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Cherry Blossom

Posted 4/5/2017

Cherry Blossom


There is a soft breeze. No storm, no wind, not even a harsher breeze that can raise the hair on one’s arm, no, just a soft breeze. It carries the sweet unobtrusive perfume of a grove full of blooming Japanese cherry trees. Their soft and vulnerable petals seem to dance in the soft breeze. Sometimes, one of them is brave enough to leave its tree and to dance its own rose-coloured choreography towards the meadow underneath.

There, on the wild and green meadow, sits a man. His legs are crossed like those of an ancient scribe. In his right hand he holds a sheet of white paper while his left draws calligraphic signs with a firm stroke. From time to time, he pauses for a moment. Then he sighs, sometimes contentedly, sometimes in a sad way. When a small petal finds its way and lands on his sheet, he always smiles and remembers the good things. But he also needs to reflect on the bad things. And those are the times he always tries to see the good thing in the bad and vice versa: Yin and yang. There will never be just one side to things.

He feels calm, at peace and surrounded by serenity. Never before has it been so easy for him to think clearly. His mind had always been clouded by other things, other emotions, other people. Now, he can finally centre on himself, on his feelings and his musings. The only things that could distract him now are the trees around him but they seem to be his companions, his friends. They listen to him whenever he wants them to, or they can be silent together. He mostly chooses the latter. But still, there are people and places that he misses. Beforehand, he would never have thought so, but he can feel a painful sting when he remembers those nearest to him. He hopes that they are well and that one day, they will see each other again. Then, he will be able to explain, and then, he will be able to talk again, he won’t feel the urge to be silent anymore.

While listening to the gentle rustling, the man thinks about the last chapter of his story. The introduction, the main part, and the ending. How do they relate to each other? Is there a connection to the previous chapter? Or is there even a link to the very beginning of the entire story? This is something that will take him a while to ponder on. He looks up and admires the glory in soft rose above his head, and wonders: Is this really the last the chapter, the ending?


* I will always miss you! *


Freedom of Speech

Posted 27/11/2016

Freedom of Speech


Scream. All I want to do is to scream. I need to scream out loud. I need to scream as loud as I can, at the top of my lungs until my vocal chords vibrate and until I will lose my breath and my voice. But still, I am crying silently, trying to hide my tears, not disturbing anybody with my emotions, although there is no one here. It’s just me and the stormy sea that seems to tell me how patient, yet unforgiving it is. I absorb the peace, the total absence of other human beings. While trying to calm my breathing, I listen to the thunder of every wave and I imagine that it would carry my unheard voice, that it would tell you how deeply hurt I am, how destroyed I feel, how helpless.

Another crash reaches the shore, another one, even louder, follows, and I am still watching intently. Every white crest seems to carry my pain and my rage, until the wave suddenly crashes against the groynes and the formerly white crest evaporates as if it never existed. But my feelings still exist; they are transferred to the next, even higher wave with an even bigger crest on top. They still need to hit their wooden barrier.

The next rolling thunder is accompanied by the piercing shriek of a sea gull. Its white and grey wings soar above my head as if the bird did not have a care in the world but flying. I envy it and follow its flight with my eyes, completely ignoring the following waves and their resemblance to my disturbed emotions.

Why is the gull able to scream and I am not? What does it have that I don’t? Maybe it would be better to be an animal, guided only by instinct and not by emotions. Maybe life would be easier then. Maybe too much thinking just complicates things for humans. A small greyish-white feather floats through the air and mesmerises me. How would it be to fly totally carefree?

Another crash wakes me out of my reverie. I have to have courage, otherwise I will implode and feathers won’t be the only thing I will lose then. I am not just a sea gull, I am a human being with intelligence, someone who can think and reflect. What the beast is capable of doing, I will manage as well. I will finally raise my voice, I will definitely scream out loud, I will unburden me. Another rolling wave and its crashing arrival seem to stress my resolution.

