73 questions

1. What’s your favorite movie
A few good men / my own private Idaho

2. Favorite movie in the past five years?
Théo & Hugo / Deadpool 2

3. Favorite Hitchcock film?
Never seen a Hitchcock film

4. A book you plan on reading?
Notes on a Nervous Planet by Matt Haig

5. A book that you read in school that positively shaped you?
On n’est pas sérieux quand on a dix-sept ans by Barbara Samson (English title: Being seventeen)

6. Favorite TV show that’s currently on?
The Big Bang Theory / How to get away with Murder / the Americans

7. On a scale of one to ten how excited are you about life right now?
If One is bad and Ten is super excited, I am a 4

8. iPhone or Android?
Android. Never had and never will own an iPhone

9. Twitter or Instagram?
Twitter

10. Who should EVERYONE be following right now?
Matt Haig. Not only is he a very talented author, he is also openly speaking about mental health, and overall, he is not afraid to speak his mind.

11. What’s your favorite food?
The French call it Bouchée à la Reine. (Vol au vents?)

12. Least favorite food?
Brussel sprouts

13. What do you love on your pizza?
Spinach, prawns, eggs

14. Favorite drink?
Tea or Pinot Gris

15. Favorite dessert?
Mousse au Chocolat

16. Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?
Milk Chocolate

17. Coffee or tea?
Tea

18. What’s the hardest part about being a mum?
Managing the chaos and remembering everyone’s schedules, while working, and making sure everyone has enough clean clothes in their cupboard to last two days

19. What’s your favorite band?
Anathema

20. Favorite solo artist?
Ben Howard

21. Favorite song?
Running up that hill by Kate Bush (and most cover versions too)

22. If you could sing a duet with anyone, who would it be?
Robbie Williams

23. If you could master one instrument, what would it be?
Piano

24. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?
Left lower arm

25. To be or not to be?
To be

26. Dogs or cats?
Neither, but if I had to choose: dogs

27. Bird-watching or whale-watching?
Whale-watching

28. Best gift you’ve ever received?
A personal song from a musician I once admired

29. Best gift you’ve ever given?
Personalized jewelry. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but I took great care in choosing it and there person was really happy and is wearing it a lot

30. Last gift you gave a friend?
Tote bag

31. What’s your favorite board game?
Karuba

32. What’s your favorite country to visit?
France is nice

33. What’s the last country you visited?
Germany

34. What country do you wish to visit?
UK and/or Patagonia (which, of course, is, technically, only a region in Argentina)

35. What’s your favorite color?
Purple

36. Least favorite color?
Orange

37. Diamonds or pearls?
Diamonds

38. Heels or flats?
Flats

39. Pilates or yoga?
Yoga

40. Jogging or swimming?
Jogging

41. Best way to de-stress?
Drinking Maté and listening to music. A bath helps too.

42. If you had one superpower, what would it be?
Teleportation

43. What’s the weirdest word in the English language?
Acknowledgement, awkward, jealous

44. What’s your favorite flower?
Sunflower

45. When was the last time you cried?
Today

46. Do you like your handwriting?
Yes

47. Do you bake?
Yes

48. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
I am too hairy everywhere

49. What is your most favorite thing about yourself?
My eyes, my ass, my boobs, my humour, my wit, my empathy

50. Who do you miss most?
Jamie and Daniel

51. What are you listening to right now?
Snoring of my partner. Musically, I am listening to a random playlist on Spotify

