Divided

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My 5 year young niece made this for me the other day and I was a bit surprised. I’ve never told her how I feel, yet she knew my heart is divided, as it is my home. Home is London but it’s also Cluj. I am me but also my self. Realising now the empathy of a 5 year old is stronger than any therapist’s. They don’t even ask questions, they just feel you.

*chapter One, where I run away from home

12219403_1646153878988277_8868682009092114688_n(Nice, 2015)

My grandma used to say it’s forbidden to sew on a Sunday. She didn’t know exactly what would happen if, but she always reminded me of her nightmare

my eyes and mouth were stitched, there was an old lady with a giant needle and red thread sewing my mouth and eyes she was 100 years old 

so I don’t sew on Sundays, just in case the old lady would visit my dreams.

The loose ends

once upon a time in an air plane I read this picture in a book:
strings of yarn
a few hundred strings stretching across the water
passengers leaving for the inside world
they held balls of yarn

the others on the pier held the loose ends, a few hundred strings
every ten seconds slowly flying
as I was shouting farewells waiving furiously

the balls of yarn began to spin – I began to spin
my fingers were part of her dreams now
my footsteps were part of his imaginary home now
my hair and eyes were part of their hopes
now

I was gone.