I step onto one of the stakes, feeling its slippery surface just beneath my shoes. At once, I am afraid, I think of giving up, of defeat and retreat. But the gull above is still flying, thus faltering is not a real option. Mustering up all my strength, I try to balance my feet on two stakes and with some difficulty, I manage. Momentarily forgetting my purpose, I am glad I made it this far. But a shriek by my animalistic friend overhead reminds me of my original aim. Another shriek announces that it has found something of interest. It dives fast and deep, emerging with a small fish in its beak. Apparently satisfied, the gull sits down at the far end of the groynes. The look from its black eyes seems to challenge me to move on. So I do, slowly but steadily. My resolve is my companion that keeps me going on. At one point, I realise that when I slip and fall now, I will have to plunge into icy cold water, so I will probably drown and die. Nevertheless, I won’t turn around now, I reached the point of no return, I came that far, I have to continue.

At last, I reach the last stake, the gull having flown away some time ago as if to congratulate me on my will power. I take a deep breath, tasting the saltiness of the air and I scream. I scream out loud. I scream as loud as I can, at the top of my lungs until my vocal chords vibrate and until I lose my breath and my voice. And finally, I feel freed.


The Search

Posted 26/8/2015

The Search


“Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!” That’s how it goes. Day after day after day after day… Everyday waking up with the constant thought that it’s going to be another day of complete surrender covered in smiling politeness. There’s no choice. No one can say “no”, it’s simply not an option. If it were allowed, it’d be used. But as a matter of fact, it isn’t. This life requires societal submission.

So it goes on and on, agreeing all the time with the silenced inner scream of total disagreement. In this world nowadays, no one wants to hear another opinion, another voice of intellectual input. Stubbornness is a real bad character trait, as is too far-reaching individuality. Sure, everyone may choose a certain look of his or her own but only in limited parameters. Drastic theatrical appearances aren’t respected. As are distinctive ways in someone’s pronunciation. A robotic voice isn’t valued either, but nothing too far from the norm, please. The best thing to do is wearing a mask of utter contentment and to only speak if spoken to.

As long as everything follows a carefully selected plan of social and cultural conventions, all is fine. The sun is shining and there are no clouds on the horizon. But sometimes there are those that like to destroy this peace. Those who don’t simply nod and agree. Those with opinions and musings of their own. Those who decide which course their lives should take. Where do they fit in? Apparently, they don’t. Although everyone says individuality brings newness and change and although everyone says that those two should be embraced, they aren’t. The reason why is that newness and change bring an unforeseeable future, difference and difficulties.

So in the end, what remains is saying “yes” and nodding, shutting down every other tiny thought. Still, one rebellious question remains to be asked: Where is me?


Inner Peace

Posted 18/5/2015

Inner Peace


He still has trouble breathing. Every single breath feels like his lungs are going to explode. His legs almost don’t carry him anymore. But he’s content, actually enjoying it. With every hard to catch breath this sensation engulfs him until he finally feels - what? Happy, free, independent? He can’t even define this feeling, just that he craves it, craves it more than anything else in his life. But he doesn’t want to cause permanent damage, so he stopped running and went home, preventing to fall eventually.

Easier breathing is joined by regret. He didn’t want to stop, yet he had to. Maybe there’s another way to feel this bliss again? Yes, that’s the right term: bliss. A time when nothing seems important anymore in a faraway mental place where no one can harm him. Others might call this some kind of inner paradise but he’s pleased to finally have found the appropriate expression. Bliss…that sounds so cheerful…

