Image by Alexa from Pixabay

“But, you said you were moving out?” I look at him in wonder.

“Yeah, well… I know but… now I’ve changed my mind.” He looks away, nervous.

“No… no, no, you cannot. I cannot. You need to move out now.”

“What, but I have nowhere to go.” Eyes pleading.

“So, it’s best for you to stay — because you have nowhere to go?” I huff, eyebrows raised.

“And… I love you?” He looks a little lost.

“Is that a question?” I can’t believe my ears.

“No - Babe, I love you.” He takes my hand…I yank it away in disgust.

“No, no, no. You need to go. Now.” I push him lightly towards the door. He is sticky, his reluctance to leave gives me an urgency to get him out at once. Now.

“But where?” He gives me the look of a very young boy. He does this with intent but I know that young boy all too well now…

“I don’t care really. You can call Pete… or Brian… anyone... This — is over.”

“But I didn’t mean what I said… I mean, I meant what I said but not literally. I do love you and… maybe none of us are perfect but we can make this work. Don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think that and for your information I am a perfect person…If you had started a conversation about this before you said you had wasted your life being with me… perhaps we could have saved us but… you finally killed it — the emotion I still had for you and there is nothing in its place.”

“You are so much work!” He blurts out. “Why is nothing easy with you?” He’s angry now and that only makes me clearer.

Image by Vilius Kukanauskas from Pixabay

Empty eyes,
love can’t reach…

Good intentions
fall to the ground…

However long
can I keep
giving — hoping
for connection?

How long
will I pay
with my
sanity?

I’m reaching
my limit…

I can’t live
in this
constant
depressive
atmosphere…

Instead of one,
there are now
three…

Three with
a longing
away…

Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay

Sun rises over a
roof missing
The sky is blue…

Grey everywhere,
flakes of soot
drift down…
Creating
layers over
the tiles…

You gaze
at me,
then around
the church
we hid in….

Silence rules
the void…

There
is
no place
to go…

One last gaze,
then…
Sound crashes in.

Image by wal_172619 from Pixabay

It’s dark —
Under a
street light —
A car,
on a wet
road,
rain pouring…

Inside —
a lonely man
coughing…
grasping air…
winding down,
throwing a
cigarette butt
out the window…

He sighs,
stretches
Places his
hands
behind
his head
He hears
steps…

Turns around
sees nothing…
They come
Closer…
He holds
his breath…
And…
they pass

Image by Jana from Pixabay

Befriending the
Darkness…
Air cool, fresh
and scents
of forest floor.

Leaves whirling
around my wheels…
in wet streets,
with fallen branches
and bike accidents.

Layer upon layer,
to shield,
from rain…
Red cheeks,
wet face.

Free…
from the
coughing
crowds on
the bus.

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

You walked in…
Unprepared
my eyes
found yours
I shook...
You held my gaze,
steady and
searching...

You kept
showing up,
never
invited
just
hung around
Spoke a few
words

And one day
I fell
from light
straight
into a very
dark place
You happened
to stand there…

You caught me
falling,
held me
helped me
to stand
again
Breathed
into me

Life…
I thought
Your breath
Is life…
You made
threads
to bind me
to light

Before you
went away
I saw
a hint
of faint
wings…
or maybe
I didn’t

Image by Daniel Reche from Pixabay

I have watched you for a long time…
You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen…
It’s something you just have — you… shine from within.
There’s a certainty about you… you just… are.
The light flows through you… of its own will…
You’re open, to everybody, you don’t seem to judge or withhold.
You… just are…

You are my magnet, I…
I can’t stop looking…returning, circling…
I have lost control over… my circumstances.

You have no sense of fashion… I mean…
Oh God, your endless jeans… your endless stained T-shirts, but…
And these hands, with paint and dirt under each nail…sensitive hands…

Your confident stance in the world…
Like you are equal to just about anyone…
A congenial self-confidence.
I have never seen…never owned.

He’s kind to everyone and…
When he looks at me…
when he looks at me with those steely eyes…
I … find myself…
melt away… until nothing is left…
I…he…will break me…I want him…it’s just — I can’t…

Aron… he is so himself…

When he looks at me… I drown.

His paintings are expressive…he is…his mind is vivid…
I… envy him. I can admit that… I will never say it.
He is the true painter. He is… he is… the death of me…

He is the painter of us two.
I am nothing compared to him.

I paint, it’s therapy for me… STOP!
I paint…therefore I am... I…am nothing…
I am…therefore I paint.
I just paint…

He is just creation.
He is expression.
He just is… Aron… Aron…

Image by (El Caminante) from Pixabay

He always stood outside my atelier. As it was a complete glass and steel building, the intention of the conservatory was clear — the whole fantastic glass house breathed it. This was a learning experience: no secrecy, no disclosure.

