This is for you to know

Sing a song for me. Write a song about me. Remember what we had and preserve it for eternity.
Hidden in your mind, I’ll stay. For no one to see. For no one to know.
Feel me in your soul. I’ll stay there. A memory. For no one to see. For us to know.
I wander through the night. Awake while the world is asleep. For no one to see. For you to know.
It’s all in the way you made me feel.

But…

Damaged

But not broken

Bruised

But not bleeding

Happy

But not smiling

Sad

But not crying

Thinking

But not speaking

Scared

But not hiding

Love

But not them

Here

But not there

Silent

But not inside

Empty

But filled with emotions

Dreaming

But not sleeping

Apathetic

But full of passion

Lost

But not when you are there.

Perfect girl

He lay on his back and stared at the sky. A glittering veil was covering the black. The moon was shining brightly; not whole yet. He felt the same, not whole. He had met his twin flame. He had loved her; made love to her. And then, then he had pushed her away. Dealing with those emotions was too complicated. And he was not a complicated man. He just knew that being with her felt like destroying himself. Being without her felt like missing a part of his soul. Her presence scared him. Almost as much as the knowledge that the sky is infinite and time is finite. He couldn’t admit that he was running away from her. It was easier to manipulate her into thinking that she was pushing him away. The truth was, he was missing her. He was missing the way she made his soul lighter and his thoughts less heavy. He missed how she inspired his work, and the sex. Yes, he missed how it felt to fill her out. He had had many girls and women in his life. They had never felt like her on his skin. Her kisses were like magic, her orgasms were bliss, his own release couldn’t be compared to anything he had ever experienced in bed. An intimacy that spread onto many levels connected them. From the moment they had first spoken, something had clicked. Profoundly. And now he was running away. He had an ugly soul, an empty heart, heavy thoughts. Others had described him that way. And he couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t care. She seemed to like all the facets of him. The good and the bad. And he was not prepared for that. He was not prepared to open himself to her, to let her see who he was. Who he is. Bare. Nowhere to hide his imperfections. He had always wanted to be seen, and to be able to be himself without getting strange looks. Now that he had met someone comfortable and sure enough of themselves to accept him for who he was, and he couldn’t handle it.

He slapped the grass next to him in frustration. Since when was he such a coward? Since when was he lamenting to have no one to love him, knowing full well that she was there. Was he so used to being hurt and rejected that being wanted and accepted scared him? That woman. She was addictive. Always on his mind. There was that fear of going back to her and letting her see his vulnerable side. There was that irrational panic that she could use it against him.

Until now, she never had. She had proven that she was trustworthy. He hated how much she completed him. He loved it too.

A raindrop landed on his forehead breaking his thoughts. From the porch his wife called him to get out of the rain, and go inside. He grunted a response and got off the lawn just in time, before the light dribble became a rainstorm. Minutes ago he had stared at the clear night sky. He had been sunken so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the clouds hiding the stars. Standing on the porch, he kept looking into the dark. She was his dark. Behind him, his wife was standing with a dishtowel. She was beautiful. He loved her. But she didn’t understand. She was not the one to fill that empty space in his heart. She was not the one who knew every secret, nothing withheld. But she was enough. She had to be. He took a quick look at his phone. He had no messages but he liked to see and know that she was online. Her profile picture was beautiful. For the moment, it was all he got from her. It was all he deserved. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Even if it meant leaving the safety of his family. After all, She was the one. His twin flame.

About writing… In the farthest sense.

I write a lot. It’s not always poetry or novels or flash fiction, but I write down thoughts, little notes or words. And I write daily. I use fountain pens and journals. My handwriting is horrible. I really need to focus to write nicely. It’s a challenge in my job too, lol. Yes, I have been told to try and clean my handwriting. I try, but honestly (and this sounds not nice at all) I can’t be bothered. And I don’t have the time either.

Once in a while I share a pic of an entry in my journal. I like doing that. It gives the entries something real, something deep. I have been told so, many times.

I go through many journals and wrote the last page in one just yesterday. I started that one in February. This morning I bought a new one. It is a weird feeling to write a last page in a journal, and it is a weird feeling to write the first page in a new journal. In my mind, I don’t want to soil the blank pages with nonsense. Usually, my notebooks are blunt and no-descript. Black. I like them to be closable too, preferably with an elastic band. Today, I found another one that reminded me of my youth and is over all quite me. It has James Dean on the cover. I like James Dean a lot. I read a couple of his biographies, saw all his movies, and we share a birthday. And it was not too expensive either. It is thin though… I am sure I need to get another one by Christmas.

