Running for your life.

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For a few weeks I try to see in the swamp’s direction Eleonora’s silhouette, the way she left me, with her cloak on her shoulders. In order to pass my time, I decided to write. I don’t know whether someone will find these papers or they will rot in here. Actually, I’m writing in the same way I’m talking. Around me there is only emptiness, and if a man stops talking at some point he dies, right? All of you that will listen to me, I consider you my judges. I’m tired of talking to myself, judging my own self.
Do you understand gentlemen what separates you from me? We’re separated even by my own death. After I finish what I have to say, and if Eleonora doesn’t come back, I will leave alone.
I sat on every bar-chair since the day of my return and spoke about that magnificent trip I went in summer to Italy. I ran every minute through a filter from my mind to my mouth and the story was a blast every time. The first time it was a bit close to reality, the second, it could have been interpreted in many ways, the third, it was exciting and the last time, for which I’ve already lost count, it was the best time of my life. Everybody admired the hell out of me while I was making that trip sound better and better. I was a fierce woman, dealing with a heartbreak from the man she considered her last, going away to enjoy herself in places she’s never been, meet strangers, hop from train to train, enjoy the sunshine and be close to the sea.
But, did any of them really wondered, was I really that woman?
I wrote letters to the man I loved, crying myself through every word, I fell asleep on that Thursday night of August with tears glued on my face and woke up on Friday with a constant pain in my chest. I would not eat, nor drink, nor feel more than I was already feeling. Lost. Incapable of even faking a smile, betrayed, alone.
I had no appreciation for anything but my depressed emotions.
I waited on the balcony chair for a few hours, hoping that he could not do that to me, hoping that what we had would be stronger than anything, wondering how would I live if the only happy life I imagined was beside him. I felt for the first time in my entire life, like those devastated women that I teased for not having the guts to get up and fight. I was those women, I was every woman and every good speech I used to motivate others with, wouldn’t work on me. I used to say to myself from time to time during those hours to stop crying, to stop being so weak, I used to get up and face myself in the bathroom mirror. Once I did, the avalanche of tears just ran off my eyes and I would go back to my seat.
The afternoon came and I was still there waiting. No sign of anything. I checked the schedule of his possible departures and realized that he was gone. What if I went after him and see them together? What if I faced the last thing that would definitely put me on my knees? I was concerned for my health and I could not do that. I knew I wouldn’t handle it and I knew he was gone for good. But what about my pieces? Who would pick them up?
That was when I decided I had to take the tape and force them back together. I had made a promise to myself to visit Italy that summer and I intended to honor it. I thought that if I would go away from everything and everyone, maybe I would find myself again. I had a book that once helped me through summer as it was a metaphor of what loneliness can do to a person and what a person can do to himself.
I looked up all possible trips to Italy to places I’ve never been. I decided that I would go to the same port he departed and take the ship to Bari. I would pass along the island we planned our summer holidays and get myself to face the trip further. I booked every ticket and accommodation for Sunday and I would stay in Italy till the next Friday. For those six days I planned every trip I would go from there and every chapter I would read from my book.
I felt as if I was able to breath again that day. I couldn’t wait for my escape from reality and finding peace again.
On Sunday morning I woke up, prepared my luggage and ran to the bus station. I took a coffee for the road and found myself a window seat in the bus. I would travel for three hours to the port.
A woman wouldn’t stop talking on the phone in Italian, her child making a lot of noise and thus disturbing my reading. In that part of the book the Professor was describing the empty station he got himself to, playing chess with himself while the watch on the wall had stopped to a specific time around the afternoon. He said that in order to survive he would, as God did, name 10 commandments he would blindly follow to guide him.
Here’s how he meant them:
First: To wait as long as it takes.
Second: To expect anything.
Third: Do not remember everything. The memories that help you live in the present are the only good ones.
Forth: Do not count days.
Fifth: Do not forget that waiting is provisional, it really doesn’t last a lifetime.
Sixth: Repeat to yourself that there is no emptiness. There is only our inability to fill the emptiness we live in.
