Get it done

The forgotten door

The forgotten door.
Memories of that closed-up corner in my heart
where truth lies.

The forgiven sins.
The gravity of words in my core that liberate
the world inside.

The fallen facade.
Warmness of this hidden universe that melts
my worries away.

A treasured find.
The everlasting embrace of the patient muse
making my soul fly.

The eternal link.
The deep core of my existence that’s always free
and happy to sing.

I’ve found me.

Mr Hemingway

Mother

‘Careful Dodo!’ mummy would say to me when we were baking. ‘You have to make sure that the icing is perfect. That’s the important part. That’s what people see the first.’

Wild at heart

I respect wildness in the wilderness

Where big fish eat the small fish.

It adds though, to human conduct ugliness,

We need this distinction to be established.

He raised the knife

He raised the knife and stabbed me.

Today…

I value the writer in me.

Found this brilliant affirmation on WriterzBlox.

In the air

Warning: strong language, explicit sexual references.

1.

I wasn’t to die when the plane’s door opened. But the others were. The harsh wind in my face, the weightless speed felt like utter freedom. No problems, no obligations, no responsibilities. It was just me. Me and nothing else.

I achieved what a lot of people just dream about: I was flying. I was in the air, spread my arms and enjoyed the thin, cold air that made me feel more alive than ever.

And I wasn’t scared. I was completely aware that if I make more mistakes, this flying could very well be the last thing I’d ever do in my life, but man, what an awesome way to finish it. The icing on the cake as some would put it.