People laugh (or smirk) when I unpack my journal and my fountain pens. I own many fountain pens in different styles and colours. I like how they all write differently and I like how the ink flows on to the paper. Writing is fun. Or so I think.

Old and new journal.

So yes… If you are looking for a gift for me… Fountain pens and journals are a good idea.

Do you write by hand? What do you use? Are your posts written down first in a journal? Mine are not, sometimes I write a spontaneous poem here (or on Wattpad) and copy it later into my journal 🙂

Another drunk letter to a stranger

Dear Stranger,

Another six week until we meet again. Am I allowed to admit that I am scared shitless? What if you don’t like me anymore? And what if we will not meet in the end? Gosh… We haven’t spoken in weeks. How are we supposed to be able to see each other face to face. With our past standing between us? I am not the woman you think I am. I need your encouragement to see this through. You’ll be 45 in two weeks. You are a man who saw the world and lived two lives. Me, I am 24 and inexperienced in most parts of life. I don’t want to blame my past, but if you grow up the way I did… Ha… Who cares? Not you. Yeah… Those words hurt. You should care. You really should. It’s me we’re talking about. The one you’ll let slip through your fingers. And you will regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want your love. I just want you to see me, the way I see you. I see through your bullshit although I am not visible at the moment for you. It’s my own choice. Fear and hope. Please forget me. Please don’t ever forget me. Six weeks. I want to put my nose against your neck and feel your breath against my skin. Your eyes on me. Your words, just for me. We are cowards. We will stand in the same room, wondering if the other is there or if the other is thinking about us, but we will not get in touch. We will lose the opportunity. Maybe the only one we’ve got. One chance. And the way I know us, we will blow it. Or maybe that’s just me, yeah, maybe that’s just me.

Where are you now? I haven’t seen nor heard anything from you in such a long time. Please be okay. Please don’t disappear on me. Please don’t forget me.

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will never forget you.

Still the most romantic thing I was ever told. I wish it was true.

Dear stranger, six more weeks. Do something. Court me. I will be yours, there’s no doubt about it. You just have to want me again. Please want me.

Gosh… I am pathetic, pleading and begging…

I will never send this letter your way. Doesn’t mean that I am not thinking these things.

Oh and in case you were wondering. I am well. Thank you for asking.

Lots of love,

C

Fear

Fear. I don’t know fear. I never have. I am not able to feel fear. Well, maybe I am, but I am not allowed to. Fear lets one make mistakes and mistakes are deadly. Fear. I am afraid to feel it. To be paralyzed by it. To let it rule me. But here I am and I feel it creeping up my spine and spreading on my neck. Sweat is forming on my forehead, my view becomes blurry. I cannot afford to lose my senses, but here I am; blind, deaf, mute. I cannot see because sweat is constantly running in my eyes and I can’t wipe it away or make it stop. I cannot hear because the pounding of my own pulse is the only noise in my head. My blood and my thoughts. The rest of the world is silent. I am silent too. I am silent. Deaf. Mute. Nobody knows that I am alive. Nobody knows that I ever existed. Fear. I was never able to feel fear. Now I do. I made mistakes. They paralyzed me. Fear. I don’t know fear. I am fear. I am ruled by it. Fuck fear. Fuck anxiety. I just want to hear, to breathe, to speak. I want to be me. Fuck fear…

colours

Inside this grey and black vessel is a lot of colour

I tend to forget it’s there, but it is bursting out the cracks

I am a rainbow hidden in a cloud

Let me rain

Let me shine

Let me show you who I really am.

I cover your black with my colour

And paint your night away

Until I used it all and I am back to my usual grey.

Share your colour with me

Make it rain

Make me shine

And show them who I really am.

We will paint the grey away;

Coloured rain

Colours reign.

This love has died

I felt your kisses and wanted more

But there was blood on your hands

You killed my heart and buried my soul.

No one will have me after we are through

And while I was damaged when we met

I am broken now that you left.

I look at the approaching pavement;

You killed me with your love.

I should not have given in to sin

But I was weak

For you, I would have been everything

And now

I am gone.

This love has died

But there will be redemption and I will be born again.

Shiny and new,

And not there for you.

But that’s just a tiny part of me.

I forget how to make my legs work. I stumble, I fall. My knees are bruised from polite submission. I can’t get up. Lying in the dirt. Digging my own hole with broken fingernails. Filthy and discarded. Damaged goods. That’s me. A failure. Someone who gave up.

But that’s just a tiny part of me.

