Those cold belgian nights

...and who could ever forget them? I am still in that room, probably one of the coldest and creepiest in the House, sorrounded by posters and figures of Freddie Kruger. I can still smell the special perfume of the House, you know something that with its atoms is like the breathing essence of that very place.
I can still hear my friend doing something in the kitchen, probably preparing some coffee or tea. And me, upstairs, with too little clothes on, shivering but with an immense peace inside me ...and the adrenaline, the excitment for the unknown, for the fantastic and mysterious things that would await me each day.
I remember losing my ride back home on purpose, from that place far away, just to savor one or two extra days in that very House, in that area that for me was a portal onto another world.
I remember asking you to sleep beside me and hold me, I was frightened like a child, not of the House itself, but by the things that were watching me and my every step, by the things that were just waiting for me to get back to normality and live my everyday life, away from that magical world.
There were also a lot of sinister sensations, all around me. If you could have looked inside my heart!
If you only knew how much I wanted to cry that night! But you wouldn't have understood that. Because I was me, I was "her" who always came and left. She who was part of something that your fingers barely could touch, a world that was beside yours, yet not really into yours.
I wish I could go back. You don't know how much I wanna cry. How much I want to say I am sorry.
I was so young, arrogant and confused. You deserved so much better. So much more gratitude that even if I would speak to you now I wouldn't know how to express. But my heart knows it.
It's like a burden I have inside. I must get back there. I have to. I just hope that door will open for me again.
You won't read this, maybe someone else will and will tell you, I am just so sorry, so sorry.
If you only knew.

that period