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English version HERE!
to cope with stress
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the stress was messing with her periods so she got even more stressed as a result Oh, and that guy she met through the dating app, he considered himself catfished. Why? She looked like in the pictures. No difference. More stress... It all started with the premature death of her mother And then there was the messy divorce and all that But she didn't wanna think about it There was only one way to cope with the stress She sat on the couch and turned the TV on and got the nail clippers out of her makeup kit and used them to chip pieces of skin off her knuckles and then chew them like sunflower seeds it worked wonders as a stress relief technique The skin of her hands looked very much like Swiss cheese but the dents were rimmed with redness She watched her hands as she chewed on the pieces of skin and then it hit her "Oh God! I'm such a dumbass. I forgot to take off my wedding ring. No wonder the guy considered himself catfished. He saw my hands and thought I was some unhappy wife looking for hookups. Oh dear..."
all a dream, all a nightmare
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but what if it was all a dream? All a nightmare What if he wasn't just a construction worker who fell from the scaffold and couldn't get up and was in incredible pain from the torso up because he had no more feeling below? If this was all a dream all a nightmare and he was no construction worker barely making ends meet then his wife did not divorce him a few weeks ago and she did not take the kids and she did not have another man in her life If it was all a dream a nightmare then he did not just jump to his death If it was all a dream a nightmare
the old dog
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he was a very old dog and he left hairs everywhere he sat yet despite all that she let him sleep in the bed besides her Only because her family said it was wrong By definition everything those people called wrong was right and vice versa So the old dog slept with her The old dog was all she had left The old dog was the only one who stood by her side that time she overdosed on sleeping pills The old dog was the only one who didn't agree with mother when she said, "Oh joy, another suicide attempt. I wish she'd succeed at something for once in life but… well, no such luck, I guess." The old dog had died four days ago but she still kept him in bed besides her
no poem, no poetic justice
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He kept coming back That was his only skill Respect is not something you can possibly be born with. The children of kings and lords should know this but most don't Though this kid who kept coming back he was no one's son A vagabond His body bony in all places no meat under the skin A skin that had all the colors from pale to yellow to blue to crimson to pitch black dirty scarred sore and something that looked like bone peeking out of tissue He got beat up every time he came to the fighting pit behind the tavern Never won a fight against those well-fed, bulky sons of farmers and blacksmiths and butchers with puffy arms and wide napes They fought mostly for respect and the money was a side prize But the bony boy came only for the money and he never got any But he never begged in the marketplace either The bony boy had a pride about him a pride that never left until the day he could no longer stand in the fighting pit after that fatal blow It wasn't even that much of a strong hit but his neck was so weak it snapped And they gathered in a circle around him mute and stared stared until their backs felt brushed, shoved to the side by a pair of hands weaker even than the bony boy's Softer "That's his little sister," someone said as they all moved aside and let her reach the bony boy, crying "So it's her that he fought for all this time." "Yes." "And he kept coming back every time." "Yes." "Insane." "Wah, respect for the little guy." "You know what, boys, I think we should do it. Give the little girl the prize money." "Yeah." "Though this ain't no fantasy land and no poem. So, no poem, no poetic justice. We'll give the girl the prize money alright, but she'll have to earn it. Hopefully doing a better job than her brother." "Yeah, girl, just like your brother, come back every time you need money. Unlike him you'll get it. You really will." "Right, now off with those rags and let your fight begin. I'll go first."
you never left
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It's the little things that tell the difference but many times there's no observer to notice them Little things like ignoring all the beer in the fridge and going straight for the cupboard where the tea bags stood untouched for years Chamomile Caramel Pear A fine combination He took out one little bag and filled the kettle with water and placed it on the electric stove and looked out the window while waiting for the steam to whistle Rainy weather outside Overcast weather inside, in his heart Also he had no smokes left and no one to smoke them with so he took the lighter from inside his pocket and lit it against the glass of the window and said to the flame, "You said you'd leave. But you never left. It was a lie. Else why do I feel you closer now than when your body stood right next to mine? Doesn't make sense. You never left…" The glass started to blacken around the flame and he retreated it "You never left," he said. "You are so close now and had taken over so much of my mind that I started doing the things you loved and I hated." The kettle whistled behind him He turned around. "You never left…"
today I don’t wanna die
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She walked on tiptoes around the house and bounced a few times and spun like a ballerina and sang, "Today I don't wanna diiIiIIie." It was rare for her but he sure was glad to see it. Glad and now a bit anxious not to do something that would disrupt her happiness. It could be anything really She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his neck to bring his body closer to hers and said, "Let's open a wine bottle and make love." He smiled and nodded and instinctively brought a hand to his head to feel the scab from the last opened bottle of wine
Daydreaming as a profession 