I am a fighter. Stronger than I admit or let on. Calculated. Cold. Empathetic. Affectionate. One doesn’t exclude this other. I pulled myself up without any help. All by myself. Damaged goods. That’s me. A success. Someone who never gave up.

But that too is just a tiny part of me.

I know so much about music and movies and actors… And if I don’t know, I do my research. All this useless information that is stuck inside my head.

Voices… I have voices in my head. No, I am not insane. But I talk to myself and create storylines in my head. I think about what to say and work the words over in my head until they make sense. And my stutter got worse again.

Quite emotional… I am rarely emotional. I cried when my grandma passed away last November. I cried when my son told me that I am a bad mother (and when he told me a week later that he didn’t mean the words he said). I cried when I felt abandoned. But I also cry when I hear music. Lyrics get to me all the time. And all of a sudden I am a crying mess. I cry when I see movies or TV shows. Last time I cried was during an episode of How to Get Away With Murder. I’ve been binge watching that show since last Sunday.

Too open-minded.

I don’t like women. The drama and narcissism is just too much for me. I don’t have many friends.

I love my son. We have a deep bond and I hope that it will stay that way. I think, I know a thing or two about him he doesn’t know himself. And when he comes to term with it, I will be there.

I am picky. With everything. Most of all with food and books.

I was so proud that I lost lots of weight some time ago. I guess it is all back and a little extra too. I’ve been neglecting myself. Drank too much, ate too much crap. It will stop and change. I am a stress eater and I eat when I am bored…

I had three weeks off work and my work colleagues sent me messages that they miss me and that they’re looking forward to me coming back. Me too.

I suffer from depression. And the older I get, the more anxiety is added to the mix. I feel useless and obsolete when I am not taking my medication. It has worsened a lot.

Two years ago, right around this time I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I am not anymore. Yet, I still feel hopeful right now. As if it is okay.

Everything happens for a reason is such a cliché and yet such a huge part of my life’s philosophy.

Chewing gum. Phone/internet. These are my addictions.

I love vegetables, but I don’t like fruits.

I will never stop to need affection and acknowledgement. Of course I known that I need to earn it. And even when I receive love and admiration even, it is never enough to fill the hollow that has been there since I was a kid.

I didn’t have a nice childhood, but I didn’t have the worst either. And yet, all the events I experienced shaped me into the girl I am now. With a healthy mom and a present dad, I would be a different woman. A man once said I have daddy issues. I don’t know. Maybe he was right.

The most romantic thing I was ever told (spoken directly to me on the phone): “As long as I have cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will not forget you” It’s vulgar but beautiful too.

My favourite part of me is my eyes and my lips. I also like my voice.

Sometimes, things start out one way and end another and that’s okay.

People are onions. Layers and layers need to be peeled away to get to the core. And tears are plenty.

All of this is still just a tiny part of me. I am. But you just see the fragments I chose to show.

Failed beauty

I woke up surrounded by water

And I was drowning within

My soul was floating on sins;

My thoughts became darker.

I was not prepared for two years later

Pushing and pulling – twin-flame.

I wish there was a way to feel safer,

But there has to be a loser in every game.

This time it’s me; next time it’s you;

That’s the beauty and the failure of us two.

Soul-quake

There was an earthquake in my soul
I am stirred and shaken
Some parts of my walls crumbled
Some parts of my heart lie hidden underneath falling debris
There was a soulquake in my earth
My view is tearing up and blurry
Some parts of my world can never be rebuilt
Some parts of my inner self are left forever changed.

where are you now?

You lie on the floor, dirty and discarded. No one gives you a second look and no one is willing to touch you with their bare hands. You’ve been lying there for a couple of days now, but nobody cares. The stink makes them turn up their noses, but they won’t help you no matter what.
The saddest part is that you’ve lost your significant other. Someone helped her, but ignored you. And while she has a new life, you lie in grime and disgrace. Maybe all that is missing is a hole in your body. Thankfully, it’s not that bad. Yet.
You long to feel a warm body against yours again. Inside of you. But as long as you are like this – dirty and stinky, nobody is going to see you. You fight for attention every day, but you only succeed in being pushed farther away.
You miss your significant other and wonder if she’s found someone new already. You always knew that she would leave you at the first opportunity, but to leave you like this – in this misery, that was low even for her.
You used to be together. Always. You were a pair and did everything together, but she abandoned you and you will have to rot there in the dark. Alone and cold. Scared too. This is not the right life for you. Without her, there is not reason for you to hope and to live anymore and that thought makes you loose hope.

