cut like a sword. Not okay. But what am I supposed to say? Words left a hole on my tongue; the right ones refuse to come…

untitled_moon_draft

And we are dancing under the pale moonlight, forgetting the world. The wind whispers songs into our ears, and the waves caress our naked feet. Your arms around my waist, my hands on your cold cheeks. And we are dancing under the moonlight, to the silent melodies of our hearts in tune. The moment is magic, and the stars witness its gravity. You are looking down at me, swaying my hips, I’m looking up at you, licking my lips. And we are dancing under the moonlight, alone in a crowd: a smile, a kiss, and this inexplicable bliss—a memory with meaning tattooed onto my blind mind. The sun pushes the moon away, making room for a new dawn. In the blink of an eye, and with a swallowed kiss, I realise that my hidden darkness left, it is gone. Huh!

Song for Midnight

Sourfish – Angel of My Eye https://open.spotify.com/track/2AyNYEZg2gikTb0lmjh4cx?si=opTvsM8TTGG90EtcYG9vwg

From the EP “What do you Say?” that was released in May this year.

I had this song stuck in my head for most of the day, now, I’m giving it to you.

Sourfish is the musical project of Scottish musician Gavin Simpson. He released several EPs, most of his music can be found on Spotify.

As most of you know, I am not a particular fan of podcasts. They often feel stretched out and are not interesting. I don’t like long monologues either. However, Gavin had a podcast called “What do you Say?” (Can be found on Spotify too) and I like his approach. He interviews artists but it never feels like an interview, it feels like a conversation between two friends. That’s appealing to me. New episodes are released each Thursday.

Goodnight

Something a lot like love

I wake up, rested, and with a smile on my face. This hasn’t happened in a long while, and I stretch my arms above my head with a low moan. The sun is shining, and the birds are singing their songs, announcing another hot summer day. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I turn to face you, and I am startled, and a bit embarrassed, when I see you sitting cross-legged with your laptop balancing on your knees and papers next to you. You are pinching a pen between your lips, and your reading glasses add something serious to your face. Your hair is messy and sticking in every direction, I smile, remembering how it felt between my fingers last night. I wonder how late it is and how long you have been awake. Your fingers are caressing the keys of your laptop as if they were on a mission. I nudge your knee with mine, making you smile and dropping the pen from your lips. The speed of your fingers falters, but they don’t stop.

By now, I know that you are a workaholic – a real sexy one at that, but I never had the chance to wake up with you in work mode before. It feels domesticated, and as if we are entering the next level of our relationship. At the same time, it feels as if it has always been like this; familiar. “Let me just finish this real quick, and then I am all yours, ” you say, and I nod. Your voice is low and thick with sleep. I want to crawl into your lap and claim your attention, but I am too old for that. You asked for a couple of moments to finish your business – I respect that. The words “I love you” are at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down. A concentrated frown is forming between your brows, and you lean closer to your screen. Intelligence is sexy, and you are the perfect example of that.

I decide not to distract you, and turning to my stomach; I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. I could get out of the bed and freshen up in the bathroom, after all, this is the first time we spent the day, the night, and the next morning together without any of us being in a hurry to get to work. We have never spent this much time together. But I want to stay in bed next to you. Your heady, sweaty scent is comforting for me. Your presence and your silent company are all I want for now. For a moment, insecurity gets the best of me, hoping that I am not a total mess this morning. In the movies, lovers wake up looking perfect, hair and makeup are where they are supposed to be, their eyes are never swollen. But I am not an actress; I am me. I run my hands over my unruly hair, matting it down slightly; after that, I run my fingers under my eyes, wiping smudged mascara away. That has to be enough for now. I am not perfect.

Concentrating on my phone again, I read the news and check my social media channels. Nothing exciting to see, and I keep scrolling until I see a picture of us. We are laughing into the camera, both holding a drink, looking flushed and happy. The caption underneath isn’t written in words; there are two emoticons: a smiling face, and a red heart. I smile, and my heart races. We had a great evening. Perfect even. But I hadn’t noticed that you posted our photo online. I don’t mind, too much, though. Until now, we were dating casually; the picture is making what we have more real and official. I like that. Butterflies are doing somersaults in my stomach. The comments are all kind and friendly; some are teasing. Some people are congratulating you on your new girlfriend. Is that what I am? Am I your girlfriend? We haven’t put a label on our relationship, but maybe that too is the natural evolution of things?