Of course there were more closed ateliers available, but this one was the one I was assigned to from the first day.

That first day I thought I would change it at the first possible moment, but… I got used to it. I was on display. Others walked by, stayed a while, studied me, my technique, and me.

He stood there one day. I remember him clearly — it was before he started to build his persona. He had his purple velvet tailcoat on. He always did.

I remember thinking that this boy was pained, but he was also a capable painter. I say capable, because he had technique, but he didn’t show any soul… or heart. Or maybe he was brilliant and I’m the old‑fashioned one.

At first he annoyed me. He stood there day by day by day. Not whole days, but in the morning before lectures, between lectures, or after lunch.

Then I got it into my head to invite him in. So I went and opened the door and said:

Hello, I’m Aron — want to come in and sit for me? If you like?

He looked like a prey caught in light. He backed away with an expression I couldn’t read.

Next time I saw him, his persona had awakened, and he had a train of hangers‑on giggling after him.

I hardly recognised him, but when our eyes met… he knew I saw him.

Image by Hans-Joachim Müller-le Plat from Pixabay

He knew what he looked like. People shied away from him, most didn’t meet his gaze… just as well. He never looked at himself anyway; he was not vain. Vanity is a sin…

Looking up the street, he reached for his pack of cigarettes.

Where was she?

She was like clockwork otherwise. Woke up at six, breakfast at ten past. Went to work at seven, taking the number 18 to City Square, changing to tram 12. Lunch at twelve — he was sure. Then she always came home at five fifteen. Every day for the last… years.

Where the hell was she?

He lit his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in one big cloud floating away up the street. He sighed.

Maybe she met a friend, went to some after‑work thing, or maybe the bus home had problems… that happened… all that happened.

It’s just… it never does.

He straightened, and just as he was about to step out onto the street he saw her and drew himself backward. Hidden by shadow — not entirely, but just enough.

She had an office outfit on: jacket, shirt, skirt and high heels. Briefcase. She was important; she looked important.

He frowned.

The clothes were too tight, revealing…

Oh baby… you were once mine… He wet his lips and watched her every move.

She disappeared into her doorway, number nine.

He stepped out onto the pavement, walked up the street.

With one single word in his head:

d.a.u.g.h.t.er

I tried balancing the bike, parking it with the stand, but the bike couldn’t hold the weight, and I realised I needed to find somewhere to lean it.

And then came Laura…

‘Oh, you poor man. Now, let me help you.’

‘No thanks, I’ll manage.’

‘Oh, stop that, Tom. It’s no bother.’

She picked up the bag and put the things in her front basket.

‘There! Let’s go.’

I stared at her. She stared back. I thought I saw something smug in her face. I felt like she’d won, and she knew it. I sighed — loudly.

‘Come on now, Tom.’

She went ahead, as if we were old friends, a couple, or simply accompanying one another.

We didn’t. We surely didn’t. I felt the anger rising and started clenching my jaw. I said nothing. I had nothing to say to her.

‘So — how have you been?’ she asked.

I didn’t answer.

‘Have you done anything exciting lately?’

I said nothing.

‘Tom?’ She turned around with raised eyebrows. Insistent.

I shook my head, turning away.

‘At least I have big news.’

She waited a while. I said nothing.

‘I got in at Med School. I’m starting in September. Isn’t that brilliant?’

She turned around again, looked at me, waiting for a response.

I nodded — I could give her that.

With relief I could see my house. I prepared for resistance. She was not coming up with me.

‘So, Laura. Nice of you to help me. I can take it from here.’

‘No, I’ll help you up with it.’

‘You will not. Just leave it here.’

‘What, you don’t trust me?’

‘I don’t trust myself alone with you. I don’t trust you. Put the groceries here by my bike.’

‘But you can’t carry it all.’

‘I will come back down for it.’

‘All right, I’ll wait here… so that no one nicks it. All right?’

‘No, not all right. Leave it, please. I’ll get it.’

I rushed off, up the stairs — feeling panic rising. I tried to breathe more calmly by inhaling deliberately.

I reached my door, pulled the keys out, opened, and went in. I put the bags in the kitchen, stayed in the hall — just to collect myself. Then, when I opened my door… there she was. I stared at her, and she smiled triumphantly at me.

‘I just carried them up,’ she said.

I snapped. I ripped the groceries from her arms and threw them into my hallway, turned around and said:

‘Thanks, Laura.’

I stepped inside and closed the door.