You are a sock after all. You are supposed to have a partner. But you were pushed under the bed and then you were forgotten. You’re all alone. Covered in dust. No body needs one single sock. You wish you could go to sleep, but you can’t. You can hear the life going on around you while you are lost in the dark. No body is missing you. At least not enough to search for you. Socks are lost daily and it is no big deal in the human world.
But what is this? A chubby hand grabs you and you revel in the feel of warm skin against your fabric.
“Mom… I found my lost sock!” the sound is coming out of a little human’s face and it is too loud. And yet, you feel like celebrating. Until he throws you away again. At first it is dark and you are trying to understand where you are, but then you understand that you landed in sock heaven. A hamper full of clothes and underwear and the you see her. Time slows down. She looks just as beautiful as she did the day you were put together at the factory. She sees you too and you know that your pain has ended. The days you had to suffer on your own on the cold floor underneath a bed are over. Soon you will be paired with your loved one again. Being apart was torture, but everything is about to change.
Life for a sock is not always easy, but it’s surely an exciting one.

(Written in 2014)

Am I right or am I left?

I am right when I turn left

I am left when I am right

I sleep in my dreams

And dream when I am asleep

I cry when I laugh

And laugh when I cry

I am invisible when I am here

And here when I’m invisible

I am here when I am there

And there when I am here

I make no sense when I write

And I write non-sense

I listen to your whisper

And whisper when I listen

I do all and am nothing

I do nothing and am all

Two sides to every story

Two stories for every side.

One last breath

She runs through the night, heavy footsteps are following her. Eating up the space between her and her predator. Her lungs are burning and her legs are slowing down; her muscles are tired and shaking from the unusual exertion. Her breath puffs out between her lips in visible clouds. Panic is all she can feel. And cold. Icy cold that spreads inside her bones and infests her entire body. The footsteps behind her come closer. She keeps running. At least she tries to keep running. Panting. She is trying to fill her lungs with oxygen, but she doesn’t succeed. Her breathing is too shallow. It’s quiet in the dark. Lonely. She can only hear his steps. Her own steps. The blood in her ears. Please, please. Please! She whispers. She prays that someone will stop the demon behind her, but the cold in her heart lets her know that she will not be saved. Her soul is lost. Rotting. Decaying. Turning to dust. She will be forgotten. Erased from this earth. And no one will remember that she ever existed. She never left a trace. She rounds a corner, losing foot on the slippery pavement. She struggles to get her feet under her body again. In her back, she tries to crawl away from the creature that has been following her. Eyes wide, she finally sees him up close. He isn’t running anymore. Like the predator he is, he comes closer. And closer. One last attempt to get up and run away, but her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. It doesn’t follow her orders, and when he kneels in front of her, with his long cold fingers touching her throat she looks in his dark eyes for the first and the last time. Like obsidian. A dark abyss. Beautiful. Beguiling. Pleading. As if they were asking for forgiveness and permission, all at the same moment. But then he blinks and the gentleness she thinks she has seen a is gone. It made room for something cruel and soulless. The hand around her throat closes and the breathing air becomes less. And less. She tries to gulp in some air, but the hand on her throat prevents it. Her body spasms. “Please, don’t let me die like this” are her final thoughts before she feels a strange and uninvited sense of lust. Her eyes keep staring at him but her soul is on its way out of her body. The horror and confusion she felt will be forever painted on her face. In rivulets, blood runs down her throat from where his sharp claws had held on to her. The demon lets go of her empty vessel and pushes angry tears off his face with the back of his blood stained hand.
I have to do it. He bares his fangs and with gusto, he buries them where his claws have left a bloody wound on her throat.
The heat leaves her body as one last breath, one last puff of air, is pushed past her lips. He stills his hunger. His thirst. And he feels the energy of the young woman setting in his veins. He sighs satisfied, but he wants more. He needs more. It is the nature of things. He lets go of the limp, pale body and gets up. He looks at her. Desperate. He is desperate for a companion, a mate. But who could ever love what he is? Who he is? She was his first for this night. A good start. Growling, he pulls his fangs in again. A tortured sigh escapes his lips again as he turns to leave. One last look at his prey and the peaceful way she looks. All dead people have this look. If he could only feel some serenity. If his tormented soul could only find peace. His hands turn to fists in his pockets as he pushes weak and romantic thoughts aside. This is his life. His hunt continues. It has to. It will never stop. Because if it does, he will cease to exist. And the tiny fragments of the souls of the people he has had the privilege to empty would be gone too. He can’t let that happen. They all are part of him now. Some of them is in his bloodstream and nurturing his body. Squaring his shoulders, he walks into the dark moonless night. He was a man of honour and principles. At least he has been before he turned into this… The taker of the last breath.