When he looks in the mirror, he tries to avoid eye contact with himself. Is he afraid of what he might see there? Probably, but mostly because he won’t see anything new, nothing’s changed. It’s still the same old everyday pattern that he tries to escape from time to time. He looks at his arms instead: his muscular biceps and his strong forearms. This is when sadness and anticipation nearly overwhelm him at the same instant. The once dark red lines have faded, so they almost aren’t perceptible anymore. He’s sorry his companions on his way to inner peace are leaving him but on the other hand, he’s looking forward for new ones. Of course, no one’s entitled to ever see them, they are his own little secret which he shares with nobody else. He doubts that anybody will understand how much he needs to feel that way. It’s his addiction, his drug to stay alive. He never wanted to die, suicide is far from being on his mind. On the contrary, he wants to feel, to live through every emotion he is capable of. And only his place of perfect bliss can help him with that. His breathing has returned to normal, yet his pulse is racing with joy. He has to visit this place again, it is his primal need, his only desire. He strides towards the kitchen, excitedly looking for his favourite knife.


Touch me

Posted 17/5/2014

Touch me


Prickling, oversensitive skin,

the tiniest breeze causing goose bumps.

Every cell of me is screaming for attention.


Where are you?

I need you, so desperately, so hungrily.

I long for you, crave your physicality, your presence.


I’m attuned to your voice’s melody,

every word, even a soft whisper reverberates in me.

I’m shivering with anticipation, completely out of my mind.


I’m all yours, body and soul.

Please, I beg you, make me feel alive again.

Let me feel the intensity and desire only you can evoke inside me.


You’re the centre of my thoughts,

your long, deft fingers on my hot skin,

exploring, probing, travelling, claiming what’s theirs.



Having to wait for you is a torture beyond anything I’m able to take,

so, please, fulfil my destiny, my reason for living,

Let me feel your touch.



Posted 12/9/2013



He’s sitting cross-legged, whistling a soft tune that seems to embrace the rustling of the nearby trees. A light breeze makes the red and yellow leaves dance their autumnal waltz. Today is his birthday and like every year, he knows that they will come because they always do. Time passes slowly as he waits but he doesn’t care because he stands above such concepts as time. He acknowledges its inevitable existence but it doesn’t matter to him; the only thing that counts is that today is his birthday.

In his mind’s eye, he tries to picture them. Certainly, they have all grown older, got more wrinkles on their faces, more scars on body and soul. But as much as they grew in age they also grew in strength. Every scar is a symbol for one of life’s victories and this makes him so utterly proud of all of them and everything they accomplished. If only he were able to tell them. But they will come today, to visit him. He remembers the flowers they brought him last year, white lilies with a sweet fragrance that stayed with him for long. Which flowers will they bring this time?

And as he wonders, he can hear their footsteps approaching. Finally, there they are: his family. Instantly, he starts to smile and resists the urge to spread his arms wide as if to hug them all in one huge embrace. As always, it is the best thing in the world for him when they come because it is so hard and difficult to visit them himself. It’s so much easier like this.

The first one he sees is his wife who has some trouble to walk steadily on the tiny pebbles of the path. She has become old but to him she looks like on the first day he saw her, the day she entered his life and made him happy. His love for her will never be broken and in her eyes, he can see the same deep emotions. He longs to reach out for her, touch her, kiss her, tell her everything but he restrains himself. On her right side, his son is walking straight towards him. The man is having that grim look on his face that is so typical for him. But deep inside he’s a very kind and loving man: his father’s pride and joy. He wishes to tell him what a wonderful person his son became, give him some advice, have a man-to-man talk.  And then there is his daughter-in-law walking a little behind the others, her round belly being the obvious reason. When he observes this, a small tear of joy runs down his cheek and he is happy beyond measurement. Another child he will watch over as best as he can. Maybe this time it will be a girl, he thinks before he sees his grandson on his mother’s hand. Like the usual toddler the little boy struggles to maintain his balance and to walk the whole way. What a wonderful child!

After a while, they are all lined up in front of him. His wife brought some orange petunias today that look absolutely lovely. Their petals sway slightly in the autumnal afternoon breeze as he admires them. He feels happy, content, and above all much loved. His grandson’s small hands hold a crumbled yellow leave. Here grampa, says the boy as he puts this cherished gift on the grave before him. Smiling, he sits cross-legged on his tombstone, whistles his melody and knows that although they cannot see nor hear him that he will always be there for them.