52. Favorite smell?
My perfume (Jean-Paul Gaultier pour Femme)

53. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
My boss

54. Who was the last person you sent a text to?
Robert

55. A sport you wish you could play?
Ballet

56. Hair color?
Brown

57. Eye color?
Brown

58. Scary film or happy endings?
Happy Ending

59. Favorite season?
Fall

60. Three people alive or dead that you would like to have dinner with?
River Phoenix, Emma Thompson, Thom Yorke

61. Hugs or kisses?
Hugs

62. Rolling Stones or the Beatles?
The Beatles (duh!!)

63. Where were you born?
Luxembourg city

64. What is the farthest you have been from home?
Djerba (Tunisia)

65. Sweet or savory?
Savory

66. Lipstick or lip gloss?
Lipstick

67. What book have you read again and again?
None. There are books I read twice, but usually, I only read them once.

68. Favorite bedtime story?
None

69. What would be the title of your autobiography?
In search of a balanced mind – the story of a troubled soul

70. Favorite sound?
Happy children playing and laughing

71. Favorite animal?
Donkey

72. Who is your girl crush?
Angelina Jolie

73. Last photograph you took?

Showing my view to my colleague while chatting.

Questions in the comments are allowed and encouraged. Thank you.

(Credit to Vogue: 73 questions)

Random_20180602

I write because I can and because I have to. It is my therapy. Often, I write impulsively, so that you only see a momentary glimpse into my internal landscapes. I am happy with the people who are currently in my life. I am worth way more than I allow myself to be and I am grateful that they see it too. They love every inch of me. They accept every part of baggage on my back and in my soul. And I love them just the way they are. Flaws and all. That is how it should be. That is what gives me the strength to let go of old weight on my shoulders. I am happy that I am still here… As I mentioned before, I don’t take rejection very well. And I take it even worse when it comes from someone I adore. It almost ended badly. But, I am still here. Strong. Confident. With my ups and downs. The best version of me yet.

Written impulsively too.

xx

Last letter to a stranger

I always knew that I wouldn’t be the one to save you. I cannot save myself, how could I possibly save you? See? I thought we had a connection. I really did. After all, you saved me for more than two years. We share the same thoughts and opinions. We share the same fantasies. But that is not enough. It is not enough to be less toxic than it is. Because you are who you are, and I am who I am. Together we are bad for each other. Apart, we are in pain; but it is healthier than any other option. And that’s good. But because I also am who I am, I am willing to submit to you and your wishes. I am willing to forget what I know, I am willing to forget who I am, to be the person you want. But you know what? That’s not how it works. I am a strong woman. I might not always be mentally stable – in fact, a lot of my latest bouts of depression and feelings of unworthiness were fuelled by you. I know that you are blind to that. Or are you just pretending? You are in your head and I am in mine. You are in my head too. I romanticised something that was not romantic in the first place. Or maybe, maybe it was. Maybe it was too much. There is a reason why I keep thinking of you as my twinflame. I allowed you to do things and tell me things I would never have allowed anyone else. Willingly. I gave my consent. I gave you all the control over our situation. I reasoned for myself that it was out of respect for who you are and what you do – being in the public eye and all. But the truth is: I wanted to push away my own responsibility. Truth is, I need someone to take care of me. Someone who shows affection and is attentive to my needs. Someone who tells me what I need to hear. I wanted that person to be you. I assumed things and I projected feelings… It was my own fault. My responsibilities. In the end – you are free as a bird. Caged by your own insecurity and your own mental health. Me, I am not free. I live in my own cage. No, I am not free. And yet, I am the one who tried to demand all these things from you. Mostly, I demanded time and some sort of steadiness. You weren’t willing to give me that. Of course I felt rejected and began to overthink. And I ended up in a spiral that didn’t allow me to break free. I am still holding on, to be honest. Even though I understand your “fuck off” in my direction very well. But – silence is easy. Talking is brave. We are both cowards, though. We had this one opportunity and we didn’t use it. But again, blaming this one opportunity is wrong. We had so much time; we had months and years, but, we chose to keep the distance. We never shared anything physical. Not even once. And this brings to my mind something you said after our last video-call. I said that for the first time, it felt real. You smiled and said: nothing is real unless you are in the same room and breathe the same air. I wanted it to be wrong. But last night I understood how right you were. We were in the same room. We breathed the same air. I even inhaled your cigarette smoke. And yet… We were miles apart. We never tried to bridge the gap. Of course, it would have been my role to play the proper fangirl and try to get to you. But – I am not a fangirl. I never was. You are only human. You have flaws, plenty of them. And I was willing to accept them and you. I deserve and demand a better treatment. I am worth more than that. At a training a couple of weeks ago, we were asked to write down the answer to the question: how much am I worth? I had a good day and so I answered: I am worth more than I allow myself to be.