Seventh: Do not put in the same pot both God and the prayer. Praying is sometimes a form of hoping for the one who doesn’t dare to hope.
Eighth: If this thought helps you, do not look for ways to admit that you’re hoping while not having anything else to do or even protecting yourself from the fact that you are doing nothing.
Ninth: Bless the opportunity of belonging to yourself as a whole. Loneliness is a whore that would not blame you for being egocentric.
Tenth: Remember that paradise was, most probably, in a cave.
The woman was still talking on the phone and I decided to take a break and stare off the window. Once I did I realized that our location was close to a hotel we once went and had our first taste of the cold sea water in May. For a few moments I was overwhelmed by those memories and once I felt the first tear running down my cheek I opened the book again. Could I apply the Professor’s Decalogue to my situation? He had placed himself willingly in an empty train station, trying to figure out what his life is about, where he got it wrong, having trials everyday, judging himself to the fullest extent of the law. Then Eleonora joins him, running away from the man she loved, scared of the dog tanneries that invaded her city.
That is how you can picture it and how he describes it:
Gentlemen, I feel that the silence of this station can’t wait to place a crystal mask on my face. It wants to sew my mouth. To stop talking. Then I would belong to the station. I would be its’ victim and its’ God. A mute and indifferent God, laying on a bench in the waiting room, with a crystal mask on his face. Spiders and mosquitoes would hunt me like faithful slaves. I am afraid of this, that is why I cannot stop talking. If I would stop, it would be hard to move my lips. They would turn into crystal and I would be scared not to break them. As long as Eleonora was here, I could talk to her. If she hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have gone to transforming this station into a confessional.
I wondered once why God wants people to confess their sins and mistakes. He should know everything. Why does he insist on us saying out loud what he already knows? He’s doing it to humiliate us, gentlemen. I do not insist on confessing my sins. But I insist on not making the worst of sins, that of not wishing for anything. So please, keep listening to me.
Even the name of the station was a charade. It reduces to three white letters on a blue background, placed on the wall of the waiting room: ERO. There are no spaces between these three letters so the ones that fell must have been from the beginning or the end. As it seems, the name of the station was written intentionally from the beginning this way, incomplete and mysterious. It was as if someone wanted to give the freedom to every traveler to name it as they please. One day, I took a brick and tried to compose a work by adding one letter: ZERO. HERO. EROS.
Time passed quickly by reading and trying to translate whatever theory was behind the Professor’s words. I arrived in the city where the port was supposed to be, where he used to come to work once a month. I memorized every building, every hotel that he might have stayed on his business trips, every client’s shop he used to describe to me. I took a taxi from somewhere in the city center and finally arrived at the port. The woman from the bus and her child followed, they were travelling to Italy too. It was afternoon and I had to wait three hours for my departure. I thought once again before printing my tickets, what if I take the other ferry and be by evening to where he was in those moments? I was torturing myself with these kind of thoughts but I denied them all in the end. I would travel alone to find myself and I would have the trip of my life. I felt strange around people in the waiting room, everybody had a partner or a more plausible reason to travel. On the other hand, there was me, walking around alone, trying to ignore the pain in my chest, running for my life.
They allowed us to get on the ship one hour before departure. I found myself a table on the porch, clear of the wind but facing the view. I settled on a chair, got some more coffee and waited for our departure. It didn’t take long. People were embarking one by one and time passed quickly as I was studying everyone I saw, creating my own story of them being on that ship. A group of Italians sat to the table next to mine, one young lady and two young men. I wanted so badly to engage into discussions with them, but I had to admit, my face wasn’t so happy and fliendly as theirs. I had been crying every day for a month and a half. I’m sure that changes people and it definitely changed me.
