The winter is here. I feel like myself again.
I peel oranges and put cinnamon on my apples.
I look at how I’ve cut them all uneven and I love every single piece that comes from my hands.
My coffee is just as warm as I want it to be and love is just a light air on my shoulders,
Which I carry around but never as a weight.
In winter I find my self being so in love with the world.
The beauty of a naked tree and each pomegranate planting its seed.
I want to be a winter child,
Where the colds are never unfortunate and the snow is always immaculate.
I once wrote that if I was a tree I would be a deciduous,
Since a change this small as the changing of seasons makes me rip all my parts off and throw them down to the ground,
And yet in this way I feel more connected to the earth as ever,
As if my emotional being finally belongs somehow,
To something so important like the beautiful weather.

This summer is dropping off my fingertips like vanilla ice cream used to on a family trip ten years ago.
It is mid-July, every morning feels the same
I wake up from the sweat that is travelling along my spine,
These warm mornings have me feeling so nostalgic lately,
This lingering feeling is overcoming me steadily.
The sounds from my childhood, they awaken something strange in me. Something so familiar which yet feels so remote.
And then there is you.This ball of light like a hot sun in my sleepless nights,
When I couldn’t sleep, and I've had all my smokes,
When my bed stopped feeling like a sea I could drown all my problems in,
When my arms had forgotten how to hug, how to touch, how to feel.
With just your presence I can finally remember me.
Who I used to be when I first got my bangs, when my hair was still blonde like sunflowers in the sun,
When I was careless, running in the fields,
When nights like these didn’t exist,
When mid-July days were all playgrounds and vanilla ice creams,
When my mom called me beautiful and I could make my father proud.
Your presence reminded me who my real identity is.
Thank you for bringing back the girl which I for ages miss.

marie

I've always loved my solitude, being away from everything made me feel small like nothing I do ever matters
and I know that seems a bit depressing, but it is the truth;
Alas I know I am not the only one who feels this way.
I find a beauty in flowers, always have. And then I looked at you and saw all the flowers of the world inside the two small spheres of your eyes.
You helped me put down the wall - and I saw the eye of the cyclone. For the first time in my life I overcame the thunderstorms,
this severe weather I’ve been dealing with years before meeting you. It is rather weird the fact that the most calm and peaceful region of this battlefield is right in the heart of it, don’t you think?
I reached the eye of the cyclone
and the weather now seems clear.
The flowers are everywhere,
everything is now here.
I am finally drown in your eyes like I always wanted;
Everything seems so slow and simple,
lying down I put my fingers to my neck
and I can feel you knocking from my insides,
slowly but steadily,
ready to accompany me,
and since I’ve already destroyed my solitude,
I allow it mindlessly.

And as I go further, the slower I move.

I hugged you to bring you closer for one more last time, when I heard your whispers saying you’re sorry, you’re sorry and I ask you why.
All confused with my lips on your cheeks and my fingers through your hair I say that I simply love you and you apologise thinking you’re not fair.
Your guilt makes me then feel hurt, as I didn’t realise my hands are empty until I saw yours were full.
I can’t decide if you’re sorry because you are not sharing with me or because with my empty hands you feel relief.
I don’t care and I hug you tidier, I wish I never heard you whisper so I just try to ignore you, when you intrude my thoughts once again:
“I hope for everything to be better”, as a wish from you for me to get better, for us to get better, for the wind to finally blow my way and for the trees to grow and sway.
For everything to just be, like they do in your way.

When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.” -Richard Kadrey.

And when I looked down at my hands all I could see was my family’s blood:
My fathers anger, my mothers unsolved love, my sisters hope and my brothers wrongs.
The careless of the little one and the consciousness of the oldest.
I think the reason why I could always only see my house from afar is because Ive never actually lived in it.
I could see my pain and the things I went through from outside the window, just as little as the lamp light let me see through,
And that’s one of the reasons I keep forgetting and forgiving.
But lately the memories have been coming back…
well, not really the memories, but the rights and the wrongs that my parents have done to me.
And I try to use my hands to stand up and get off the ground,
but they are so slippery, so slippery.
Until now, I didn’t realise how much blood I was carrying around,
how many people died in that house.
A house, a house, a house
One house, one house, one house.
Only a house with a roof and some walls.
Trying all life to find a house I can call home.
But I couldn’t even get up, and if I got up
How would I clean all this red mess up?
Feeling the most disgusting creature on earth,
I was thinking I might as well sell them my own self;
When I felt something so familiar touching me,
I tried showing them but all they could see,
Was a wet hand-an innocent-wet-big hand holding mine.
And I kept begging them to see that
Both our hands, me and his
Were wet for once, but not at all clean,
Both our hands were bleeding hunger,
Though at last, they were holding each other.

I definitely have a drinking problem, I’m thinking,
As I pour myself another wine glass and also press the next episode button for
The next chapter to start.
I’ve always been rational.
I don’t have patience, and I hate this about myself, I want to rush into things, and this makes me get hurt every-time I do it all over and over again.I think I’m repeating my own bad habits in order to gain some sense of how a strong feeling feels, and if I don’t, that’s what makes me keep going and doing the same-not sane-decisions, falling into the circle of my own accomplished ambitions.
I then desperately self destruct
And if I am the same as before,
Raising my glass as a form of sway;
I finally have one thing to say.
“As the red wine will never get white,
My thoughts will never not be mine.”

I look around and I feel alone.
In the need of something I can call a home,
I look around and all my friends are dead, every flower that nourished is now gone and all the trees from green they’ve become orange, they perished.
Wish I knew how to take care of myself, this way it wouldn’t hurt so much being left;
Behind like an old soul, like a soldier without a sword.
When you’re used to having little, little seems the world for you.
But I was never meant to settle for less, until you taught me how to cope it all through.

And it is funny because I’m always thinking about how I love being alone.
With my own thoughts, surrounded by my perceptions only.
In the end of the day though I am still haunted by the curse of being human
And that what makes me crave attention, continuously chased by the fear of being rejection.