Category: Originals

i’m so done doubting (you), oh love, you’ve left me (terrified), i’ve forgotten how (to speak), let’s be (amazed). 

de laatste zondag van april. het is helder en ik voel dat het begint. we kijken ons ogen uit. zetten de stoeltjes voor de deur. gaan zonder jas naar buiten. de stad opent zijn ramen. het is fris en het is nieuw. we willen weer lachen. de dagen worden langer. we nemen de ruimte in. vinden elke zonnestraal in de stad. ik voel dat het begint. leven zal een zondag zijn.

de nacht valt en wij staan op. ga met mij mee. er zal gevierd worden en we zullen stralen. de muziek laat mij teruglachen. het lijkt alsof we drijven. wij, geliefd in het donker. ik, verliefd op de nacht. vertel mij alles. ik wil nooit meer thuiskomen.

I love this place enough to come back but I love myself enough not to stay. You can outgrow places, but I keep outgrowing myself. I keep falling into place, but I want to be out of place, into the unknown. I’m learning how far I can go, how much I have within me. I’m outgrowing the fears that limit me. Somewhere higher, a spot with a view and I will finally find the words for all that has hurt. There is a tide that will change me for the better. A place for me to clear my head.

I had left and I had returned. it was grey for 8 days in a row. when a clear day arrived I was too drained to leave the house. cheese was expensive. my friends were still busy. I forgot what little moments were. it all felt heavy. I thought there was things I wanted to do. now I wasn’t sure anymore. the world was mundane and I didn’t know how to exist in it.

you look back at me. the night is silent in its tender way. I can tell that there is things we’ve been meaning to say. there are words left unspoken. phrases still lingering. feelings to puzzle out. your bedlamp shines, the shadows contour your face. there is so much I recognize, much to be wary of, and much still unsaid. I wait for the days to lengthen, for love to reach the surface. our eyes meet and we will learn how to speak.

dad, I think about you too. you are there in every rustle in the trees, in the crates of fresh fruits, the first sip of coffee in the morning, in needing not much, in simple moments, in being free on the road.

mom, it is always nice to hear your voice. you are there the smalltalk with strangers, in the signatures of painters, in the keepsake I carry, in every flowerbed, in doing it despite, in carrying on.

there is a remembrance, always. my heart is full and I can close my eyes, the sun on my face. I am me, always a daughter, always set free, a monument of love, a city of dreams.