Latest Blog Post

Where the night begins

When Sharon returned home from a little trip, everything was just as she had left it. An unfinished breakfast on the table, the faint aroma of coffee long gone cold, and a house carrying the quiet weight of unspoken feelings.

She opened the windows wide, inviting the cool air to sweep through and scatter the stillness. Her cat leapt onto the couch and curled up in her usual spot, purring softly, grounding the room in a sense of gentle normality.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. She stretched her legs toward the open window, letting the cold wind brush against her skin. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with smoke and memories, and exhaled slowly, as if releasing the weight she’d been carrying.

Her mind wandered back to the past week, fragile and difficult, yet unexpectedly alive with new beginnings. She had stood face to face with thoughts she once couldn’t bear and had almost, almost made peace with them.

In two days, she would be in Brussels for her concert.
But tonight, London still belonged to her.
She finished her cigarette and, forgetting all about the coffee, wandered toward the fridge. From inside, she pulled out the ice-cold bottle of Jäger and poured herself a few quick shots, letting the burn slip down her throat like liquid courage.

Then she slipped into a soft dress, the fabric gliding effortlessly over her skin. By the door, her shimmering dance shoes waited patiently. She slid them on, one foot after the other, and tied the laces with care. Before leaving, she grabbed the jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Grabbing her bag, she stepped outside, the cool air wrapping around her like an invitation. There was a quiet hum on her lips, a fragment of a rhythm she couldn’t shake off, and with it, she surrendered herself to the night, ready to lose and find herself all at once.