Distant (for Sunday Scribblings)

Like drawings on water

Thoughts come and disappear

Never changing its essence

The water’s always clear

But I choose to retrace them

Again and again

By analysing and dwelling

Never putting down the pen

Until these drawings

Become all I can see

And the water blurs into

A distant memory

Painting whispers (for Poetry Potluck)

Like an undercurrent

There’s a longing in me

A constant pull

A desire to break free

From this life and routine

Day in and day out

It’s like inside of me

Someone’s screaming out loud

While little fluffy clouds are passing by

Like whispers

Painted in the sky

A captivating point of view (Short story for Sunday Scribblings)

A captivating array of images and thoughts carried her away from the present moment. With her eyes closed now she felt her mind slipping deeper and deeper into a dream world, colours bursting into light, then darkness.

When she opened her eyes, dim sunlight was sneaking through the blinds and provided the spotlight for a show of dancing dust particles. Her throat and mouth were dry and she looked around for a drink but found her glass on the table empty. The cat had curled up at her feet and noticing the movement started stretching her lazy limbs in expectation of breakfast.

Suzy sat up on the sofa and patted the cat’s head: “You hungry, Fluffy? Well, so am I. Let’s go and have some breakfast.” She still felt a bit drowsy as she slowly dragged herself into the kitchen. Bright light hit her there and she had to squeeze her eyes tight, still sensitive to the light. After grabbing some fruit juice from the fridge and drinking it straight from the carton, she fed the cat and turned the coffee machine on. Then she turned to her laptop. It was Sunday, 17^th July, 11.23. No messages.

Suzy had been living on her own for a while now but every now and then weekends and especially Sundays could still get to her. Last night she had smoked herself into oblivion with some puff she had managed to get hold off when bumping into an old friend the other day, just to numb the feelings of despair and loneliness that had crept up on her in recent weeks. She had given up smoking cannabis regularly a long time ago but every now and then she came back to it and when she did, she knew, things weren’t going great.

She went to the bathroom to run a bath. Falling asleep on the sofa hadn’t done her back any favours and she hoped a good hot soak in the bath would soothe her body and renew her spirits. She wasn’t willing to surrender another day to the black clouds that had invaded her mind. While the bath was running she went back into the kitchen to grab some coffee and a slice of toast. She sat down at the table and looked out of the kitchen window onto the sunlit garden. The windows need cleaning, she thought.

Old friends (for Poetry Potluck)

We shared our last years in school

And the first years of adulthood

We explored our freedom

What we should or rather would

Our paths then parted

Each off on their own

Following their journey

Either coupled or alone

10 years on

We met last night

Sharing our pain

As well as our delight

Although on different paths

We all came to agree

It takes some hard lessons

To be able to see

What matters in life

And what can be left behind

True friends are certainly

Of the first kind

Little girls (and boys)

I visited a good old friend of mine yesterday and met her 3-year-old daughter for the first time since she was a baby. I was so pleased to see that she has grown into a confident, independent and fearless little girl with the explorative mind of an adventurer. When telling my mum about her later, she told me that I was exactly like that as a little girl: very independent and not scared of anything.

Maybe that’s why I was so fascinated by her, because it was like looking at a younger version of myself.

It made me wonder: What happens to the little girls (and boys) inside of us when we grow up?

Do we lock them up somewhere, force them into obedience, tell them to be a “good girl/boy” or abandon them somewhere on the road?

Or do we let them out to play every now and then, give them our undivided attention and let them lead?

I think that my best experiences in life happened whenever I let my little girl come out to play. It’s her who challenges me to face my fears, to throw myself into unknown territory and to learn new things. She’s the one closest to my heart’s desires, the "real me" and she is ultimately so much wiser and braver than my rational adult self.

I shall let her out to play more often and when she rings at your door, I hope you’re going to let your little girl or boy out to play with her.