“Be right back, ” you announce, cleaning the papers from your side of the bed and tugging the laptop under your arm. I nod and get back to the social media app with a sigh. Is this it? Am I supposed to leave now? I expected a make-out session in the morning, continuing where we left off last night, but real life is not a story or a movie. I tug a strand of my hair behind my ear and push the blanket off my legs—time to get moving.

I startle when I feel your lips on my calf. One of your hands caresses my leg while your lips leave a kissing trail all over my body until you turn me in your arms. I can’t hide my happy grin.

“Good morning, where are you going?” you ask, kissing my lips. You taste like mint, and I am embarrassed that I didn’t take the time to brush my teeth. But you don’t let me overthink. You have a way of distracting my train of thoughts. My hands map your skin, touching as much of you as I can, while your kisses get more demanding. I close my eyes and feel the mattress dip under our weights. You cover me from head to toe, framing my face with your hands. I feel every inch of you pushed against me, igniting my need for you. I spread my legs, and just like a puzzle, everything falls into place. This is where I am supposed to be right now. I look at you and see an expression of love and lust. My heart is expanding and pushing every thought aside; I am pulled under in a wave of emotions.

We stay in bed most of the day. Making love, reading on our phones, talking. We just get up to eat and take a shower. The sun sets, and the moon rises.

It is Saturday night, and as my senses are filled with you, I moan the words I kept back the entire day: “I love you.” You smile, and your touches become more sensual, and the way you make love to me becomes something deeper. Something meaningful.

I rest my head on your chest after being boneless from my last orgasm. Your hand caresses my back. “Say it again,” you demand. I smile against your skin. “I love you.” My cheeks flush as the words leave my mouth. “Is it cheesy when I say that I do too?” you reply. You shuffle from underneath me and turn to face me. “Is it too early to be in love?” I burst out laughing. We are in our mid-thirties and behaving like teenage girls. You join me, kissing my forehead when you regain your breath. “Stay, I love you.” The seriousness of your words overwhelms me, but I am trying to hide it. I simply pull you into my arms. And it feels good. No words are needed. Just us. The connection between us.

We settle in for the night, watching a movie on your laptop. I haven’t worn any clothes all day long, I think before I fall asleep in your bed for the second night in a row.

Giveaway!

My stock is coming to an end and I decided to give away the last copies of my poetry collections. There were 5 of each this morning when I made the announcement on Twitter and Instagram. 3 sets are left right now. They are limited editions, meaning there are typos and minor formatting errors left, they are not in the version you can buy on Amazon. Every book comes signed and with a small handwritten note. I ship out worldwide*. Get in touch if you are interested in owning poetry written by a Luxembourgish poet.

*There are copies of my books all over the world:

Brazil 🇧🇷

US 🇺🇸

UK 🇬🇧

Wales 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

Ireland 🇮🇪

Canada 🇨🇦

Australia 🇦🇺

New Zealand 🇳🇿

South Africa 🇿🇦

Germany 🇩🇪

France 🇫🇷

Belgium 🇧🇪

Netherlands 🇳🇱

Luxembourg 🇱🇺

And the handful of books I sold via Amazon.

Be a part of this first-ever Giveaway!

Get in touch by writing a comment here or by sending an email to catherine.micqu@gmail.com

First come, first served. Or as we say in Luxembourg: Deen éischten ass fir.

Song for Tuesday night

Pink Floyd – hey you

From the album “The Wall” (1979, Harvest). The song was written by Roger Waters. This one is a bit heavier, melancholic even, yet there is hope too. But I like the lyrics a lot.

