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Not nothing but trouble (workingtitle)

This is a tiny piece of a larger story I'm writing. A memory of one of the main characters.


She was playing with matches. He'd left them carelessly lying about. Like he always did. He cared for nothing but his booze and his smokes. He'd been gone for a long time already. She knew that when he came back he would stink. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of that. The matches smelled nice when she struck them on the side of the box. The scent made her smile. It made her think of good things, she just couldn't remember what those things were, just the feeling they'd left behind. She was hungry. Her brother DaniΓ«l was not home yet. She looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall and tried to concentrate. The two hands of time stood very close together on the bottom side of the clock, to the left. She started to be nervous. DaniΓ«l always protected her and he wasn't home yet. Maybe daddy would come home sooner. She struck another match so maybe the good feeling would stay. Then she heard the door slam shut. She quickly hid the struck matches under the carpet, but he'd already entered the room and she knew she was going to be very sorry. That's what he called it. Very, very sorry. But I'm already sorry daddy, very, very sorry.

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In memoriam ~ Chris

Chris
Juni 1999 - December 2018



mijn meisje, mijn lieve meisje
ik ben gebroken, maar voor jou ook blij

jij jaagt nu op spookmuisjes
en vangt vast spookvogeltjes

mijn meisje, mijn lieve meisje

in de poezenhemel woon je nu
voor altijd jong
voor altijd vrij

maar ach mijn meisje, mijn lieve meisje

ik mis je
ik mis je


je was bijna je hele leven
een heel groot deel van dat van mij

Already his

erratic thoughts run wild
my brain pulsating with unruly life

death - so inviting
an idyllic image anchored in my mind
of secret glances & romantic dances

he awaits me
patiently
till last breath ~ soon

this life, this world
I won't miss

carve my name into stone
I am already gone
I am already his



Wat altijd zal zijn

nu het donker wordt en wij ouder
kijk ik terug - niet achteruit
zie de gloed van jouw gedachten
zo warm en zo mooi
als een brug van wat eens was
naar wat altijd zal zijn - jij
een zachte trilling in de lucht
als van een vleugelslag - vrij