You once told me that you don’t deserve to be loved. That you deserve to feel pain. I think, you deserve to be loved the way you are. I think, one should not change in order to be loved – no matter who you are and how you behave. And I think that you don’t deserve pain, though I know what you mean when you say you do.

The other day I wanted to mark myself and the upcoming event. But I felt a complete lack of emotions.

Last night, while I stood in the crowd. I felt that lack of emotions too. It’s the opposite of how I am feeling now. Silence scares me. Your silence is at once comforting and torturing. equal to being rejected and being ignored. So what am I doing now? What the fuck am I doing?! I am doing what I kept doing for so long. I am finding excuses for you and forgetting me and my needs. We both know that it was and is all about you. My own needs just coincidentally match some of yours. And you fed me just enough to stay around. Now that you said goodbye, all I feel is empty and I am drowning in a void. Oh Stranger… I can’t let go – I have to let you go. I want to protect us both. I want the best for you. And me. I keep forgetting me. Such a bad habit, isn’t it? And I keep forgetting to learn my lessons, too. This was important for me. Very much so. You said that we will meet in an other life. We only have this one life. I choose to write this final letter. Intense and overwhelming, just how you know me. And how you will miss me. Goodbye dear stranger. I will miss you forever and a day.

Always and forever your Sweetie

November 2017

mind’s vomit

It’s too easy for me to cling to people who make me happy. This also makes it easy for me to doubt every little thing they do or don’t do, when I am overly tired or not in a good mood. (Like today.) Questions like: why? How? arise and there is no answer. Simply because some things happen without a reason. And that is perfectly fine or it should be. That, of course, clashes with my mantra of “everything happens for a reason”. It’s self-sabotaging and I know it. Logically, I know it. But I can’t prevent it. I can’t stop it from happening.

Is it a trust issue? Or is it a self-confidence issue? A mix of both? There are rare moments when I can see myself through the eyes of an other. During those moments I see a different person. Someone loveable.

I am a simple woman. Make me laugh and tell me how awesome I am and you will have a piece of my heart. But only if it happened at the right moment. The right moment being when I am in a free and serene headspace.

Yes, I think too much for my own good. And I doubt everything nice that happens to me, because in my life, happiness always came at a price. I am scared that my happiness is fake, and that if the people inspiring it are seeing me for who I am, they will turn their backs on me and take the happiness with them when they are leaving. Please don’t leave.

After all, I am leading a good life. Not always conventional, but a good life nonetheless. And I am not scared to ruin my own life; I am scared to make other people’s life a burden – as long as I am a daily part of it. I am demanding. Often, I am not afraid to ask for the things that fulfill my demands.

All in all, I am a pretty amazing woman. I am humourous, sensual, (I like to think that I am) intelligent enough to hold a conversation. I am kind and grateful, and trying to please those around me (without neglecting my own self). But I am also clingy and possessive and I don’t trust easily. I am not jealous. But I don’t deserve love, and I wonder why someone would spend time with me. It’s deeply rooted in my childhood. Things were broken inside of me and they cannot be fixed. Those damages overshadow the logical and they ruin everything good.

I am tired today. I couldn’t sleep. And these thoughts needed an outlet. I am unapologetic. And I know that I am overwhelming – in a bad way. But I am also honest about who I am and how I feel. No one is forced to read my words. But if you did read this far, I thank you. Some call this writing stream of consciousness. Today I call it my mind’s vomit.

Have a great day. Thank you for your eyes and ears.

xx

Time heals our wounds

One day you will wake up and a wound that has always itched and that has always hurt – even if it was in a dull, almost imperceptible way, will have healed.