In Memoriam...



Posted 8/8/2013



There’s that tone in my head. It won’t go away. A melody so subtle and yet so persistent that I can’t get it out of my mind. Here a humming, there a whistling sound, hard to grasp but deeply rooted in my memory. Where do I know it from? I’m not sure… And it starts anew, distracts me from other thoughts, makes my entire body follow its own distinct rhythm. My eyes are closed, my head sways softly to that old lullaby and my fingers lazily mirror a conductor’s movements.

Only seconds before my head touches my chest, I shoot upwards, eyes wide open: I must not fall asleep! Energetically, I shake my head, getting rid of the first impacts of sleep. No, no, no, no, NO! As fast as I can I get up from the chair, fighting a feeling of dizziness. Instead of shuffling, I force my tired limbs to obey a steady walk towards the bathroom where the water on my face is so cold it makes my head ache. But I continue until I’m not able to bear it anymore. Looking up into the mirror, I see the red skin on my face and what strikes me most are the dark circles around my eyes. How long has it been since I last slept without any disturbance? Without the horrific images before my eyes? Without the feeling of guilt that always accompanies them and nearly eats me up from inside? Without waking up covered in sweat and breathing hard almost as if I suffocated? I think hard, trying to remember… But I can’t. My brain doesn’t work properly anymore…

And there it is again, that feeling that overcomes me from time to time. It weighs me down like some invisible force that wants to show me that I’m just a simple human being with no strength at all. Usually, I oppose that violent grip, trying to fight it off but today I can’t. I stagger to the bathtub, try to support my increased weight on the rim. But I nearly tumble and fall over before I can steady myself. My stomach clenches, I begin to choke, tears start coming to my eyes and that’s it: As fast as it came, the felt presence vanishes as if it had never been here. For a couple of minutes - or is it hours, it could also be days since I lost my sense of time completely - I stay in the bathroom, not knowing for what exactly I am waiting. But I know that it is essential that I am here when it (what is it?) comes…

A scream, a blurred image, people walking to and fro, a rising panic inside me… NO! You won’t get me, Sleep! Not me, not now! I’ll fight you like my worst enemy! Another splash of icy water surely helps, then a hard slap on both cheeks. It stings a lot, like a thousand tiny ant bites. The only thing that matters is that I stay awake.

Before I can begin to weave a new net of disarrayed thoughts, a shrill sound startles me. Frightened, I cringe and duck under a nearby table in the next room. What is it? Is it the presence again? Will it get me this time? My heart beats faster, my hands become sweaty, I nearly hyperventilate. And then there’s a voice, talking as if from a certain distance, sounding a little hollow: “Hey, it’s me, just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Please call me back.” It doesn’t make sense. Obviously, there’s no one here. My overtired, wounded brain can’t grasp the meaning of what is happening around me anymore, so I can’t decide whether I’m in danger or not. But before I can finish thinking about it, the room around me suddenly starts to glow. A surreal mixture of red and yellow, so bright it hurts my eyes. It hurts so much I want to cry but my dry eyes deny me that favour and so I need to face the pain, need to cope with it. Slowly, my legs nearly giving in under me, I walk towards the source of light, my hands always trying to protect my face. When I finally reach the source, I pound it but it doesn’t work, the light won’t stop blinding me. The only thing I achieve is a thudding sound, plus a slight pain in my fist. Then I see some kind of blanket hanging beside that light source. I drag it with all the power left in me and all of a sudden, the light is gone. With a sigh of relief I drop to the ground. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. My limbs don’t obey my will anymore. My will? That seems to evaporate with every breath I take… It’s over, I fought so hard and yet I lose. It’s over, I can’t fight no more… It’s over, is my last thought when slowly Sleep’s tiny dark fingers reach out for me and seize me with such a fortitude I can’t resist anymore……