Hey you, out there in the cold
Getting lonely, getting old
Can you feel me?
Hey you, standing in the aisles
With itchy feet and fading smiles
Can you feel me?
Hey you, don’t help them to bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight


Hey you out there on your own
Sitting naked by the phone
Would you touch me?
Hey you with you ear against the wall
Waiting for someone to call out
Would you touch me?
Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I’m coming home


But it was only fantasy
The wall was too high
As you can see
No matter how he tried
He could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain


Hey you, out there on the road
Always doing what you’re told
Can you help me?
Hey you, out there beyond the wall
Breaking bottles in the hall
Can you help me?
Hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall

Cathy’s Top 5 Pink Floyd songs:

1. Comfortably Numb (1979, The Wall)

2. Sorrow (1989, A Momentary Lapse of Reason)

3. High Hopes (1994, The Division Bell)

4. Shine On You Crazy Diamond (1975, Wish You Were Here)

5. What Do You Want From Me (1994, The Division Bell)

Many people think that Pink Floyd is challenging to get into. And I agree. Some of their earlier stuff is unbearable – for me. I can’t listen to most of “The Dark Side of the Moon” and I haven’t in a while, maybe it is time to give it another spin. However, “The Division Bell” is one of the albums I listen to all the time. The songs I shared are accessible, or so I think. Most are live versions, which gives it a nice touch. If I ever get a chance to see David Gilmour (guitarist and lead singer of Pink Floyd) in concert, I will make sure to buy tickets. He is 74 years old by now… The chances are slimming down. By the way, David Gilmour discovered Kate Bush and produced her first record.

Have a great night.

xx

Dear stranger

Dear stranger,

It has been a while. I am not okay, and that’s okay. This time, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Someone else is breaking my heart, and I am trying to be strong, and I am failing because I am exhausted and frail and in physical pain. I want to take my phone and send you a text because you are the person I want most in my life, but you are hiding in your mind and in your own life. Silently you left my life again, and that’s okay. When I think about you, my heart is expanding, and my creativity overflows. You are in most bits and pieces that I write. Countless times daily, you are in my thoughts – and it never makes me sad. It always makes me smile. The realisation hit me that the memories we made (and will make again, I am sure) will never fade or die. They are in me, in my blood. And since I write so much, it also means that they are immortal. You are immortal because my writing is tinted with thoughts of you. I am grateful that you are a part of me. Sometimes you are there, ready to be loved, other times you go away, close the door and leave me guessing what happened. I will never get any answers. I am making peace with that. I am making peace with us. If you are thinking half as much about me than I do about you, then everything will be alright. Not now, it is not the right time yet, but soon. Someday.

Until then, my heart is open for you. We can make it if we try.

xx

song for another sleepless night

REM – leave

From the record “New Adventures in Hi-Fi” (1996, Warner Bros Records), which was the 10th studio album REM released.

Apparently, this is one of the band’s best records; I wouldn’t know. I just know this one song from it, and I adore it. My favourite REM album is “Automatic for the People” (1992). The song is sombre, heavy even, and the lyrics get to me. Once in a while, I tear up when I hear it, because of the way Micheal Stipe sings these lyrics:

(…)

That’s what keeps me
That’s what keeps me
That’s what keeps me down
To leave it, believe it
Leave it all behind

Lift me, lift me
I attain my dream
I lost myself, I lost them
Heartache calling me
I lost myself in sorrow
I lost myself in pain
I lost myself in gravity
Memory, leave, leave, leave

That’s what keeps me
That’s what keeps me
That’s what keeps me down
To leave it, believe it
Leave it all behind

(…)

“Leave” is on the soundtrack of “A Life Less Ordinary” (1997), a movie with Ewan McGregor and Cameron Diaz. It was written by John Hodge (who wrote the screenplay for Trainspotting) and directed by Danny Boyle (who also directed Trainspotting and Slumdog Millionaire). I always tend to forget how much I actually like that movie. To me, it is magical. It is funny, tragic, sad… And it has a great soundtrack.

My day was long and filled with lots of work. 11 hours today. Usually, I work 20 hours in one week… I guess this week; I am making over time. I am reminded of how much I love my work, though. I am doing stuff with the kids, random things, and I am reminded how fun this is and that I really like it, I wouldn’t want to change it, even if I complain a lot. Unfortunately, the many hours I put in last Friday and today are taking a toll on my shoulder. It’s in pain again. I will have to see how much longer I can keep the pace.

Wish me luck for tonight, finding sleep was hard these last days.

Tomorrow is the National Holiday in Luxembourg. When Corona is not paralysing the world, we celebrate our Grand-Duke’s birthday on June 23rd. (Even though his real birthday is in April – 16th, 1955)

Good night…