You will be surprised and it will be scary at first. You will try to get that feeling back – after all, it has been a part of you and your being for such a long time. But, let it go. You don’t need it anymore. And the hollow it left will be filled with something new. Something good.

This comes from a person who believed that wounds can be concealed but never healed. I woke up with a weight lifted off me. And I had the immediate desire to write it down. Because, if the hurt comes back (and it will be back full force), then I will have this to remind me that there are days when everything that weighs me down doesn’t seem to be as important anymore.

I’ll leave you on this rather content and serene note. I am going to make the beds now, then I’ll put my golden shoes on and spend my day at IKEA. (For me, IKEA is more stressful than working a double shift at the nursery).

Cathy

It goes both ways

I am a firm believer of “everything happens for a reason” and ” people walk parts of your journey with you for a reason”. Until now, I only applied it to me. This person entered my life for a reason and this person left for a reason. The reasons (phew… Lots of reason here), the reasons aren’t always understandable at first. Most often, we only understand the lesson we learned in hindsight. We are learning from the memories and experiences we made.

I recently understood that this works both ways.

I struggled with the fact that a person is not an active part of my life anymore. It was (and partly it still is) hurting my most sensitive feelings. And I miss him. But the truth is, I don’t miss him. I miss the idea of him. I miss the knowledge that he was just a swipe on the screen away. And while I tried to come to terms with it, using my mantra (everything happens for a reason), I failed to understand that I am not a part of his life anymore either. And as much as I have learned and gained (and lost) from this experience, he learned and gained (and lost) an equal amount of things. Sure, his lessons are certainly different, but they are there.

That thought, honestly, it blew my mind. Of course, I began pulling myself down and insulting myself as being egoistic and self-obsessed the moment I had some time to mull it over.

The fact remains that every coin has two sides. Everything we do has consequences. And sometimes, when we interact with someone, things happen for a reason. For us and for them too.

The lesson I am taking from this, is being even more considerate and kind. We all have our internal struggles. Most are hidden to the public eye.

xx

Cathy

Thinking about last year…

Where do I start? This year has been the best and the worst in a long while. But how and why? Well… On the outside, everything went really well. In February, I started the best job I could ever wish for. I am very happy there. I celebrated my tenth wedding anniversary with my husband in August. We built a house together and moved the family into said house last weekend. I reconciled with family members who were mere distant memories. I got a raise at work and a trainee, despite the few hours I work. (26 instead of 40). My kids are doing more or less well. Financially, everything seems to work out too. We are not rich, but we can afford to take the kids to the movies and to the restaurant once in a while. I had to get a new car in April. It drives me from a to b, but it’s not my favourite…
On the outside, everything is looking up.
The inside though, my internal life is a mess. I suffered from a sever bout of depression this year. Worse than ever before, and for the first time, I asked for help. I couldn’t go on the way I was. Asking for help felt like failing, but it also felt like being in control of my damned emotions again. My behaviour was toxic. I cut my skin and pretended that I was marking myself to remember things. I was in complete denial of my own needs and suffered willingly for someone else’s good. For a while, I took meds – I am not taking them right now, and they helped, but I also know that I need to get on without the chemical help. I was overwhelmed with the fast success and I felt inapt and unprepared. For everything. Stepping out of one’s comfort zone is a scary thing. Emotionally, this year was very draining. From dealing with the past and worrying about the future, to coping with the present. I tend to assume and overthink. I often suppose and project, instead of knowing, and that’s what gets me every time. Add people to the mix who are sending mixed signals and are slipping through my fingers when all I want is to keep them close – let’s just say that it was the “coup de grâce”. The cherry on top.
My low self-esteem and the fact that I seldom allow myself to praise myself or be proud of an achievement makes life even harder for me. As it did this year. I guess, my ups and downs are palpable in my writing and in my poetry. Mostly the downs though, because I don’t need to write as much when I am okay. (Or even in a manic phase.) I scare people away with my moods. I am quite overwhelming at times.
I also made friends and lost friends this year. Acquaintances became friends. Daily parts of my life. I was mentioned in the acknowledgements of two different books and a song was written with me in mind. I saw some live music, not a lot, and I bought some of music, I always do – nothing new.

