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Showing posts from October, 2017


There were holes in my underwear. I could relate to it so I never liked buying new ones.
Back then I could relate to just about any broken thing, a stick in the jaws of a strong dog, a vase... urgghhh the sound of breaking glass makes me cry. It always has, it's like an automatic response, tears just start crawling down me.
Sometimes I would break things on purpose just to make me cry, that's why you will find in my old home a cabinet full of glasses with no match. The few that didn't break.
I find it hard to break on my own. A hug and I can cry to fill a river but when I'm alone, I don't cry. When I was a child I had to learn how to cry. I never internalised it. Screaming, that came naturally. Punching a wall, that hurt a little bit.
Crawling, I did that a lot, I would crawl through my anger until the feeling of hopelessness and guilt and something more earthly and immediate mixed with it, went away. The feeling would go and the stinging would come pouring upwards…

Comfort of friendships past

His eyes remind me of the dirty waters of a river that crosses Tirana's city centre. A calm, small river, it's water muddy, honey brown and liquid like his eyes. Small, strong eyes that look at me the way my grandfather, a history addict, looks at old books. His hands are chunky and his grip is strong like those of workers back home. His heart, pure, blooming, in love.  I only feel comfort when my fingertips touch the nape of his neck and his heavy eyelids fall gently and he smiles. He is home.  He is the safe garden where children that are yet to come play joyfully with water guns and sing nursery rhymes. He is the perfect cup of tea, the heat of a cozy water bottle. He is comfort. He is a no fear zone, no worries, no jealousy, no delusions. He is the one, who will always be there.  But I, will not settle my dreams into this home, so comforting and lazy. I will not settle my goals into simplicity and love and children, I am unable. I feed on feelings awful and sharp like the …