Dead end
Full stop
No more words
No more nothing

We said goodbye for the last time the way we always say goodbye for the last time but this time it was serious and I felt it in the way you made love to me, it was in your eyes, in your touch, gentle, sad, farewell, I love you, always.

De zon staat op het dorp in de vallei terwijl wij doorploeteren in de natte klei van de zonnebloemberg. Er zit een steentje in mijn schoen.

Mensen laten stukjes van zichzellf achter op de camino. Een boek, een tent, een veldfles. We worden lichter naarmate santiago nadert. Ik laat John Steinbeck achter op een routepaal, begraven onder een stapeltje stenen.

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Wales, 2014
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Wales, 2014
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Radnor Forest, 2014
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Trail, Wales 2014
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Home, July 2014

vickyjaneandtheflashbacks:

Ladies and gentlemen, we will now take a 20 minute break to watch an episode of an animated series called Bob’s Burgers and to smoke half of a broken cigarette I keep hidden in my drawer for emergencies. Thank you for your patience. 

My friend Vicky writes.

Thirty

I look at myself in the mirror, traces of wear and tear, decay. Shallow lines next to my eyes, very subtle, but still there, my breasts less firm than they used to be, my stomach, my arms, my tired face. I stare at my naked body, the body that used to have a boyish youthfulness over it. I stare at my body and it scares the shit out of me.

A poem on the bus

Shallow breaths at the traffic light. The muscles in her face looked tight while the city buzzed around her. People like ants, pink cheeks, a bright summer’s dress in a sea of black suits and ties. Her scream doesn’t quite reach the surface. Shallow breaths. People like ants. The city chews her up, spits her out. Shallow breaths, shallow breaths.

Uit elkaar, 2013

"Als je nu een kind zou krijgen, zou je niet weten hoe je er van moest houden," zeg jij. Ik kijk naar je terwijl de wind in mijn ogen prikt, ik staar je aan tot ik er van moet huilen.

I looked at the cup. The spoon was turned upside down and there was a tissue next to it with her daughter’s name written all over it. Curly letters, repetition, an attempt to bring order to a world filled with chaos.

The Orchid

The middle one
was an orchid
and it was broken in two
when grandpa buried it
for the second time.
He had this habit
of ‘improving’
every plant in his room.
The roots were dangling
in the wind
and sometimes
little bits of sand
hit the windowsill
when the window was open
and the curtain came flying in.