My favourite books this year were “You” and its sequel “Hidden Bodies” by Caroline Kepnes.

My favourite movie was “Paris 05:59 Théo & Hugo”.

My favourite musical release? I couldn’t tell. I simply don’t know since I didn’t listen to all that much different music this year. Though, Spotify lists the following as my most listened artists this year:

  • Pearl Jam
  • IAMX
  • Anathema
  • New Order
  • Kate Bush
  • Tadgh Daly
  • Lone Wolf
  • Fabrizio Paterlini

I read a lot and I wrote a lot, but I couldn’t reach the 400 poems I wrote last year. But I also drank and smoked too much, lol. Again, self-destructive behaviour is one of my patterns.
I loved a lot, and hated very few things, and no people. I stood up for myself and cowered behind bad excuses at times too. I cried more tears than I shed the entire decade before. I felt anxiety and excitement…
And at the end of it all, I am daring to let go of an idea that has been planted in my mind for too long now. I kept holding on for the wrong reasons and now, my mind and my soul have to reconcile and accept that my heart is saying goodbye. I am letting go.

I had a good year. Intense and emotional, but successful too.

To everyone I accepted in my world and didn’t push away – please stay.
To everyone I accepted in my world and who betrayed me – fuck off.
To everyone I accepted in my world and pushed out – I am sorry, but it had to be this way.

To everyone reading this – thank you.

I know my flaws and my qualities and they help me survive.

Thank you all for your support and friendship, have a happy new year.

xx
Cathy

(A lighter version of this was shared on Wattpad…)

I am fighting a war today. With me and myself. I am tired. And a woman. (sorry, TMI. I know). But my thoughts suck tonight. And there is only one person I would like to call. But my head tells me to let him be. And it makes me even more miserable. I feel as if I am sinking. And then the addict inside wakes up. Come on! Just once. You’ll feel better afterwards. Trust me. But as I said; I am fighting. And running in a circle. I try to escape myself, but – a circle. There is no escape. And I would talk to a friend. But in this kind of mood, my mind tells me that I don’t deserve to bother someone else with my ridiculous self-made problems.

Sometimes, I feel like I am running out of words and out of sound and all that comes out of my mouth are trivialities, because I simply can’t find a voice to tell the people around me how I really feel. (From this ancient post moods… )

 

The Cure  -Plainsong

 

SO I sit here and keep fighting. I am alone. No kids around. The music is loud. “Disintegration” by the Cure. I might need a cure for my own disintegration soon too.

A week or so ago, a friend told me that one of my qualities is that I never lose my humour. It just gets darker.

 

And I wonder, if I really fill his holes, why doesn’t he send a life sign. Nothing in weeks. Maybe he doesn’t want his holes to be filled. Maybe he likes to stand in the rain and the way it soaks his soul. And the creative in him can use the feelings of hurt he inflicts on himself to write. And I will be the reason for the rain and the pain. But I am not. I can’t be. Please don’t make me into someone I am not.

 

drowning internally One of those poems I have written a long time ago. From time to time, the emotions in it become true again.

