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Honeysucke, Lotte van der Krol

The air is honeysuckle sweet from the summer warmth still hanging between the trees, resting on the moss, clinging to your skin. But my footsteps are cold and fog dances around me as they evaporate the warmth of the sun, the warmth of your hands. Are you lost? I whisper in fog words that rise from your skin, but you don’t understand this misty language and take another right turn in the wrong direction. Dew drops are already forming on the green moss, the sun is already sinking behind the trees. You never meant to come here, never meant to tread this ground. I can hear it in the clouds your breath makes in my cooling air. Did the dark paths lure you, did a false light guide you, was the air just too sweet to resist? It doesn’t matter, the sun is already setting. The moss is soft, I say, my breath washing away the last of the honeysuckle scent. My hand touches your hand and it’s warm but soon it will be as cold as mine. Fog dances around you and now you can’t see the ground and you can’t see the trees and you can’t see your way out as the last of the light fades away. I can see your shoulders shaking, your teeth clattering, but it is what it is. I can’t change what I am and I can’t change what you are but I make my voice honeysuckle sweet when I whisper, honey, honey, honey, just lie down and sleep.


Lotte van der Krol is a multi-genre writer from the Netherlands. She likes to walk in the woods, following the strange sounds that are almost like music but not quite. Her work has appeared in Popshot Quarterly, Capsule Stories, Weird Christmas, and others. She’s on twitter @lottevdkrol and on

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