Stella's long lost Amsterdam days...

I spent most of my days waiting for him…My moods were like a sinusoid, fluctuating from utter elation to colorless listlessness…I often thought of Murakami…

I used my pent-up aggression to pummel the punching bag at the gym, breathlessness could not make me forget…That is usually my cue… 

I forge all my best plans in the kitchen…Red wine has set me free enough times…Not the healthiest way to cope, but as he said, leaving to go to that club, for a millionth time: YOU DO YOU BABE…And so I did… 

Leaving him was harder than I imagined. I sat on my stuff, clutching my coat like a security blanket, cried, left, ran back in and then finally, I took one last look at the cold, lifeless space that was my home for five years and left…

 Getting back into the saddle involved wearing silly jackets and grinning through job interviews…However, anything was better than the cold metal touch of his toxic masculinity…I got the job! 

 I learnt how to love myself again…At weekends, the pearls, silk and lace were substituted by rope bondage and harnesses…Getting lost in Berlin saved my life…To celebrate my new found self, I made a top using his old silk pyjama and his braces…I found the ritual strangely comforting…

 Whilst I was getting to know me again, a new girl inhabited the space. She was called Monét, she was French and super beautiful…Did I hate her!? Did I play Sokko’s “I kill her”…Not really…I just felt a strange pang and felt the old fever for a lost romance…And then, it was gone….