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Posted: https://livelovesmilee.wordpress.com/2014/06/22/do-you-love-him/

Original post (uncensored):

          Dear stranger,
I do not. Perhaps what I am saying seems a little, or a lot, nonsensical but you asked for my sincere answer and you should know that a sincere answer is what I am giving to you. I do not love him. I find it easy to admit or agree to such a thing and the reason why is simpler than you could ever percept. Whatever this feeling that cursed me is, it goes deeper than love. Since humans haven’t found a word for that yet or we may never find, I won’t let myself indulged into its’ charm. For love I have felt and it was not like this. It was indeed powerful, every emotion was triggered by it, but now, now it’s more than that. Now, the infinity of my feelings transfixes my body and has turned my feelings into a hunting warren. A warren of desire, seduction, empathy, vivacious feelings, feelings that if you ask me; I could even live for as eternity lies at dawn.
Maybe I should let you know, hoping you would understand my questioning this ”love” you want to name, that I have become a feathery person, sometimes even feeble. I am asking you please not to judge me or try to convince me that I should reconsider my statements, all because I will not. I am not gloomy. Do not ever understand that. I am as flippant as the hays of the sun on the sunup. You should see my expression now. A sough just escaped my lips, such a sweet and perky sough! It’s tingling my heart; this image of a demi-vierge person who craves for me as I crave for him every night. This rapture or cannibalistic need of flesh, which many of us may not understand, it’s provoking me a deep sensation of amour. I do not say love dear stranger. Mark that. I am biting my lower lip at the very moment and the hotness in the air has made my skin sweat. My humid lips have a salty taste of sweat. The hot breeze, the closed window, the feeble night, they all remind me of him. They all make me crave him even more, even sweeter. How can I make it understandable to you dear stranger?
In a parallel reality, where he exists only for me, or we might say that he is here for me, he touches my lower lip, undressing it from its’ salty taste with his own big softy lips. I fear writing to you the rest of the details so if you wish you can stop reading. If not, well…read on.

     I have a need to reprint into words the dream that fed my desire two nights ago. I was intrigued dreaming the same thing twice in one night. Perhaps, or as someone today implied, it was either my fear or desire, that broke the chains to dreaming wetly. Yes, dear stranger, wetly.

     In a former letter I have described you the expression on his face, of my saturnine man of course, but I omitted the erotic details. Those are that I am thinking about though. As I said, passion and rapture feed my dreams. His hand ran into me. As you see it, into me. Filling me completely. And oh! I would be called a liar if I didn’t admit that I loved it. More importantly, I felt it. My dream felt more real than any other dream. I am embarrassed admitting such a thing, or concerned of my own burning desires. However, I should tell. It was more than one sensation. My body was flooded. I felt like an ocean which couldn’t support any more water. Close to every imagination I have had, this dream pulled me to the edge, as all I have been thinking about the last forty eight hours is that.

     On a third long parallel line, runs my heart competing to all the above or helping them get to infinity. I do not know what it actually does but I feel it running. It has become a beast, a warrior among cyclops. I shall not lie, I do feel deep feelings for him. As I said at the beginning, it is all about some other inexplicable feeling that has not been yet named because there is no greater than that. Writing the last sentence, perhaps I stupefy my own self for writing about ‘love’ as the greatest of all, but you should know, I am not. All I want you to do is understand the difference.

     If I was a bird, closed into a roost, perhaps he would be my branch. In other words, he would be the freedom I have gained for myself. In even more words, he would be the one thanks to whom I have set my wings free to live without perks or boundaries, waking up every morning, setting my self to sleep, all with the knowledge of something greater than what we already know. Perhaps, life is all about that dear stranger. Perhaps not. You should not indulge into my thoughts, just listen and understand them.
As I said, I do not seek my cage anymore.”

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Healing.

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There is an intermediate phase that characterizes loss. There exist three types of loss and you would all wish to remain with the taste of the one mentioned in the very beginning. Firstly, we have the untamed loss, the painful and dreadful feeling that something is missing, the agony of losing one self too, the suffocation with one’s skin. I would never wish such a misfortune. There is also the liberating loss, the one that was truly necessary and amiable, the one that is rare to encounter but still less painful than the previous one. Most commonly we face the first type of loss.

