Autumn song

As her fingers danced over the keys, the melody rose up from the piano. Melancholic, sweet to the point of being painful. The wind blowing around her took the music with it. The melody became louder, stronger, full of emotion. Suddenly a gash of wind blew her long hair out of her face and towards the sky overhead. The wind began to swirl, blowing with the melody. Little brown and red leaves got picked up from the ground and were thrown into the air, dancing a delicate autumn ballet.
She gently touched key after key, stroking them softly. Their tunes interwove and ducked and dived on the blows of the wind, ringing through the open spot between the trees. Their spot.
As the wind swirled all around her, she saw him emerge from the trees. The song grew sad, full of old pain. Full of longing.
He slowly moved onto the open spot. Eyes closed, letting the music carried on the wind guide him. His delicate features looked so peaceful. She regretted how easily his dark brows, his long black lashes and small lips had seeped away from her memory. He had always been so perfect, but her memory wouldn't retain every single detail of how she had loved him. Couldn't.
He moved forward until he reached the piano. Autumn leaves were dancing all around them, getting trapped in their hair. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her softly. The shock of seeing his bright blue eyes made her jump. Her finger slid of the key, breaking the melody. For a moment everything around her seemed to freeze and he seemed to fade away...
Quickly she placed her finger back on the key and played on. She could not stop playing. The music had searched and found him, and kept him here. Without it she was alone once again.
His eyes followed her fingers touching the keys. Then they slid up and locked on hers. She felt a tear run down her cheek, slowly making its way down to her chin. It had been so long.
He carefully leaned over the piano and cradled her cheek in his hand. His thumb wiped away the wet trail the tear had left behind. She let out a sigh, which came out as a sob. She'd have to let him go again. Eventually, when her fingers were too painful to go on playing and the melody no longer resounded through the trees, he would disapear again.
But for now he was here. In a brief moment in time, they were together again.

Too far away (poem)

The bright light of the computer screen
Buzzing in the darkness
I pour my soul into the keys
Making my words touch you gently
The way my fingers can't
Stroking, caressing, loving

Longing to touch you
In a way that renders words speechless
Typing out my missing you
With the tip-tap of every key

Transforming my feelings into bites and bits
And seeing them come out on your side
Still intact, unchanged
My love for you, in a little text box

A pensioner's life (doodle)

Hi, this is just a doodle I made during Creative Writing...


A pensioner's life is like the last stop of a bus. At a service flat. You definitely do not want to see the real last stop of the bus - so you put up with the deaf, dementing, pee-smelling wrinkled things called human beings that are living all around you. Mind you, the dementing can come in quite handy at times - I haven't had to repay loaned money in two years.
Other than that, it gets pretty boring. Most people around here aren't sane enough to remember your name longer than one day, which kind of rules out friendship - if you want to be friends with an adult still in diapers anyway. The TV always shows the same winter resort somewhere in Switzerland (I hope whoever ever had that idea breaks a leg - no wait, make it two. And an arm.) and the nurses turn out to be not so nice when you've tried to make them trip over your cane twice. Anything for a little entertainment.
And then there are the dreaded family visits. The entire week is a blur of boredom, but you just know when Sunday morning has arrived. Suddenly the drool disapears, the diapers are neatly tucked in and (some) TV's are switched off. Cars appear in the parking lot that are not the staff's - or the funeral company's, for that matter.
And that's when the TALK starts. Yes, the T-A-L-K. Nobody ever knows what to say. And what should you say, when you see your old father surrounded by people who are one foot in the grave already anyway, and nurses who treat him like he's already got a foot and a half in? And what should you say when as a father, you see your son sitting on the bed you just wet the night before (by accident!), divorced, with a badly paid job and a small apartment his only child has walked out of?
Nothing.

Paper dreams (poem)

no words possible to say
exactly how I feel
my feelings
as blank as the page

curled up
like a little ball of paper
wrinkled inside out
the ink running out

my paper dreams
will remain
on the page,
but never out.

My soul (poem)

I spread out my soul before you
Every single bit of me
Neatly piled up
Strewn around

You gently pick one up
Look at it closely
Stroke it tenderly
Shake it carefully

Put it back where it belongs
And look at me in wonder
A smile twinkling in your eyes

You are the one I entrust my all to