May 14: Hello Dexter, nice to meet you!

Me: So, I was just wondering, have you heard about my step mother?

Dexter: I don’t think so.

Me: Let me tell you a thing or two about her…

 

(Today’s writing prompt: Interview your favorite fictional character. Needless to say my step mother and I don’t get along all that well.)

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May 13: Unconventional Love

Over the weekend, we explored different ways to love. Today, tell us about the most unconventional love in your
life.

This prompt definitely was the reason why I stayed away from my reader today. I spent all day trying to figure out a smart or witty answer to this, but I just couldn’t come up with one. I didn’t want to read anyone else’s answer, because I feared that I wouldn’t be able to think for myself afterwards.

So here its is, straight up and probably not as unconventional as intended: my father. My father, who is technically my step father, bounced into my life straight from the beginning. It’s one of these cheesy love stories where, thankfully, no one dies or gets criminal. My father had been my mother’s best friend for years; when I was two, they fell in love. It will always be beyond me how my father was able to take in a child that wasn’t his and love that child like his own. Never, in all of the years, have I wished for my biological father to be with my mother, I never wanted anyone as a father but him. Every little girl looks up to her parents, but to the day, my father will always remain my idol, for teaching me to love unconditional, and yes, also slightly unconventional.

– C

 

 

 

May 12: Three people walk into a bar…

…I am one of them. I decide to hide out at a corner table, swallowed by the shadows around me. The other two grab the table next to the door, chatting, smiling. I order a whisky. Like liquid amber, it sits in my glass, waiting for me. For the tingling sensation, the smokey aftertaste and that burning sensation in my stomach. The other two strangers are talking. He seems uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to notice.

Her facial expression drops. Her eyes are turning watery. He is apologizing furiously.

While I watch her misery unfold, I remember your words. I let them flow through me, through every vein, every artery, crawling under every squarecentimeter of skin. Every nerve, every cell is in alert mode. Your words are rushing by; my inner workings try hard to hold onto every piece of substance. Your words are bashing in walls: hearts, lungs, stomachs. Everything hurts.

She gets up, screaming. His face is blank. She storms out the door.

The amber is rushing down my throat. It feels nothing like relief. Your words seem to break down my body. Slowly, but steady, having been trying for years. The way you looked at me, full of pity and self-righteousness. More amber. More amber. My thoughts get blurry, like headlights in time exposure. Your words flow over my eyes, holy scriptures in a language I wouldn’t understand.

He gets up, pays, sighs and walks out into the night.

I wrap myself up in my coat. I suppose everybody needs to defend themselves somehow. I trace the wet tracks the amber has left on my table. Your words have become silent. Satisfied, I get up. I pay the bill for a short night’s peace, I turn up the collar of my coat, brace myself for the cold, harsh air outside, give the good old table by the door a tap, and leave.

For the third time this year I’m vowing to never walk into this bar again.

May 11: I want to know what love is.

We each have many types of love relationships — parents, children, spouses, friends. And they’re not always with people; you may love an animal, or a place. Is there a single idea or definition that runs through all the varieties of “love”? 

 

When I read this question I immediately and ultimately started to regret the decision of blogging. Bull’s eye, baby! Love and I, we don’t get along too well. Without drawing any parallels to my current situation; love never wanted me, I never wanted love. I have always been a wanderer and wunderkind, I focus on everything but social interactions. Quite frankly, I have always sucked at literally every sort of inter-human relationship. “Why are you never calling?” goes hand in hand with “You just don’t care about me.”. Bingo! I don’t care about 99% of the world, so I guess statistically, that’d be a hit. For those I actually do care about, I care deeply, I just suck at it. For some reason, over the past few years this little core of hardcore friends has evolved who put up with me – cheers to you guys. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever remember to call.

Which essentially brings me to the answer of today’s question. Love is trust. Trusting in the fact that I will still get in the car so you can cry over your break up even though we haven’t spoken for three months. Trusting in the fact that whatever you are holding in your arms does not suddenly submerge its teeth beneath your skin until the blood flows (which is completely unrelated to my friends and rather the animals [and possibly children]) mentioned in the question above, I promise). Trusting someone with your emotions, making yourself vulnerable and hoping to god you trusted the right person. Trusting in a place to be your shelter, your heart, your home; the minute the door falls shut and you are safe; the door that opens and makes you feel invincible. The feeling of driving through the night with your windows down and the (much too cold) wind in your face, arm out the window, M83 in your ear. “This city is my church“. Trust is the smile on your face when you remember drunken mistakes and mishaps, the secrets that are safe and the silent consent between to people to never, ever stop trusting each other. You can’t love without trusting. And I firmly believe you can’t trust without loving, one way or another. One can love in a million different ways, but can only trust in one.

Stage direction: Less Drama, C!

Alright, alright. All in all, I can say about myself that I have always loved the right people, things & places. I may have loved too little, but therefore I was always safe & sound. I do have many regrets (because that no regrets thing is bullshit) and I would definitely change the way I interacted with certain individuals compared to what I did back then. No matter how much I may regret, it is an elementary part of what I am today; however, that does not mean I can’t wish to turn back time.

I hate to admit that this is deadly relevant.

“Cause I hope
We will never have to take back
What we said in the night
I hope that I will always have
All eyes on you”

– C