Posted 23/4/2013



I tried to forget you… I really did…

With all my mental power I wanted to banish your picture from my mind. It was hard because I missed you so much, but seeing you without actually seeing you was more than I could bear. But there you are, coming back again and again. No physical appearance, no, but psychic torment. It’s not you who is to blame but ME, it’s my own brain, my own synapses that want to drive me completely insane… Is this what I am? Insane? Because I cling to a memory of you? A mere depiction, nothing more than an image that is conjured up by my own remembrance of you… I can see your face - eyes, nose, lips -, your hair, your whole body. I can see the way you move and walk. But is it reality? Would you still look like this? Or would you have cut and dyed your hair? Would you walk differently now? I don’t know... I must not dwell on this... As much as I must not ask the question why... There is no answer to it and there never will be...


I tried to forget you... I really did...

But how do you forget someone who’s been such an integral part of your life for such a long time? Afterwards, it’s so hard to trust again. Will the next person be gone so fast, too? What will happen then? Tormenting questions and I know that I’m hurting... Sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse... But who am I kidding? Most of the time, I still feel bad about it but I smile and do my best not to think actively about it... I try to push it aside, try to live my life without you... And there are so many things I could tell you, so much has changed... But I can’t tell you, you can’t listen, you can’t help me with your advice and you can’t enjoy life’s beautiful moments with me... You’re not there anymore...


I tried to forget you... I really did...

But then my subconscious reminds me of you and the fact that I will never be able to forget you... In my dreams, everything seems to be back to normal, everything is well... And then I suddenly wake up, feeling exhausted, empty, and I try to grasp that fading image of you I can still see before my inner eye... I’m back in reality and it doesn’t feel good. In those moments, I miss you more than words can say but I know that there’s no way back... Things have changed... Although I went through all possible stages grief can bring I still have mixed feelings inside of me... One day, I hate you, blame you, yell at your picture in my brain... The other day, I just miss you, could cry the whole day... And then there are those days that I simply wish you joy and happiness no matter where you are... And I thank you because there’s one particular thing I learned by you: Value the moment and never take anything or anybody for granted......


I tried to forget you... I really did... BUT I CAN’T!


The Funeral

Posted 9/1/2013

The Funeral


An unsettling vibration underneath my body, a sudden flash of light, a loud screeching sound and that was it… Nothing melodramatic like looking into the driver’s panicked eyes trying to say “sorry” to him, no nervous screams from the platform, no people running in slow motion who want to be overly brave and rescue the silly girl in the last minute, no film hero who saves her life, marries her and lives with her and the six children happily ever after. Nothing was at it is often portrayed in various films that draw so many people to the cinema. No, just that awful sound, the light of the front lamps, a thump and then … nothingness. Well, at least that was how I died, rather unceremoniously, nothing at all like a film diva…

On lazy days, I had always imagined that deaths had to comprise something spectacular, something dramatic, maybe even something grandiose. And I had always been certain that one day, my death would be somehow extraordinary too. Thanks to reality it wasn’t. Had I been able to see everything, I might have been rather disappointed how the paramedics arrived with a disgusted look on their faces, how they collected every remaining bit of me and how they mumbled something like “the fifth this week” while the police tried to distract the masses from the disturbance in front of them. As much as I thought my person didn’t matter I wanted my death to matter, but it didn’t. I was just another job for those who already knew too many deaths. Even the pathologist would see at first glance what the cause of death was and before calling it a day would scribble “suicide” on the form that was delivered together with my corpse.