 

xx

Cathy

I’ll never stop giving up

I sit and I wait. Sitting and waiting. And I hope that no one will ask what I am waiting for. I would answer “Life”, and they would quote John Lennon “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”. And they wouldn’t even know that it’s not a simple quote but that this sentence is a line of lyrics from a song he wrote for his beautiful, beautiful beautiful, beautiful boy Julian. And I would bite my tongue because information like that is plenty in my brain. It’s just –  no one cares about it. And that’s why I keep sitting and waiting. For life to happen. And to understand it. But that is not entirely true. Because from my place, I have a nice view. I observe and analyse and I keep to myself. The things I know, are not the things I need to share. But on the other hand, all the half-truths and snippets of misinformation I know, are not the ones others want to hear. It’s a circle. And if I don’t find the right corner to get off, I will stumble and my clumsy attempt to catch myself will end with me lying face down enduring the spiral, the slipstream that brought this upon me. Upwards or downwards? Which way does it go? Maybe just sideways? Either way, I will end up puking on the floor and emptying what little is inside me. All of it, until the heaving is dry and the acrid smell of bile chases everyone away. Everyone left the building. Including me. I need to pay attention to the little things. Hold on tight to the pillars of this meager existence, to keep myself from stumbling. And while I am doing just that, all these unfiltered thoughts are rushing down onto the screen.

I put the cigarette to my lips and inhale. No filter. Rolled with my own shaky hands. Because – yes, why? Because it is edgy. Cool people roll their cigarettes themselves. It’s all pretending anyway. Oh yes, I’m a great pretender. Who gives a crap about my cigarettes and my thoughts. But I keep writing. Someday, the romantic voice inside of my head suggests, someone will read the mix of weirdness and eclecticism my brain produces. They will beg me to publish a book – a memoir – a biography of this writer and all will be good. At least, I have dreams. The other possibility, far more probable, is that the words stay unread. I will die in a stuffy room with overflowing ashtrays and too many empty bottles. Maybe a cat or two. Sheets of papers with the start of the next big novel is strewn across the floor and the bed. Music loud and on repeat. And in the center of it all; me. Picture me like Jimi Hendrix, suffocated on my own vomit. A rock star death. Don’t be alarmed, though. I am not a rock star. I don’t play the guitar well enough and all in all, I am just a coward who never did any drugs. On second thought, aren’t most rock stars ridden with anxiety? Isn’t that why they turn to alcohol and drugs and whatnot? Always on the hunt for the next high? But one day your brain (and your soul too), are just too used to the girls screaming your name and the papers printing your photographs, your name in the headlines. And while you pretend to crave your privacy, the thought of being left alone and forgotten scares you to death. And so you power on, with some chemical help, because you couldn’t do all the shows and interviews and all that other crap that comes with being famous, without it. I don’t envy these people at all. Not one bit.

And so I stare out onto the lake. The sky is grey, the water is too. And I wait for the next idea to come up. A real writer wouldn’t wait. They would write. Or am I wrong and a real writer would draw charts and write every idea down? Being organised? Where’s the fun in that? So – no labeling my ideas. Just sitting. Waiting. Staring. Smoking. And while I am doing that, the music plays softly in the background. It’s not loud enough to drown out the voices that keep telling me that I am a waste of talent. I can still hear them judging me and how I spend the days. For them, I am doing nothing. For me, I am savoring the moment. It’s as a friend told me once: We need time to understand who we are before someone else comes along and makes us into the version they want us to be. So maybe – just maybe, my answer to the question “What are you waiting for”, would not be “Life”, but maybe the truer answer would be “To understand”. I guess the reaction would be close to the same. They would urge me to get up and do something.

But, if they don’t see it, does that really mean that I am not doing anything? Because in my mind, eccentric as it may be, I am doing a whole lot. I am not giving up.

 

If I give it up

Give it up

Give it up,

I’ll never stop giving up.