Road to hell

And as she is standing on this slippery pebbled shore and sees the world is floating by, she takes a step on wobbly legs and starts on her road to hell. She knows the way and she knows how to get there on her own. No one on this journey with her. No one else to blame. As much as she wants to pretend it’s them – the men she seduces and teases; the words she doesn’t use; the past, the present, and the future. But no – this is about her and her road to hell. Maybe she has found her hell already? But no – this is life. Her life. Her choices. She keeps watching as the world floats by until she understands that she has lost her legs and that she is floating too. Well damn – isn’t this swell – this road to hell.

Throwback

I just stumbled over this… I wrote it last October and I think, it feels real and intense and maybe even powerful. I can’t remember that I wrote it, but it is definitely my writing and my fictional character in this. Can I be blunt? I read this and I teared up and I don’t know why. It’s the sole reason why I share this link and hope that you will be touched by this too.

https://micqu.wordpress.com/2016/10/26/next-november/

Thank you.

Together we’re golden

And when I said that I would not be leaving
I had one foot out of the door.
There was no way to start the healing
with you lying on my floor.

Your sweet scent and your honey words
Are sticky on my skin.
You want the best of both worlds
But never asked if I was in.

And as the years passed
And my love slowly faded away
Our kisses became chaste
While you whispered in your sleep ‘please stay’.

I can’t be who I am not
Even though I might not know who stares at me through the mirror
I miss who I was
If I could just remember it clearer.

I’ll have to let you go
Before I’m ready to return
Before I can admit to know
Before my soul stops to burn.

I see you lying where I left you
And bend down for a kiss
In this moment I understand our truth
It doesn’t have to be perfect to be bliss.

Without you, too many parts of me are empty
Too many thoughts are left unthought
An angel that heavens sent me
To create our very own smut.

Yes, it is boring when you are not here
And my arms are cold
When you are not near.
I promise, I am fully yours again to have and to hold.

Forever is for never
And we both know it well
And maybe it is most clever
If we keep this between us; promise to never tell.

My naked soul molds perfectly against yours
We waited for hours and a day
Now we are too close
To what we want to run away.

Lies and lines
Written and told
As long as the sun shines (on us)
Our love will be gold.

The storm is you

Open eyes and open heart
The storm is you.
My breath of life belongs to you.

But I claim it back
I need it too.

Roughed up by the wind
Bruised in hidden places.
The cloud is you.
My tears are yours.

But I claim them again.
I need them for myself too,

For I am the sun and the light and the moon and the stars…
I am the beauty, high up in the sky.

Come!

I run and I run. My legs are burning. They are heavy as lead. But I keep running. I run towards the dark alley that is calling my name. An alley I would avoid at all cost every other night. Not now. Not tonight. You are calling me. And I have to find you. I need you.

“Come Cathy!” I hear it loud and clear. And I keep running. And running. Because I want to catch you. You are my safe haven. I need to find you. Your presence will give me peace. And I keep running towards the dark. And the unknown. Edged on by the hope to find you, my love.

“Come Cathy!” And I want to come to you. But I can’t reach you. No matter how fast I run, you are never there.

“Come Cathy!” It beginning to be frustrating. Devastating. Desperation sets in. How can I reach you? And I run and I run. Until I can’t run anymore and I stop. Everything is dark. There is no sound. Claustrophobic. Empty walls are closing in on me.

“Are you there?” I whisper. It sounds like the loudest scream in this absolute silence. I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. And I realise that I am afraid. Fucking scared, actually. Of this silence. Of this void. Of this emptiness. Of you not being there.

“Are you there?” I whisper again. There is something cold and wet on my cheeks. Tears? And I can’t fill my lungs with enough air to breathe properly.

“Are you there?” I turn around several times. Turning in never-ending circles. I don’t know where I am. Lost and confused. And I am so alone. And so cold. Cold and alone. Inside, and outside too. Lost in the dark. In the unknown. Inside my dream.

“Come Cathy!” But I can’t do what you want me to do. I am not there. I am not real. Nothing is.

I wake up drenched in sweat. I remember the voice loud and clear. I know the voice. Your voice. My heart is pounding against my ribs and I can still hear my blood’s flow in my ears. It makes me deaf to every other sound surrounding me. Around me, the bedroom is bathed in a red hue from the sun touching the closed blinds. “Come Cathy!” resonates behind my eyes, and between my ears. I don’t know what it means. I can’t remember a thing. Nothing that matters. And in my agitated state it feels as if someone is watching me. I am at peace. I am safe. Because this is real, and you are not there.