Creative Writing,  Journal

The Daydream

The soft sand cools my feet as I bury them deeper in hopes of soothing my nerves. The wind is picking up, the rhythmic melody of waves crashing against the shore simultaneously setting me on edge and calming the fluttering butterflies.

Leon sits down next to me in his freshly changed yet already moist-looking clothes after having shown off his surfing skills. He swings his zip-up hoodie over my shoulders adding the feeling of warm fuzziness to the mix that is already my swirling insides.

I like him, he’s nice.

He listens.

Wow, my standards are dragging on the ground, huh? Being impressed by the fact that a man listens to me. Sad life we’re living here.

Apparently he had asked his friends for help in wooing me, kind of sweet, I have to admit. And to my gratitude, his friends suggested that Leon just treated me like a friend he so desperately wants me to become, without the weird attempts to impress me in hopes of earning a quick half-hearted shag. It’s almost as if … Leon actually cares? What does that feel like again? I must be mistaking the feeling with something different entirely.

“It’s funny how life works, you set out to stop trying to impress me, and yet you’ve actually succeeded in impressing me,” I smile as I look over to him.

Instead of going all the way to London to some fancy restaurant, he took me along the coastline of Southern England, allowing me to be alone and one with nature as he went out into the cold aggressive waves, too strong for first-time surfing lessons for me, but a refreshing surge of adrenaline for him.

“Thank you, I know how to work a surfboard,” he grins a sheepish grin and I push air out through my nose. “Sorry for not really hearing what you’ve been saying… I should’ve realized that you hadn’t moved away from Tokyo all the way to fucking Brighton in order to spend your free time in grubby London pubs.”

I smile to myself, tears welling up behind my sunglasses. It was a cloudy murky looking day, but at least I was outside with my feet touching the sand and a whirling angry sea in front of me.

“Thank you, though, really. You did listen to me enough to recount our conversations back to your friends, so I am actually impressed!” I tried to keep it light but my voice revealed a tremble.

“Holy shit the hurdle is that low?” Leon fixes his concerned gaze on me. “Wait, are you crying?” he turns his whole body towards me, looking uncertain whether it’s okay to touch me.

“What! I’m not crying!” I let out a shaky laugh and take off my sunglasses to wipe the escaping tears with Leon’s hoodie sleeve. “Oh god don’t look at me like that, these are happy tears!” My lower lip trembles as I smile. “I’m just touched, that’s all… It’s been a while since someone cared about me so much, you know, enough to go and consult their friends.”

I can’t look him in the eyes knowing I’ll start crying for good if I did, so I just stare out at the sea and bury my feet even deeper into the sand. My heartbeat turns so hard and painful I’m afraid he’s going to notice my whole chest shaking with every passing beat. A few silent seconds pass, a mix of emotions etched on Leon’s face. Concern? Worry? Sadness? You sure it’s not pity?

“Come here,” Leon touches my shoulders and gently guides me to a seat between his outstretched legs, taking my hands and wrapping me in a warm comforting hug. He places a light kiss on my temple and tells me that he cares, that he cares about me in the kindest whisper I’ve ever heard in my entire life. The words echo in my mind as he gently rests his head on mine, waiting patiently for me to relax into him, gently stroking my cheek as I grip his arms around me.

“Thank you,” is all I can muster without breaking into tears fat enough to compete with an actual newborn child.

Why does the fact that someone cares for me makes me want to cry in the first place?

I feel calm in his arms, no pressure, no hurry, only me drinking in the kindness oozing out of him like my life depended on it, like I was never going to find it again. He makes me feel accepted, appreciated, worthy of the worry and care. But most of all, he makes me feel safe.

I twist around to the side, draping my legs over one of his and bury my face in his chest. He lets me readjust my seat with a light hand on my upper back, placing a tender undemanding kiss on my head, wrapping me tighter in his arms, in his care, in his kindness.


I’m safe.

I finally feel safe in a man’s arms.

Safe enough for the tears to dry, to return the hug; promising to myself to offer him the same acceptance and kindness in return.

“Thank you for making me feel safe,” I quietly whisper into his chest wrapping my arms tighter around his torso.

I’m afraid that thanking him for such a given thing will eventually come to bite me in the ass. That it will teach him that the sense of safety can be provided and taken away at will, that he’ll end up feeling a nice guy, a gentleman for showing the bare minimum of human decency towards a woman by simply not posing a threat, so allowing her to feel safe.

“Don’t thank people for something they have no right to take, never again,” he half whispers a tad sharper than he might have intended, a twinge of painful strain in his voice. I can feel him wanting to say something else but only his grip around me gets tighter as he slowly exhales.

I want to cry.

Maybe this time showing vulnerability in front of a man will not result in questionable consent and the feeling of shame and violation making me want to scream and rip my body apart.

Maybe this time it will be different.

Only time will tell as not even men themselves know if and when they’re going to turn.

But for now, I feel safe here, on this murky beach, wrapped up in a warm embrace of a fellow human being, a kind caring person who also just happened to be a man.


Circles by Post Malone echo in my empty room as the snooze alarm drags me back to reality.

I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to get all preppy and pretty for work. I don’t want to smile and pretend like everything’s okay. I don’t want to have to bear the stares of random men, their eyes trailing me up and down. I don’t want to be out in the world.

All alone and so damn vulnerable.

I wack away the remnants of my daydream along with my bedsheets and step out from the safety of my own mind and out to face the sick world expanding before me.

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