Once your own skin is suffocating you and the knife on your chest is pulling your bones out, there is a significative probability that you might not be able to cry. In that moment, the pain is stored inside and as a consequence, the breathing process gets a lot harder. In that moment, say or think of something that your ego or the circumstances would not permit you to say; say “I love you”, “I’m sorry”, say whatever you hold back. The moment you liberate your mind from the things that you kept behind, the heart takes over and lets the pain spread.
My eyes became tearful in a few milliseconds. I blinked and the river flew harmonically off my eyes. The healing process had already began.   

Tears.

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The night was terrifying and silent. The void let the other emotions burst freely on the surface. It was the first time in months that a raindrop touched the earth without any hesitation. It fell abruptly from the eye and the second one followed. I was feeling the humidity in the air days now, but the heart of stone did not believe in giving in. The mind of the sinner refused to drown and fought hard to unravel the tangled thoughts. The meteorologists and my heart had predicted a thunderstorm. After the first raindrops, the others followed easily. It was hard to sham the pain as every thunder hit the bones of the thorax. The filmstrip seemed infinite. Myself and the tawny woman, both rubbed our forehead and covered our eyes. I could feel the skin under my nails hurting but the rain had to be stopped. I had created an ocean in which my sadness could reflect itself as if it had taken a human form; fine beauty, long curly hair, sparkling eyes. I wondered what is the source of that sparkle; radiating happiness, disturbing melancholy or painful regret?

Sinner old man.

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     There were not necessary many gestures to get my eyes filled with tears. My grandfather’s arm on my shoulder was enough. Not many words either. Just his saying that I will always have him.
     I always saw my grandpa as a sinner. I did not know any of his sins but that’s what I saw in him. Through his sins, I would also see his affection and love. As a man born in the 50’s, he was not the kind to share his  feelings openly. He did it differently, as if he was ashamed of them or me.
     When I was a little girl, he used to come and take me for long walks. He made me see the world from a different level; 2 meters height to be more specific. My legs would play freely around his neck, my fingers would twist though his hair and my eyes would not stop sparkling. He carried me on his shoulders from the mountains to my grandma’s house. He was proud of his first born niece. Two years after, he used to pick me up from school. I would climb the hill to home with him and our discussions would be nothing but childish. Even back then, I used to see him as a sinner but his sins loved me. Not long after that time, he got sick and I lost him for ten years. To be honest, I do not recall a lot of moments with him those years. I have one image though that I cannot forget. It was at the beginning of his worsts and as his illness hadn’t been defined by any doctor, we defined it ourselves. Even now, we live by the same theory; psychical exhaustion. As I was saying, I remember him making sounds of different animals; snakes, frogs, the perfect imitation. His eyes were turbulent. It was dark outside and the room had been filled with his growling. My grandmother had gone to call the priest, my little aunt was standing as still as a tree and her face had all shades of yellow. My older aunt was sitting on her knees in front of him, crying and praying. I was in the corner of the room, tantalizing my eyes from my grandfather to my crying aunt. I would never forget those few minutes; neither my aunt’s tears nor my grandpa’s sounds. I also remember that when the priest stepped in, his condition got worse. I do not recall the next hours or days. I grew up visiting them in summer. His stare would not leave the noisy black box and his body won’t get out of the house. That’s how he lived until 2010 when my grandma called, saying that her husband went to the city and he wants to come to visit us. No word about those ten years had been said to him.
     Today, he came after me on the streets as I was talking a short walk. I saw that profound affection for me through his kind touch and still, his sins love me.

Question marks.

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Close to the shore, where the tiny waves hit the dry sand, I found a seashell that whispered to my ear your name. I fell in love once again. I used to find the way of someone turning into ruins that many would admire without knowledge of history quite exciting; but in moments of tiredness, the excitement goes away. The pain turns into disturbing anger and the person that once was your beloved, inspires a kind of disgust. I strongly believe that feeling is more painful than the pain of a lost love. The way you see a person changes; the emotions are stripped of their purity. In a way, this theory may seem a bit absurd or driven, but it cannot be worse than living with the sentiment of guilt; the last coming as a consequence of the person’s inability or thought of inability to give someone else what they need. Perhaps, you have given your best and tried for more; if the person beside you doesn’t want to receive or doesn’t give you the chance to prove yourself; then it is simply not your fault.
In the middle of the day, I discovered that the physical exhaustion was just an excuse for my doubtful thoughts. My soul was tired, on the edge of giving up. Would I be blamed if I did so? The pain of a lost love I would tolerate more than the loss of respect towards myself. But what if I’m wrong?

