Dear stranger…

Holy fucking hell; I miss you more than I ever knew. I saw someone crossing the street today; he looked like you: the same curls, the same pale skin, the same walk, the same posture. My heart went like mad. Eyes wide and wild, I had troubles to get my car in gear again. But, fuck me, I began longing for you; for your voice.

The moment I could think straight again, I reminded myself that it had not been you, crossing the street. You are in the UK, sound-checking for your upcoming show.

But man, I miss you. Most days, I don’t. Most days, I am indifferent, because yearning for your touch makes me feel empty and numb. Other days, it feels as if I cannot breathe because you are not here. You weren’t here for a long, long while.

I am fine without you. Seeing your doppelganger threw me for a loop though. And so, I did what I can do without calling or sending a text. I checked social media channels for your face; I listened to old interviews, and I floated in a serene mindset listening to your music. It is all I can get; it is all I am asking for. At times likes these, I am glad that you are visible and that I can get my fix (like an addict) without you noticing.

Of course, I also write these letters. Not that you will ever read them, stranger, but my thoughts can soar free like an eagle like this, instead of being trapped in a cage.

I don’t like to be trapped, but I want to believe that you waste one or two thoughts on me too, once in a while.

When we spent time together, life was good. When we went our different ways, I was devastated and wanted to die. I am not writing this to put pressure on you, and I am sharing this to show you how dependent I was on you.

You made me, and you broke me.

It’s been a long while. And these days, I look back on what we had with a smile. You were there and showed me what passion and love is. You told me that I am worth to be loved – and I believed you; still do.

There are moments like today, when I wish we could be together, but then, a couple of hours later, I remember that we are too codependent and that our deep emotions are dangerous for our sanities.

Maybe I am in advantage because you are a public person and if I want, I can see you.

I want you to be happy – I know you are not because you still think that you don’t deserve it, but you do.

Still and always yours,

Sweetie

818 days

I always though that freedom would make me happy. But I wasn’t happy. I was taken from myself, and even though I was released, I was not there.

I was held in captivity for eight hundred and eighteen days. Two years and almost three months. The prospect of coming home and hugging my friends and family kept me going, day after day. I expected to be happy and healthy and coming back to my old life and picking up where I had left before my abduction.

I came home, and everyone was there — politicians, family, friends, journalists, reports, photographers. Everyone was happy to see me. Everyone cried tears of regret and relief. Everyone had too many questions, and I had no voice to answer them. But then the novelty of me being home wore off. Dark had become light, but the light was slowly turning into dark again. And my family showed how angry and hurt they were. They accused me of being to blame for being abducted. I had chosen to travel to Tunisia on vacation. I hadn’t fought for myself. They hated me because they had to wait for me, and yet their lives had to go on without me. They forgot that I was the victim and that I was struggling too.

After a while, I wished that I had never come back alive. I felt as isolated as I had in captivity. When I had been in chains, and without food, I had had the will to live and to survive. Freedom had broken that will. I was broken. They had taken me, and I had never come back to myself.

I sat in a luxurious apartment that I had bought from the compensation I had received from the government. For every day I had suffered, I received a hefty sum of money; as if the money would make me forget the torture and the ordeal. I had doors and windows – electrical light. Warm water, running water – at will. I was allowed to come and go whenever I wanted. And I fell in love with doors. Opening and closing them, walking through them and closing them from the other side – even locking them. Although locked doors made me nervous, I had food in my fridge, fresh fruits, and vegetables. I was allowed to move and be free, and yet, I was still a hostage. I was a hostage of my mind – I couldn’t escape the memories, and somehow, I didn’t want to. I had spent two years living another life – being in civilization was too different from what had been my reality for eight hundred and eighteen days. The light, the sound, the hectic of modern life, electricity, a bed, fresh linen, clean clothes, a shower – I had lived without these things for such a long time.

Looking into the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Everything was different and everything was the same. My hair was longer; my eyes were emptier. My skin was pale, my lips parched. And thin, I was thinner than I had ever been. I chose not to count the scars on my torso. I chose to ignore what my body had endured during my time away. I was not feeling myself anymore. I had become a stranger to myself.

I needed to find a way to console my old life and the new one – I was not the same person anymore. I knew that I should be happy because I was free. Instead, I was overwhelmed with life. I led a life in invisible chains. I needed to find myself. But where? No one had any answers, and at the same time, I held them all inside of me – but they were not ready to be voiced and join me in freedom yet.

***

(Inspired by a French documentary “Otages” (hostages) that I saw and that moved me a lot. I want to write about this fictional character that popped up in my mind. Maybe I’ll get there.)

Do you remember?

Do you remember the days when all we were was enough?

Do you remember the bliss, the joy, the laughter, and the scorching heat?

Where did we go?

When did we leave us behind?

Do you remember how I sound and what I taste like?

Do you remember that I promised forever?

When did we lose our selves?

Where did we go?