Shall I tell you what came after the inevitable, the actual dying? Are you curious? - There was nothing. Maybe it is just an unspoken agreement between those who nearly died to tell everybody of “the light” and floating in the air above one’s own body. I guess one of them started it when coming back to life while being surrounded by too many inquisitive people that had to be impressed. Maybe he was right in not telling them the truth because the idea of nothingness after dying - neither heaven nor hell, nor other things - was too frightening for those who still lived…

And now here I am… As long as I can still call me “I”. Obviously, there’s no body left that I can call mine but I still remember who I used to be: a young girl of 15 years with a round face, green eyes and brown curly hair. But as much as I was content with my outer appearance I detested my inner self that never seemed to meet the standards I set for it. Probably, I could have learned to accept the limitations I always perceived, if others had accepted them. But on that warm spring day, the day I chose to die, my boyfriend had kissed another girl right in front of me and my parents had told me that they were planning to get a divorce. And if that hadn’t been enough I’d lost my best friend whom I knew since kindergarten to another country two months ago. Thus, there was no one I could go to, no one I could tell my problems, no one who would console me and soothe the pain. Consequently, I chose death instead. But as I said before, I associated it with something glamorous, not with the bloody mass I soon became. And somehow - although my subconscious had to know it - it never occurred to me that it meant something altogether permanent. It was absolutely silly, I know that now, but as a young teenage girl you feel those romantic sentiments; and the only thing that mattered to me was to shock those people around me…

Here I am, something or someone trapped in between existence and non-existence, but I am still able to think, to remember, to feel, and to perceive everything. And what I perceive right now makes me regret everything…

A gentle melody that seems to come from a far distance, slowly rustling through the leaves of a nearby tree, accompanied by the angelic voice of a singing woman… If I still had a human form, I’d cry now. I’m attending my own funeral although no one can notice me. There are my parents on opposite sides of the recently dug hole that now contains a bright wooden coffin. My mother has swollen eyes that look almost purple now and she is crying rather hysterically while my father looks stern but sad all the same. I can see so many other people crying for me of whom I always thought that they didn’t care for me.

I had always felt unloved, unwanted, neglected even and now I see so many wreaths around my grave with ribbons that read “beloved daughter”, “dear friend” etc. It makes me want to yell at them: “Here I am, right in front of you, look at me, I am not dead, it was all an idiotic joke!” But as a matter of fact, it wasn’t. It was my own decision, my last one and definitely my worst. Because now I really listen to the song I once mentioned in a game as my favourite funeral song, only that this time it is mingled with too many sobs…


Finding Myself

Posted 6/11/2012

Finding Myself


Once, I was an autumnal leaf like many others

Though I didn’t know well my sisters and my brothers.

I had such a nice shape when leaving the recess of my tree,

I wanted to explore the world, see how it could be.


The wind became my friend, I rode it to find out

What other leaves’ forms and lives were about.

At first, it was wonderful, so many leaves like me;

I perceived different ones I admired with glee.


Soon, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to be like them,

But I had many problems, I originated from another stem.

Could not change my form that was jagged where they were round,

Even my rustling in the wind made a very different sound.


The wind took me on and on, getting a stormy feature

That really frightened me, the little leafy creature.

As unpredictable as the storm very fast became:

If a lightning struck me would I still be the same?


But I was destiny’s ball to play with; I had no real choice,

There was no sense in waiting for my parental tree’s voice.

I had nothing achieved yet, I had nothing to show and bring,

Anyway, it had to care for the new, the next offspring.


Once in a while, I managed to reach the ground,

Sometimes it was a meadow, sometimes a mound,

Mostly, I rested on my own and encountered pure tranquility,

The only thing that mattered now: I had accomplished stability.


I had seen other leaves, distinct shapes and colours far away,

Could not reach out for them; was again under the storm’s sway.

It was strong, my outer form had changed: here a cut, there a bruise,

I was different from the beginning of my journey; it was no use.


I was depressed and isolated; had no orientation like in a maze,

Didn’t mind being carried by the wind to another, faraway place.

Found my supposedly last home in a cold, harsh winterly scene;

My structure was severely destroyed but I did not start to keen.


And after the snow and ice had gone, as I lay there,

Except for my inner leafy core absolutely bare,

A sudden and very true realisation began to dawn on me:

Other leaves were dead by now but in spring, I will still be!