Mirrors.

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“She fantasized me looking in the mirror. She thought I would see whatever she saw in me; Mirrors lie. They show all physical imperfections, every curve and every unwanted scar. Do they show what is hidden behind my skin? Mirrors cannot show my heart. “

First to fall.

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I could not control the hatred. It was as if a raven was being chocken by a human, harshly; the blood drops were colouring the ground in shapes of evilness and disaster. I was disgusted by the food he once served me; I was feeling my guts burning by the drinks I used to serve him. The gastric acid was running up my lungs elevating the blood pressure and I had no control upon it. His voice made me tremble; my hands were shaking. I looked at him from behind just for a few seconds; I could not resist the urge to see him. His standing was as provocative as always; the air I breathed was irritating, a little bit poisonous I might say.

The door is closed but I can still hear his penetrating voice; it runs fluidly through the walls, making the barriers of justice collapse. I remembered his glare and his laughter. I felt my spline hurting; I panicked unwillingly as if he still has power over me. I tried to cool down my insides for the sake of the tears that would run of my eyes. I cannot.

Perhaps it seems a little off to you that I never presented such desires of hate. I heard her voice approaching and the hatred had to be buried. Hopefully, she did not come alone so the interrogation had to wait. I participated into the conversation with a forced smirk painted on my face and a few random approving words. Every sound would penetrate me like I was made of thin air. Later on, she was sleeping on my arm. I had the time to forget his voice and study the room. She became the subject of my dark thoughts and slowly pushed them away. It was an unpleasant moment; being in that bed, starring at those walls, feeling the scent of another person that wasn’t you. In a certain way I managed to concentrate on her hard breathing. Every movement of my arm would disturb her peaceful sleep; you should see her in those moments; her hands around my neck, her legs crossed and possessive. I think, that was the first time I really felt the abrupt fall. 

The hatred was forgotten, at least for a while, but the scar was still there; haunting me.

Time of death.

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         At least I know how I want to die. The peaceful sky will be having the color of midnight blue; a star here and there; not too many; enough to shine wonderfully around the moon. The waves will be hitting the shore quite hardly but in the deep; the sable line will be clear and still. The roundness of the moon will be perfect; its’ hues will have a scarlet color; bloody but still dusty grey. Across the beach no soul will be whipping beside me. The horizon will seem endless and I will be greeting it. Opposite to the endless sea,  at the exit from the beach, a wooden bar will be still lightened. No soul will ponder on the porch. The unclean dishes on top of the sink will torture my soul. I will not leave unfinished business behind. The tick-tocking of the clock may feel exasperating but not so much as I will know it will be the last I am going to hear it. There is a half empty glass of whiskey on the corner of a table. I observed that night and only, the brunette woman sitting there. She would leave the same half empty glass every night, I would take it and toss it. That night I will not. I will ran my fingers over the shapes of that glass, sink one inside, rub it on my lips and flash it inside me. It will burn but I am sure I will not mind. The void will be filled with a song from the radio. Elliott Smith will be playing his favourite song, something about us between the bars. I will take that emptied glass and walk on the shore holding it. At some point, I will fill it with the ocean’s water and  when I am ready, I will drink up my unfulfilled  dreams. Their poisonous effect will be the end of me; there, on that beach, shaded by the midnight blue sky. The clock on the wall of the bar will stop tick-tocking. Time of death: 02:30 a.m. .
I woke up in the afterlife and all I did ever since was wonder; what if I had no unfulfilled dreams? Would that water still poison me? That was my hell. I was tortured by that idea, of never finding out; what if I had done all that I wanted? No remorse, no going back.

Să mă porți in tine.

