*Posts from my 6S (Six Sentences) Blog
The Take Over
Undetected, I slither into the depths of your being, transforming serenity into a volcano of emotion on the brink. Your concentration paralyzed by a tsunami of anxieties swirling around your platform of ego. Grocery clerks appear menacingly slow, the traffic agonizing, your husband seems to be a stranger, and nothing tastes quite right except for ice-cream and Taco Bell.
I enforce a fog to diminish your inner mute button just when a conversation desperately requires it. Fatigue replaces the beauty of sleep; you desperately wish I were a mere vodka induced hangover.
My name is S: PM, S.
There was a time when you showed the utmost devotion, and I would surrender in sweet peace upon your arrival. I barely needed to call on you; yet, without a miss there you’d be, cradling my exhausted body, shushing my woes away, marking the end to another day.
Now I stare at the ceiling longing for you, my eyes sometimes bouncing from corner to corner in anticipation, wondering what I did wrong for you to abscond. Perhaps this is punishment for ignoring you (but I didn’t mean it!); staying online, absorbed in the noise of the internet…a google here, a tweet there…
Now I cast my gaze to the crack of light peeping out from behind the curtain, my stare numb but not relaxed enough, a scatter of thoughts flutter about in my mind, the rhythm of my breath my only company.
Please come back to me, for I miss you terribly, my dear beloved Sleep.
Ode to Leuven, Belgium
Soft sounds of Flemish float through the air from those bustling along on cobblestone streets, winding around and about towards the center of town.
A lavish Town Hall pierces the sky; a masterpiece of detailed work calling upon the observer whose gaze cannot bear to rest on just one spot.
Sweet aroma from Bakers’ shops infiltrate the senses, draws one in without mercy, lining their windows with enticing treats sinfully sparking a pang of hunger unnoticed just moments before: “Een chocolade broodje, alstublieft.”
At the heart of several buildings sits a white brick embossed with the year 1914 above flames; a haunting reminder that the work was once the object of destruction but built anew; a historical signature memorializing the despair of war and the dignity of repair imprinted on the consciousness of all who pass.
Gray skies perpetually hover, threatening rain, teasing umbrellas to unleash their protection and force a hasty skip in one’s step; no matter, because a café around the corner invites shelter, offering strong espresso, Koffie verkeerd or an impressive array of beer that imbues power to erase any hint of discomfort from the cold.
Church Bells chime, monopolizing the pulse of the town, and alerting the denizens of the hour as they continue about on foot or bicycle through this lovely little place, Leuven.