BEGRIJP JE ME - Joost klein

chapter 5

We sat there in silence for a while longer, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the occasional laughter of late-night wanderers echoing through the park. The stillness of the night seemed to wrap us, creating a world where nothing else existed but this moment. The moon cast a silvery glow over the grass, and the cool breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers.

"I've always thought writing is a brave thing," Joost said, breaking the silence. His voice was thoughtful, almost reverent. "Putting your thoughts and feelings out there for the world to see. It takes guts."

I smiled, a genuine smile that felt like a rare gift. "It can be," I admitted. "But it's also a way to make sense of the world, to process everything that's too big or too chaotic to hold inside. Sometimes it feels like the only way to understand myself."

Joost nodded, and I could tell he understood. "It's like music, in a way. You're telling a story, trying to capture a feeling, a moment. Each song, I feel like it shows some part of me, you know."

I knew what he was talking about because, although I wasn't a musician, I loved music. I connected with it. We were both storytellers, in different ways. We both tried to express ourselves in different ways. The idea of connecting with others through our work made the world feel a little smaller, a little more intimate.

The conversation flowed easily now, as if we had known each other for years instead of mere hours. We talked about music, about our friend, about anything really. Joost shared stories of his tours, the places he'd seen, and the people he'd met. There was something in his voice that let me know how much he enjoyed what he did.

"You ever think about going back to writing?" Joost asked, his question gently probing.

I hesitated, the familiar fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. "Sometimes," I admitted. "But it feels like a part of me that I've lost, like something that belongs to another life. I worry that if I try, I'll find that the words have left me."

Joost paused for a moment. "Maybe you haven't lost it," he said. "It might just need the right time to come back. Sometimes we just need a little push to remember what we enjoy."

His words struck a chord, resonating with a part of me that had long been dormant. I had spent so long convincing myself that I had moved on, that my writing was a relic of the past. But maybe Joost was right. Maybe it wasn't gone—just waiting for the right spark.

As the hours passed and the sky began to lighten, painting the horizon in soft hues of pink and orange, Joost glanced at the sky. "I should probably get going," he said reluctantly. "I've got an early soundcheck tomorrow."

"Oh, thats fine" i said feeling a bit disappointed the moment was coming to an end. "Let me walk you home" he offered with a gentle smile.

I was surprised by the offer but touched by his thoughtfulness. "Sure," I replied, feeling grateful for his presence. It was rare to find someone who listened so deeply, who seemed to understand without needing to say much.

As we walked through the park, the city waking up around us, we continued talking. Joost continued sharing stories from his tours, describing the energy of the crowds and how of a challenge it all was . He spoke of the moments that made it all worthwhile—the times when the music connected with the audience, creating something larger than life. There was a passion in his words that was infectious.

"It's funny," Joost said, "no matter how many concerts I do, every time feels like the first time. There's always that moment of doubt, wondering if I've made the right choice if I can really reach the audience."

I nodded. "Yeah, I totally get that. I think everyone has those moments where they question everything. But I guess that's what makes it exciting, right."

Joost smiled, his eyes reflecting the first light of dawn. "Exactly" .

As we reached my building, the conversation had drawn us closer, our shared experiences weaving an unexpected bond between us. We paused at the entrance, reluctant to end the night. It felt like we had discovered something rare and precious in each other.

"Thank you," I said softly, "for tonight. For listening."

Joost returned my smile, his gaze warm and sincere. "Thank you, too. For talking. I needed this more than I realized. It's not often I meet someone who gets it."

We stood there for a moment, the world around us slowly waking up. "Will I see you again?" I asked, surprised at the vulnerability in my voice. It felt like taking a leap of faith.

Joost considered my question, his gaze steady. "I hope so," he replied. "I'll be around for a while. Maybe we can grab coffee sometime? I'd like to hear more about your writing."

I nodded, a smile breaking across my face. "I'd like that." There was a lightness in my chest, a sense of possibility that hadn't been there before.

We exchanged numbers, a promise of future meetings hanging in the air between us. As Joost turned to leave, I watched him go, feeling a warmth in my chest that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was as if the night had breathed new life into old dreams.

As I made my way inside, I turned on the lights and felt greeted by the comfort of my home again. I was so tired that I went straight to bed. I changed quickly and sent a message to the guys, letting them know I was home and fine. Of course, none of them replied since it was almost 7 a.m., and they were probably all sleeping. I lay in bed, and my cat came over instantly. I smiled and started petting him.

As I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I thought about the night. It was so unexpected. I had left home just thinking about being with my friends, getting drunk, and having fun. But then I met Joost, and it felt so different. Maybe it was meant as a reminder that there was much more. Maybe I should start writing again..