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    Am mărginit iubirea cu o bordură de fier, am transofrmat-o in praf, am adunat-o din toate colțurile sufletului meu, am curațat-o și ți-am dat un pic sa guști. Ai luat din ea un vârf de linguriță și ai atins cu vârful limbi. Ți-a fost frică să iei mai mult. Nu ți-am reproșat nimic. Te-am lăsat să faci ce vrei cu ea. Când ai simțit gustul picant, ai cerut mai mult. Nu am zis nimic, ți-am dat. Am spart-o din nou in bucațele mai mici, atât de mici incât sa-ți fie usor să o plimbi prin gură. Mă uitam la tine mirată cum iți străluceau ochii când saliva ta te dezgusta in lipsa iubirii mele. Am făcut ochii mari dar fără să comentez ți-am mai dat. In ritmul ăsta, ai reusit să mă lași fără iubire. Mă porți în tine in fiecare clipă. Îmi porți iubirea, oarecum furată, în sânge. Mă întreb uneori dacă te incomodează. Nu te doare sa trăiești cu iubirea oamenilor, ființă criminală? Ți-am cerut doar să ai grijă de a mea, să nu o plimbi prin alte paturi și să nu lași pe nimeni să calce pe ea. Sper că măcar asta ai fost in stare să faci. 
     Într-o seară friguroasă, ți-am cerut și eu la rândul meu, un strop din a ta. Am vrut doar să văd cum mi-ar sta cu ea în mine. M-am uitat in ochii tăi și am observat cum sufletul tău se scufundă în oceanul temerilor tale. Îti admiram frica; ai lăsat-o liberă să o privesc. Am zâmbit și te-am luat de mâna dreaptă ce incepuse să-și crească temperatura. Ți-am lăsat iubirea în pace și ți-am cerut să mă lași să-ți iau frica. Sufletul tău a început să plutească din nou și respirația ta s-a ușurat. Așa ai facut. Ai transformat frica ce-ți sufoca sufletul in nisip fin, ai suflat cât să-mi ajungă în toate colțurile lipsite de iubire și mi-ai cerut să fiu atentă când plec cu ea. Nu ți-am mai cerut iubirea, mi-a fost de ajuns că ai avut incredere să mă lași să-ți dărâm zidurile. Să știi că acum te plimbi dezbrăcată prin lume și numai eu te pot îmbrăca din nou. Dacă nu mai reziști, aștept să-mi ceri frica înapoi. Ți-o voi da necondiționat dar să ai grijă când o pui la loc; poate iubirea mea crește și nu mai ai unde. Ce faci? Îmi dai iubirea înapoi? N-ai cum. Nu o să mai aibă loc nici la mine, căci mi-ai luat temerile tale și în mine a intrat iubirea altcuiva; un narcisist ce îi era frică să și-o țină în el. Așa că lasă-mi temerile tale și dacă nu mai poți, transformă iubirea mea în fericire și plimbă-te cu ea dezbracată. Așa nu se ia nimeni de tine. Fericită. 

Habromania.

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She believed in nothingness as I believed in the universe. She is a peculiar creature and fascinatingly stormy. She was lying half naked in the middle of that bed, staring at me. Her smirk provoked me but I could not move. I was sitting beside her with a paralyzed leg on the ground and the other one half-hanging on the bedside. Her skin was soft and the hays of the sun were creating quite an intriguing form down on her waist. The curtain was covering the other half of the window. The view outside was as magnificent as her sparkling eyes. I turned to look myself on the mirror at the headboard; her shirt fitted me. It was as if I was wearing a part of her. Her glare was hypnotizing. She took my hand into hers and brought it close to her face. I approached to hug her cheek. She inclined her head towards my hand as if she needed to feel me. She blinked hardly and slowly; for a moment I thought she would not open her eyes. The smirk on my face transformed into a straight line. Hers too. Our thoughts aligned, we were both aware about the uniqueness of that moment.

We escaped from the mountains and ran to the sea. The sun had hidden away and tension was dominating in the air. Even the stars were afraid to come out. The universe was absent those moments; she was well dressed but her emotions were completely naked. She was overwhelmed by the sea’s agitation. She was looking at me from the driver’s seat; perhaps a bit lost or disappointed. I did not know what feeling was really dominating in that moment. I felt as if my guts had been filled with sand and I could not breath. I felt a strange need to feel the cold breeze on my skin. The sea was stormy and dark. I had to go back. She said nothing and with the same feeling dominating inside her, she took a sharp curve to get back in the abandoned city. I was still having that nod in my guts. I thought she wanted to escape; I saw her fearful and indecisive. I think she felt the world was not enough to run; words were not enough; her thoughts were disturbing and a continuous loud voice would not let her rest.

