Love Letter from Other Side

Posted on 24/11/2023 by Katarina

The angel of wood above a gate of a house at the Petit Sablon, Brussels

Dearest Warrior, Traveler, and Lover,

My dear Weirdo,

I see that things often feel stagnant and incomprehensible to you from your perspective. And you sometimes consider yourself insufficient, silly, not enough. Well, I could persuade you it is not true, as my perspective is complete and lucid and free, but that is not my role.

Do you sometimes feel like your desires do not matter? Often, you do not feel the love that you are?

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Posted in Christmas stories, Katarina, Observing Brussels | Leave a comment

Le concert

Posted on 26/07/2023 by writingbrussels

« Allô ? Qu’est-ce qui se passe ? Tu ne peux pas venir ? » s’écria Tamara, alarmée.

Pendant qu’elle déchiffrait des bruits inarticulés sortant de son téléphone, elle ressentit un coup violent dans son ventre.

« Chut, calme-toi », ordonna-t-elle à son fils. « Ce n’est pas le moment. »

Le petit ne devait naître que deux semaines plus tard. Mais déjà, il montrait un caractère persévérant et coriace. Après avoir accusé un nouveau coup de pied, Tamara se mordit les lèvres en s’efforçant à concentrer son attention sur la conversation avec son amie Pilar.

« Qu’est-ce qui a brûlé ? Tu as eu un burn-out ? » Continue reading →

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ak by si bola / if you were

Posted on 15/07/2023 by writingbrussels
Posted in In the mirror, Rebirth, U2 | Leave a comment

Rumor has it Brussels eats Frogs Legs.

Posted on 06/05/2023 by Katarina

“I told you we should not eat frogs legs for dinner if we wanted to taste those strong beers,” Zuzi said late in the morning, a ringing headache obscuring the clarity of her mind. 

“I am a tourist, so I need to explore what the place has to offer,” Roman answered, stretching his arms on her stylish fouton couch in the living room. They were friends and never attracted to one another. A rare arrangement within human relations, but it exists. A man and a woman, both young, liking each other and not desiring the body of the other. 

“You do not feel the hangover?”

“Of course I feel it,” he said. “It is part of the game. Do not refuse it, embrace it.” 

“ I will prepare some coffee and juice, if you like, you can have the bathroom now.”

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In how many movies were you the baddie, George? Blessing Finula (3/3)

Posted on 18/04/2023 by markrowancropper

Image courtesy of Père Lachaise cemetery

“So,” said George, tottering gently in the middle of the room, staring at Finula in his bed. “I’ll just clean my teeth then,” he drawled, before twisting round and heading back out to the bathroom on the landing.

George felt odd. Amidst the swirl created by the alcohol, he could feel himself both aroused, and disappointed, at the same time. He was clearly suffering the effects of that peculiar confusion, where contrary feelings mix with drink, which drives a person into some sort of anxious, rudderless autopilot. He took up in each hand his toothbrush and toothpaste and stared at himself in the mirror.

“Hmm,” he murmured to himself, brushing erratically while letting the foaming toothpaste dribble down his chin. Events had taken a turn and now there was no going back. Returning to the room, he meekly addressed Finula with a “Hi. You alright?” switched off the side lamp and took off his clothes down to his underpants.

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Posted in Everyone's a bad character in some story, Mark, Observing Brussels | Leave a comment