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The sound of falling glitter

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A tired woman holds her hands shut, fists clenched as small beads of sweat gather on her forehead. It’s completely dark around her, like a castle without light. The darkness illuminates the fact that the woman is holding something with its own light, but you can’t quite see what. Is it shining ? Green? Yellow? You can`t be quite sure, since she keep it closely inside. 1e6f0c21138bf6ebac99cb1538aa4dd7A memory is swimming in her head. When the details off it manifests themselves, the lights inside her hands becomes stronger, and she push it back. She doesn’t want to see his jaw line, his tender eyes full of concern, or hear the empty footsteps when he walked away.

You feel her pain, and want to hold it for her, but you know watching and being there afterwards, is the only help you can offer. A silent tear starts to fall, and a white bird coming out from nowhere catch it and let it ride on its soft back. Some seconds pass as the bird carry her tear away. The woman know this must be it for now, or she will burn away all that’s left of her. She lets him touch her head just one more time, and hears his voice saying he didn’t mean the bad things he said.glitter Slowly er hands opens, and you see it’s full of glitter in all colors. It sparkles and shines for her, the beauty awakened from forced sleep. She thinks: I can’t watch this any more, it’s not mine to keep, and she turns both her hands so that more and more glitter falls down. It covers the floor, and pools around her, and she’s careful not to step on it so it can fully light up the darkness around her. She puts her head up, stands straight and brush the last flakes down while turning proudly, not looking back.

She doesn’t look tired anymore, she looks radiant and strong and we all see it; This woman doesn’t need glitter to shine.

Lost and found

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Right now I’ve placed my professional self in the office chair of my companion, waiting for a new private patient. My stomach is bravely working with biff stroganoff that I bought in a cafeteria right before I came here. I sat down with my iPad and started to read some blogs, which inspired me to start typing myself. I read a lovely little excerpt from a woman’s life, with this question baked in the general text:
If you have never lost yourself, how can you ever find yourself?
It immediately got me, since it so elegantly turns around the meaning of something most people would classify as wrong. I like this small protest against the established, this tendency to surprise and give our brain something new to mull over.

To meet a new human lost in their own nightmare is always something special. It’s knowing we will have to take a journey, sometimes into unpleasant territory. It’s knowing I’ll be there, mostly being a cheerleader and as the one who really tries to see behind masks of fright, sadness or guilt. It’s a discovery, and also feeling someone’s pain with them. It’s feeling my eyes water because once again, someone did what they said they couldn’t: Go into a store when you’re sure you will faint and maybe die, telling you’re best friend what’s really going on

Protected: The sound of something in between

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The sound of whispering behind the veil

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Yesterday I was there, between the helpless feeling of nothingness and thin veil of reality. I tried to see behind it, tried to force a crystal ball to this place, so I could get a glimpse of what I’m still doing here, and why I bother. The bed I slept in was coverer in cold promises that I tried to forget, but who firmly covered me with its invisible film.

I returned to reality, neither happy or sad, just a neutral mood sprinkled with tiredness.

We will see the place I’ll have to go, in the end.

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The sound of forgotten wickedness

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I`m sitting in the office, five minutes before the next client arrives this friday. I can hear the clock ticking away its message to me. I`m a bit tired, since I woke up a bit before 5 this night, reminded of a dream that keeps repeating itself. Its stuck, like my thoughts, and I badly want to push them, make them move, make them go away.

I read from a blog the other day, that problems will be there until their solved, but this one can`t be. Sometimes acceptance must be reached, and I know I`m closing in on it, since the fighting has gotten more intense, but not with the same attitude. I know calling will not do, and that nothing will work to get him back, so basically it’s just to remind me that I am a person who never gives up, and maybe that’s also the message I want others to see, too. But I know, there is really no need, cause I show it far too much, people get tired of my updates and perseverance, maybe they feel the vain and don`t like the feeling it awakens.<img src="https://mirrorgirlblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/cozy.jpg?w=215" alt="cozy" width="215" height="300"

I`ve just come back from a little walk. My head is loaded with tiredness from unsuccessful sleep, and I need to expose it to the cold clarity resting in the air outside, just enough to feel thankful for the warmth, when I was back inside. I then went to our reception, where both the secretaries were busying themselves with essential friday work. Another co-worker was there, in a striped, colorful jumper, also an essential reminder of the roots

class=”alignnone size-medium wp-image-744″ />weekend coming. I just have one more conversation today, before I grab the keys to my faithful little car, and start my travelling. I`m going away for a week. No more thinking about everything I`ve lost (even our cat is now in the custody of E.`s parents), but focusing on new things. They happen all the time, its just noticing it so much that the old things is buried under them, new networks forming in my tired mind, one more path in the land of the unknown.

The sound of protection

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“Two monks were washing their bowls in the river when they noticed a scorpion that was drowning. One monk immediately scooped it up and set it upon the bank. In the process he was stung. He went back to washing his bowl and again the scorpion fell in. The monk saved the scorpion and was again stung. The other monk asked him, “Friend, why do you continue to save the scorpion when you know its nature is to sting?”
“Because,” the monk replied, “to save it is my nature.”

Some people ask me: why don’t you forget ? Why do you reach out? Why don’t you move on? Maybe I could say the same: it’s in my nature, to never leave people I really loved

20130106-133805.jpg I sat at home yesterday, feeling the silence, letting it caress my toes and giving my thoughts room to roam. Funny how your face keeps resurfacing then, how I can hear your words in my head and can feel the warmth I had for you. I’m free, I can do what I want, but like Sinead o’connors sings: nothing compares to you. You made me laugh, you made me think and you made me want to change. When I did, you felt safe enough to say goodbye, because without building my walls you didn’t dear leave me, in case it cracked again.

I see your face. It has a half-smile on, that you put on in compassion. You really didn’t want to hurt me, but you had to, also for your own sake. I’m thankful for the bricks you gave me time to build, and I hope this new version of me will reach somebody ready to hold it. You wrote to me: one thing you look up to, is my ability to fight for whom I love, and I know you mean it. It just wasn’t for you, and I respect that.

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