The universe had to intervene. She was forced to stop driving. It had no importance why. We were stuck there; on a dark night, by the stormy sea, no human life pondering around, just a few stars on the sky and the harsh sound of the waves hitting the shore. She exhaled madly. The sunrise was an impeccable show of colorful shades; the moon that once was touching the sable line of the sea had been driven away by the marvelous burning sun. The shattering silence had been replaced by minor worries and laughters. In that moment I saw the universe in her eyes. She told me that mine were filled with nothingness; I had hidden my thoughts. I suppose that the love I felt took a little bit of alone time to grow and then it would show up again.

…to be continued.

February.

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The darkness has fallen softly; the humidity in the air should feel suffocating but surprisingly, it doesn’t. On my table there is an object that indicates the greeting of Spring. I cherish this season deeply as it is always the beholder of new beginnings. For a few minutes, I thought I had fallen again into February’s trap; reliving old emotions, but hopefully I stopped myself.
I was staring at the other humans this morning; so agitated and yet a bit sophisticated. For a short period I thought I had her behind me. I turned my head to the left and then right, searching for her eyes. She has turned my mind into an infernal paradise. I know you wonder what that means, I do too, but it seems inexplicable. I did not get the chance to see that clumsiness of hers before. Her glare is an oxymoron; devastated and excited. Sometimes I try to put the pieces together, understand that controversy but I can only fail. 
Her body is curvy and expressive. She stimulates an eroticism that sometimes seems hard to avoid. She is everything but innocent. The fierceness she carries is well hidden behind an invisible mask. I would say that she is dominated by a demonic angel. 
She speaks arrogantly and with a lot self-centerism. Her words are exact. I felt them burning my insides, scratching the surface of my skin. 
It is the middle of the Aquarius’ month. The moon stays hidden, fearful of the dominating sign. I keep myself close to the moon as I know I must not fall into that hole again. I remembered Alice talking to the Rabbit: “I don’t want to go there again, it was peaceful in this jungle, don’t make me fall!”. I do not want to fall either.

Chimera.

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   I would tell you that I never wanted to associate this song with you; perhaps I wanted at least that to be mine, fully, unconditionally. I would tell you that I am filled with guilt and disappointment; perhaps that is what I should feel. I would tell you that I am disgusted of your eyes, your voice and your way of treating things. I would tell you all these lies, I would keep you away from me. I would laugh on the idea that it does not worry me; I would laugh on your face and tell you that I do not care. Sometimes it seems so easy to lie but these mentioned above, it’s impossible to say. Harper Lee says that you never understand a person until you climb into his skin and walk around in it. I do not contradict to this theory but walking on her skin; I cannot do. I tried and I failed when I realized that I cannot feed you with the lies I mentioned at the beginning.
     It was a shattering morning until I heard her peaceful voice. The night before, I saw her everywhere. She was entering that pub’s door at every turn of my eye. She had her hair down and then up, she wore black and at some point she wore red. She wore all colours and had all kind of expressions. She walked in every time a woman walked in. At four o’clock in the morning the alcohol’s effect was gone. That door opened again but she wasn’t the one stepping in. I saw a brunette woman, wearing a bright red lipstick and a slim fit pair of trousers. It was then when I realized that she’d never come. I smiled hypocritically and opened my eyes. It was just a nightmare. I was staring at her sleeping next to me and after a few minutes she opened slightly her eyes smiling too. She was biting her lower lip while I was touching her below her waist. How could I lie? She has become a bitter-sweet addiction; a necessary evil.

Ineffable.

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      It was an admirable view; her sparkling eyes subduing to the night’s wilderness. I wish I could find the exact words to describe their untamed desire or the color of the fire that was burning inside of her. Perhaps I also wish I could find the courage to speak but I was just flooding silently with all sorts of emotions. I felt fear and happiness. I wanted her to turn around that road and walk with me. Later that night, after giving it some thought, I imagined doing as I wished.