Silence… Alone in my head…

I want more

Coffee and a cigarette. I drink tea and I don’t smoke. Classical music. Loud. What about post rock and progressive? Too loud. For now. In front of me, a book. It drew me in. An autobiographical striptease. No niceties. Just truth. Me at the center. Recognizing that I sit here, day in and day out. In a haze. I’m sad. I am numb. I can’t be. I can’t do. Tomorrow, I will get up and do whatever I need to do. Today I sit here. There are no thoughts. Blank. Empty. When did I become this empty? I am full of thoughts. Of doubts. Full of shit. Yet I am empty. Where is that explosion of emotions? I wish I could cry. I can’t. I close my eyes, tilt my head to the side and with two fingers I rub my forehead. Just a moment of quiet. I open my eyes and look into the distance. There is nothing to see. Just all the things I can’t do. Life. I can’t do life right now. I don’t have the energy. I wish I knew who to blame. No one to blame. It’s not about them or what they don’t do. It’s about me. The lack of me and the question why I even exist. I am not doing anything. Just sitting. Starring. Sipping coffee and waiting for the day to be over. It’s only morning. And I am tired. Tired of not knowing what to do. I know exactly what to do, but those are not the things I am referring to. I am not lazy. But I am not here. No one’s home. Too many times I dreamed myself away. This time I didn’t come back. Apathetic. I forgot who I am. Who will I be? Deeper and deeper. I drown. Not in self-loathe or self-pity. I just drown. Around me, a cloud. It keeps me away from all the important emotions. Indifference. At the same time, I’m restless. Nervous inside. Irritable. Lost. But I don’t want to be found by just anyone. It has to be the right someone. And so, my thoughts come and go. In quick succession. If I could just do something. And use the word ‘just’ a lot less. There should be more. But there is nothing but grey. And I am a hostage. Caged by myself. And the voice that keeps telling me to be someone is getting louder again. Leave a footprint. Impress people with your skills. What skills? Believe in me! I can’t believe in myself. I am just an addict. Addicted to words people say and don’t mean. Hurt by those same words when I see that they were just that: words. Meaningless. When they meant everything to me. Another sip of coffee. It’s cold. The coffee. Not me. Starring in the distance again. Everything is blurry. Absently rubbing my fingers under my nose. They smell of cold cigarette smoke. Disgusting. Song number 8. I hear the word peace. It’s like waking up. My focus is broken. Did I just write these words? Should I read them again? Are there typos? And if there are, will they make me look as pathetic as I feel? Inadequate. And I think of that group I am a member of on Facebook. Very hidden, because it’s closed. The same people share on the same days. A song on Saturday. A reason to be grateful on Monday. I am an ungrateful bitch. I don’t own anything to anyone. And isn’t that a lie I tell myself? But I don’t want to be grateful for shallow things. And the meaningful things – they are mine. I don’t want to share them at a given time. And my songs? Just as weird as I am. Not ‘Music for the Masses’. If I could just hide. That thought clashes with that other longing. See me. Long months ago, close to three years now, I came up with a couple of sentences that capture me quite well:

See me, don’t just look at me. But if you look at me And see me, please love me

I look out of the window. The second-last piece of music plays and I look at the jewel-case next to me. It’s called ‘The Trees’. It sounds as if there is an imminent catastrophe. Nothing soothing in this music. I rub at the corner of my mouth. Left side. Unimportant details. Two word sentences. No style of writing. For a fleeting moment I wonder if this is hard to read and then I remember that I want it this way. Short sentences. Broken thoughts. More impact. The piano plays faster. My fingers type faster too. I close my eyes. Dive in the music. Head first. My fingers keep pushing buttons. I taught myself how to type. And then it stops. And all I want to do is plead for the song to go on.  But it doesn’t. I haven’t been able to let my fingers glide over the keyboard like this in a long while. Guided by the music. Me and music. Music and  me. I know nothing about music. I just know that I love to be touched. The music stopped. The spell is broken. The mood is lifted. Not much. But enough.For now. My thirst is not stilled. There is still hunger. Longing. Want. Need. But what happens when I get what I wanted and thought I needed? I will never be satisfied. It is never enough. There has to be more. Always more.

Some people get by
With a little understanding
Some people get by
With a whole lot more
I don’t know
Why you gotta be so undemanding
One thing I know
I want more
I want more

I’ll leave you with this. Oh and by the way… While I wrote this, I was listening to Max Richter – the Blue Notebooks