I stood there listening for her movement, her steps. This time it took a long while… what was she doing…? I looked out my peephole — I saw nothing. I leaned back on the door. This was crazy behaviour. This was not me. I was not this person. My pulse was beating loudly in my head…

After a while — I don’t know how long — I heard her fast steps down the stairs. I held my breath. I paused. Then I opened the door, looked out, listened. No breaths, no unfamiliar sounds — just the neighbours cooking, talking… a TV reporting BBC news. I found myself stepping outside to take a look at my door.

I froze.

There was a drawing of a girl on a bike. I stared at it. White ink. I licked my finger to see if it would come off. I rubbed hard — It didn’t.

I closed the door. There must be something wrong with her. What the hell was she trying to say with that drawing? I stared at it in disbelief. She wasn’t done. She’s marking my space. She is marking my space…

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

‘Whatever do you mean?’ He smirks and takes a step forward.

‘I just want to know if you’re being a bastard without reason or a bastard with intent, that’s all.’ She holds up both her hands to signal him to keep his distance.

‘What do you mean?’ He says, scratching his head in apparent confusion.

‘I… heard what you go around saying about me.’ An uncertain nervousness spreads in her body.

‘And…?’ He just looks at her, amused.

‘Well, I don’t like it!’ She bursts out, a little too loud.

‘What have I said?’ He smirks again and crosses his arms over his chest.

‘That you think I’m hot and what you’d like to do to me… over and over… until you drop dead.’ She tries to be confident, straightens her back and crosses her arms too.

‘Ha! That’s a compliment, what’s wrong about that?’ He tilts his head.

‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong! Do you really not understand what’s so wrong about that?!’ Trying to be calm, she looks around for anyone — just anyone — for security.

‘No, I think it’s healthy. What’s wrong with you. You know you want me too. You’ve been pushing me away for too long.’ He steps closer.

‘Wait! Stay there. You’re wrong. I just want you to leave me the hell alone. Get it through your thick head. Quit stalking me! Leave me alone!’

Image by Narcis Ciocan from Pixabay

‘It was then. This is now. Why do you keep coming back to that?
I made a mistake. I apologised… several times.
I begged — literally on my knees — for you to forgive me… us.’

‘Yes. Why do I come back to that?
Because it hurt me deeply.
The trust I had… it’s gone.
No matter how I try to find it, force it, rebuild it — it doesn’t return.
Every time I look into your eyes, I see her.
Every time I see her, my heart aches.
We used to be friends — the best of friends —
now there’s a void where you two used to be.
I don’t trust a word you say.
When you complain about it,
the anger in my core twists.’

‘You will never forgive me.’

‘I forgive you.
You’re human — you make mistakes.
I forgive that you aren’t perfect.
But I find it hard to forgive her.
It should never have happened.
Not if I had been a better woman, a better wife…’

‘Don’t. Don’t do that.
It had nothing to do with you.’

‘It had everything to do with me.’

‘No. It’s me. I’m weak.’

‘You?’

To the stones,
the beach,
the fishing boats.

To the meadows
with cloves —
the winds play.

To the hills,
where birds nest
and new life lies.

Longing
for home
always close.

Hope
for return
always lingering….

The wolf roars lonely in my chest,
paces around my pulsating core,
howls at a no one with pride,
spreads out to rest in the open…

One yellow eye at the stars,
a paw softly over the other,
a cool breeze moves the fur
and one long… exhale

No shelter, no cover,
but the velvet of the dark…
protects the one wolf
who sleeps in defiance…

The forest is painting veils
and crawling creatures…
shadows and fairy lights…
In astonishment, watching…

The power of a wolf,
spreading without fear,
gazing with wonder
at the stars…

With one eye open.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

a heavy sigh…
a glance out that window
a moment of gathering limbs
the squeak of the stairway steps

loosens the morning padding
and the day rushes in, violent
all the musts and requests
all people, all meetings and…

I don’t care anymore…
I let it flow in, out, and through
as I stand in the dark kitchen
all I need now is coffee

Ah…

Photo by Circling Sea on Unsplash

Heat is pressing
the pearls adrift…
Striving back home
to the open sea…
This narrow path
is long and hard

For me to hold —
your tender heart...
Every step, every
heavy breath
says: rest, breathe,
keep moving...

With concrete feet
and tired mind
I’m determined
to set love,
You...
Free

Free is how
we stay together...
seeing you
live, flourish
letting you
bloom...

Pounding ache
tears my chest
but seeing
you fly
brings…
Fireworks

So, I wander
heavyhearted
and strong and
in firm belief —
healing you
is healing me…

So, back to
The Sea of Freedom

Image by lee seonghak from Pixabay

Joy is a flight over a meadow filled with bumblebees…
We all move from flower to flower, humming our song.