     She wrapped her hands around my neck, forcing her body to rise on my back. The sky was clear but only a few stars were above us. I do not recall someone or something bearing witness to her confession. It was as if no human life was breathing around us; I would only concentrate on her perfume. The minute we arrived at the apartment she pushed me against the door. I could tell by the way her lips trembled that she expected more. I ran my finger over her lower lip while our eyes were having a long sacred interaction. She breathed deeply as if she was suffocating. I took her hand and walked in. She sat on the bed supporting her back on her palms while her legs were closed, perhaps intimidated. I was staring at her in need and in a few seconds her glare was clear of that fear. I took a step towards her, dragging her jacket off her shoulders. She was running her fingers seductively around my waist and I felt as if my bones were melting into her hands. She was biting persistently her dried lip, watching me swallow my own saliva. She enjoyed the torture as much as I did. I concentrated on the first button of her shirt so hardly that my hand ran there without the command of my mind. She tasted amazingly good. It was close to midnight and I had finally found the right words to speak up but she had fallen asleep. I whispered in her ear everything I had to say and I think she listened; there was a smile on her face even in her sleep.

Scarlet.

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      There was a time when the surface of the ocean was calm and irresistibly warm. I no longer cry for those times or try to establish them back into my life. Her untamed laughter can be easily compared to a huge rock striking the surface of the ocean. It creates an explosion inside me as if the dramatic and insane moments are not enough; I am asking for more. Sometimes I find myself worrying about the end of this hide and seek game. What if this insanity is all I need? What if the future becomes predictable?
     I put you through these ramblings of mine without telling you who am I talking about or how this infatuation began. I don’t know if the beginning matters to you but it definitely matters to me. I shall began first with the exquisite part of this journey which is definitely Her.
     She’s a woman that holds the privilege of being pure, as her name indicates so. Her natural brown hair hangs hardly in a ponytail or just caught with a clamp. She hardly lets it reveal her feminism. I looked up some old photographs of hers where she looked a lot like a carefree child, tanned and glittery. The sun adores her. She’s a woman that fights the winter days and loves the dawns at the sea. Her pale skin is always radiant and her eyes…well, those eyes have a lot to say. Perhaps that is where I can stop the description. The color of her eyes is something between autumn and spring; I think that the exact shade is called moss. She’s of a strange innocence when she smiles but that’s not easy to see as it is well hidden behind her temper. Her pace is always quick as if the road is long and she must hurry to reach the destination.
I still remember the magnificent view of her on that steel chair, sipping her latte, wearing her scarlet robe. That was the day I fell for her and it seems that I am still falling ever since.

Muse.

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Did you ever get the chance to talk to yourself while floating on the surface of a deep sea? Did you ever get the chance to walk through a forest without fearing if you lose your way?
I am still wondering if you have ever given the chance to yourself to feel the wonderfulness of a fearful moment. It was a little late to have that discussion, perhaps it was a little late for any matter or just way too soon. In history, it was all about the perfect moment, the right opportunity at the best of times. Unfortunately, nobody got the timing right. I suppose that Socrates would have been a lot more useful nowadays and Frida would have had a better chance in life if her timing was right. But, what if that was the best they could do? What if their timing was as perfect then as it would have been right now? What if she let herself walk on bare feet through that fire? If, if…I could think of a lifetime marked by this hypothetical clause but that wouldn’t be enough; “If” is not enough.
The road was slippery and cold. My feet were trembling as the nod in my stomach was pulling harder and harder my insides. I was trying to control myself to every bite of her lip. The sadness in her eyes was such a seductive burdain. She kept her glare mostly public, letting me study her while swallowing her own saliva hardly. Her collar bones had an intriguing form of a flying bird, somehow being in accordance with her unclear thoughts. She had an unusual perfume that I can hardly describe. Perhaps that would be one of the last things I could possibly describe. The view was still foggy but her smile resembled a lot to summer. I could feel her sorrows inside me, burning and forcing me to talk. The last few meters were the worse. We had found our way out of the forest and the mythical moments we had were fading away into the darkness. It is her eyes the last image I remember; filled with doubts.