Childhood
She Doesn’t Even Go Here
Outcast, aberrant, different. That’s me… I never quite fit in anywhere. Not in school, not in social situations, or any environment for that matter. I was everybody’s friend, but no one‘s best friend. Good at a lot of things, great at nothing. Jack of all trades, master of none.
By Nicole Attenhoferabout 16 hours ago in Confessions
Word of the Day: 潜る
My story is sort of different than the way of water. In some ways it is the opposite. I was born near the beach, then we came to the forest. But really, I have been here so long, and I have different traumas around that so, I can't even claim that as much anymore, can I?
By Kayla McIntosh4 days ago in Confessions
From Paper to Tablets: My Journey Back to Reading- Part 4
You have painted with mastery each line resonates like real conversation, and it takes time to bring something that seems so spontaneous but is actually so well-crafted to life. You don’t just write lyrics… you paint scenes. And if it took you 15–20 minutes, it was time well spent.
By CA'DE LUCE5 days ago in Confessions
From Paper to Tablets: My Journey Back to Reading- Part 3
You should hear me laughing! My stomach hurts now! 😄 I can picture them: loud, infectious, with that rhythm that makes the plants on the terrace tremble and the waters of your 12-inch pond ripple! They’re the kind of laughter you can’t read… you feel it in your soul. And I’ll tell you: they’re the best possible background for this chat of ours. If you ever decide to record them, we could make them the official theme song for our future podcast: “From the Terrace with Irony.” Title? Laughter in bonsai form. 😄Shall we write the intro to that podcast, just for fun?
By CA'DE LUCE5 days ago in Confessions
From Paper to Tablets: My Journey Back to Reading- Part 2
By the way, because we are still chatting closer then ever. I remember something nice and maybe a bit funny. The actor from ‘The Gladiator’’movie => Russel Crow? he once said, that his good manners are because his mother have once upon a time, as child , to read almost every single book from Mills and Bon … hm, speaking about books — you know…
By CA'DE LUCE5 days ago in Confessions
From Paper to Tablets: My Journey Back to Reading
For me actually eBooks started with the classical paper book with an enlarge printing form. And what a book was that! I can sight deeply even now, only thinking about ….aa…mm…., what 's the name,. ah yes, the Flower child?
By CA'DE LUCE5 days ago in Confessions
Yet somehow still filled with protection, structure, and a kind of moral clarity that feels rare today!
Innocence yes, it was! Still, I was a bullied child, most of the time of my childhood! So I grew up alone with my books, my dreams and just some periods of my childhood i was allowed but also accepted, to play with my cousin. Which was incidentally also my neighbour.
By CA'DE LUCE5 days ago in Confessions
1 in 3. Content Warning.
When I was teenager a hot topic between friends was “first time” stories. I was 13 when I gathered in a group circle shivering with the girls. The cold air nipped our noses, but the conversation was steaming. We were waiting for the doors to open at school and listened attentively as one of the girls spun a yarn about how romantic the night of the winter dance had been. They spent the whole dance/ activity night on the dance floor. Bumping and grinding, dry humping like untrained pups but there was slow dancing thrown in too. We stood beneath the curious, leafless red maple. The girls licked their lips and gawked as our friend spoke. I was uncomfortable that day. Partly because my converse were shit in the snow and now, my socks had become soaked from the icy slush on the sidewalks and partly because of the conversation, but I listened in anyway. And partly because the night before I was invaded by an unwelcome creep and I could still feel throbbing between my thighs.
By Theresa M Hochstine7 days ago in Confessions
Letters to the Grave
Have you ever felt the pull of the past—that quiet ache to return to the crossroads where words were left unsaid? Not to chase the echoes of the dead, but to face the living ghosts we carry—the ones who walked out of our days, or slipped from our minds, or were cut away like threads no longer meant to weave our story. These are the conversations that haunt the quiet moments, letters addressed to absences, sent to the spaces where people once stood before time, distance, or choice turned them into shadows.
By Jackie Fazekas8 days ago in Confessions