It is a ride in the fastest boat, loudly rushing the waves,
laughing at the wind that violently ruffles my hair…

Or it’s walking with a friend through a grove of fruit trees,
carefully caressing their leaves — tending, caring, with a frown.

Oh, what I enjoyed most about this summer on the island was
time to be lazy, read, and write for the joy of expression alone.

To let my thoughts wander like the swirling swallows in the sky,
seeking the best winds to playfully surf, the perfect shelter to rest.

I’m thankful for our vast imagination — without it, where would we be?
I would miss the bubbling and nervous feeling of flight over a meadow,
with my chums — the bumblebees.

Image by Artur Skoniecki from Pixabay

I’m watching my parents move around each other. Never touching, never laughing, never talking… they move around each other like when you dip a brush filled with paint in a fresh glass of water. First with one colour, then with another… the colours spread and search carefully their way out, surrounding each other like smoke, and in the end inevitably become a blend — a dull remembrance planted in the atmosphere forever.

I don’t remember if I ever talked to them as a young boy. I must have done…

After dinner, my mum washed the dishes and my dad sat in front of our small television for the rest of the evening. My mother spent her time in the kitchen doing crosswords — endless crosswords.

I stared out my window and dreamed of being found by someone. What if I was adopted — abducted? What if my real parents were out there, missing me? They would find me then, eventually.

I wished I was loved, accepted, and part of something bigger.

I didn’t like school. I was odd. I didn’t speak. I was lonely.

My world was quiet.

Sometimes I rushed home from school, I locked myself in my room. I couldn’t stop my jaws from opening, my face from twisting — simulating a cry without a sound.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

I had never seen such a beautiful boy. I was struck by lightning; I didn’t move and I just stared at him until I realised that I needed to hide this reaction. Then I sat down on the bench in the corridor, pretending to read.

As the university had small ateliers to rent for a small sum, the boy seemed to always occupy the same one. The hall with these small ateliers was boxed in with a floor‑to‑ceiling glass wall, so all passers‑by could look inside if something caught their interest.

I intensively watched this wonder of a young man. I need to shape up my presence here.
I calculated his moves, rehearsed them in my mind.

It was not that he was prettier than the rest of them, because he wasn’t. It was something about how he moved with a self‑sufficient agency in the world, as if it was his. He owned his space in a natural way and he brightened it up. He had a glow about him that naturally attracted those around him, and he was wholesome.

He didn’t seem to care about what he wore. Jeans and a T‑shirt filled with paint stains. Always — the same clothes.

He was good, kind, friendly, and hard‑working. Utterly disgusting.

We went to the same University of the Actual Arts. He was a painter, same as me. An expressionist, where I leaned more towards the abstract at the moment. I used to paint landscapes pretty well, but since coming to art school I always ended up crossing them out with a big black X — a symbol of my self‑criticism and insufficiency.

But I had to realise: my talents didn’t measure up to his. It flowed out of him and he didn’t have to cross anything out. A large green knot of envy grew in my gut.

One day the beautiful boy caught me staring at him, and he gave me a big smile and waved for me to come in. I just stared at him. What the hell?

“Who did he think he was?”

I need to get to work. I stood up, looked at him for a long time. I saw his confusion — I turned around and left him there.

Photo by Mark Aliiev on Unsplash

We were parked at a meeting spot on a very narrow country road. My car was shit. I was shit. All was shit.

“You know what?” I stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles whitened.

“What?” He half leaned on the car door and turned a little to glance at me.

“I think… there’s this girl… and I need your help… to get her out of my mind. Why are you smiling?” Irritation nags at me.

“Cause you’re stupid bro.” He shakes his head.

“I’m not stupid! Don’t… just help me will you!” I cross my arms and sink down in my seat.

He moves and looks out into the endless field… it’s late, it’ll be dark any moment.

“All right. Listen. You are stupid if you think I can help you with that.” He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke in my face.

“For fucks sake. Put that out and just tell me what to do.” Frustration rises.

“What do you want?” He rolls down the window and presses the cigarette out against the outside of the door. I can’t believe it. I clench my jaw.

“I want out.” My voice is a low growl.

“Out of what?” He straightens a little, corrects his clothes and clears his voice.

“Out of this… I don’t know what. She’s always on my mind — and when she’s nearby… I can’t breathe. And this is the truth…”

“Come on,” he says, smirking.“ You sound like a kiosk book, mate.”

“Right, mock me. That’s very helpful.” I frown.

“Sorry… Right. You’ve got to speak to her. ” He’s certain.

“Why the hell would I do that?” I stare at him.

“Don’t you want her?” Surprise in his eyes.

“Hell no. That’d kill me.”