Do you remember?

Hello, I have…

Saw this on IG and I nodded and nodded…

By now, you know me. I moan and groan… I question my entire existence. But I am more than all of that. And less. I am the sum of many layers… And you are the same. We are made of thoughts and eccentricities, of hopes and fears, of oddities and trivial behaviour, and of a lot more. We are unique. And the thing is, I might write this or that without giving it much thought. Because, in my head, I am alone here. Truth or not – that’s not up for discussion. I am impulsive and judgmental, and everything you read was written in a moment – impulsively. I write and forget, and sometimes, I forgot what I wrote after only ten minutes. That’s just me. A part of me.

As much as I would love to know what is going on in your mind, I will never truly know. I may read your words and hear them too. But only you know how you feel, and I can only assume how I would feel if I was in your shoes, based on the experiences I made on my own.

We are invisible. Until we chose to be visible. Sharing and writing about myself is not (only) about having your attention or validation – it is about showing people that they are not alone. Even if they never know how good or bad I feel. Maybe I am a wreck and seem calm and collected. Maybe I am serene and write like a melancholy suicidal person… It is all lost in translation.

We are all broken and damaged. No one is normal anymore. And that is good and alright. Who is to say how I am supposed to feel?!

Love yourself. I love you. No matter how much my words hurt you – I still love you.

💜💜💜

Around the clock

I met you in January

Introducing myself as Carrie.

I fell in love in February

With a man called Harry.

We dated all through March

First kissed underneath an arch.

We made love every day in April

But then I learnt about Jill.

After your confession in May,

I asked you to go away.

I drank away the month of June

My mind was clouded every afternoon.

We ran into each other in July

After that, I couldn’t help but cry.

I called you in August

You promised everything would be all good.

The rain drenched us in September

Our lust was reignited like ember.

By October

I was completely sober.

It was cold in November

But our love had become tender.

On the last day of December

You said: “Listen and Remember!

I loved you every month this year

Without you, something was missing, dear.”

The clock was ticking and happy days were plenty

“Marry me!” My mind was blank and empty

But I whispered “Yes”; and so it began

The rest of our lives with you as my man.

Happily ever after, we grew old together

And our love stayed light as feather.

No mountain was ever too high

And if it was we spread our wings to fly

No ocean was ever too deep

And if it was, we came up with solutions in our sleep.

Year’s later, our lights are becoming dim

But my heart will always and forever beg me to swim

To you,

Until my eyes and your eyes are closed forever. That much is true.

That’s the way my love feels (throwback poetry)

June 2016

My love is like the rain. Starting as a drizzle. Turning into a cloudburst. It soaks you to your bone.

My love is like a cherry. A small bud that turns into a blossom. And then it turns into delicious fruit.

My love is like a song. A melody once heard; it turns into the most important piece of music ever played.

My love is like sand. Graced with lightning, it becomes a work of art. One of its kind.

My love is like spring. New and beautiful. Filled with tears too?

My love is like summer. Hot and passionate. Searing heat burns my skin.

My love is like autumn. A breeze. Comforting. Ever changing.

My love is frail and filled with desire. Not with demands, but with longing for an everlasting story.

My love is like the words I write. For you. Only for you. Raw. Unmasked. All consuming.

My love is hidden underneath layers of fears and doubts. But it is not hopeless. It can easily be found and uncovered.

My love is your love. That’s the way it feels.

From no one to someone

And then no one became someone, and she begged him not to disappear. He was the unshed tear, and fear of being abandoned that took root deep within. Too heavy, too loud, too intense; too much her. As if she was lost. As if she had lost the comfortable skin of sadness. She wished that someone was no one. To feel the pain; to know the unknown. To think instead of breathing. To drown instead of being caught. But no one had turned out to be her someone. And so she became someone too.

The narcissist

I never stole anything from you, except your heart

How many lies turn hate into love?

Tiny pieces of your self are now mine.

I’ll use them when I need them and throw them away when I don’t.

I never promised anything deep,

I’ll deny everything and say it was all in your mind.

My lies are killing you, and I am not concerned

It doesn’t matter, because I don’t care.

You gave me all you had to give; once I devoured it, it became nothing,

Goodbye my sweet flower. You have been plucked.

You have been fucked. On to the next.

It started with a kiss

Falling into the depth of your green eyes; surrendering to the touch of your skin against mine; ecstasy – throbbing flesh; quivering flesh. The heat, the moans, arched backs. I inhale the essence of our love pouring out of every cell, crannies, nooks, and cracks.

You kissed the rain out of my head and the words out of my mouth.

You sucked the air right out of me and gave me a life’s breath.

You took nothing and made it our everything.

Every touch awakens me from my melancholy haze. Lost all sense of time; nights turn into days. The heavy scent of our lust engulfs us – shields us from the world. More. I want more of you in me. Harder, faster – strangled cries; and you are falling into the depth of my brown eyes.