Once the ship began its’ journey, I opened my book and went back to the Professor. It was already 8 pm, close to dawn and I opened my GPS to see where we were. We were approaching Ithaca, the place were he, as I imagined, would make love to another woman that night. I stood up, looked into my bag for the other book – the one with my letters to him in it – and approached the part of the ship that would face the island while passing by. I saw it from a few miles, it was so close that I thought I could swim to the shore if I jumped from the ship. I was afraid of dark and deep waters so I would never do it, but I wanted to. In that moment, the trip began to fade. I was holding hard to the book in my hands, wanting to let it go, hoping that it would reach him and he would know that I was close. Passing by that island took half an hour, the sun was hiding behind the sable line of the sea and the view was mesmerizing. I couldn’t hold the tears anymore. I felt blocked on a ship to a destination I chose, running for my life, my heart in my mouth, my blood in my eyes, the book becoming one with my hands and my feet ready to jump in the sea. Those 30 minutes I will never forget. Once the last cliff of the island was behind me, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on what was expecting me. The time of my life. Twelve more hours to destination. The night had settled in and the chairs on the porch weren’t comfortable anymore. I took a towel out from my luggage and wrapped it around my back. Even if the weather was hot in daytime, the night on the ship was cold and humid. I closed my book as it was hard to see at that hour and opened my laptop to watch some series. I had calculated that by watching 50-minute episodes time would pass faster and my mind, would not think of him. Understand it gentlemen, that was the main thing that I was focused on. Not thinking. It was crucial to my survival.
It was 2 am in the morning and I was tired. The plastic chairs were hurting my back and my feet needed some stretching. I wanted so badly to sleep but besides the pain of my interiors, I also had the physical pain. I managed to get some more clothes to keep me warm and the towel to ease some pain from that chair. I fell asleep and woke up at 7 am. The sun was shining once I opened my eyes and it felt like I was still trapped somewhere that I wanted to leave. I couldn’t see the shore nearby. I went to the bar and ordered a coffee. I ate some biscuits with it as my stomach was hurting too. I had forgotten to eat but now my body was just there to remind me that it cannot handle it anymore. I opened my book and read a few more lines with my coffee. Once the shore was finally visible, I couldn’t wait to step on it.
At 9:30 am on a Monday morning I arrived in Bari, Italy. I took my luggage and the crew wished me a pleasant stay.
The hotel I had booked was 4 miles away from the port so I decided to walk. The sun was burning, the bottle of water I had bought was at that moment warm, my hands filled with luggage, my feet hurting but still, I tried to enjoy the road. I walked by old buildings, poor Italians, narrow scary streets with white spread sheets at every balcony. I finally entered a long and broad road that was filled with Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada and all the fashion brands that dominate in Italy. I didn’t see a lot of tourists walking by and the GPS was indicating that I had a few more minutes. Then it all started.
The large and broad street ended to a train station – the main train station of Bari. The GPS indicated that the hotel would be on a street behind that station but I couldn’t see how would I cross it. I entered and got myself on the platform. There was no human being waiting on that platform and like the Professor my eyes caught the watch on the wall. It was broken. The time had stopped to 7:25 am or pm. I didn’t know what was happening but I ran off that platform. I saw a policeman standing outside the station and asked him how to get on via Giuseppe Capruzzi. “Through the station mam’, take the stairs that take you underground, he said.” I found my way underground and reached the heat of the sun in a few minutes. I had to walk on via Giuseppe Carpuzzi for 5 minutes and then turn left. Those five minutes turned my world upside down. All I could see while walking, were dog tanners every 5 meters. Everyone of them had at least 5 dogs on leashes and people would just avoid them when they passed by. I thought of Eleonora in that moment and a shiver sank in my whole body. Could I be having a nightmare or is this true?
I finally reached the hotel at 12.00 pm. The room wasn’t ready so I decided to finally cosy up myself at the bar, order an orange juice to fix my stomach and relax. I was in desperate need of a bath and a long time sleep. I was also aware that if I got into that room and slept I would have woken up the other day. I decided not to waste time, leave the luggage at the hotel’s reception and with my last strength go visit a town at 30 miles away which I had on my to-do list.
I got back to the train station, watching the dog walkers on the street like I’d never seen one before. I was overwhelmed with tiredness, pain in my chest and fear of whether I am really alive or living the Professor’s story.
I bought a ticket to Polignano a Mare and waited for the train that had to come at 1:25 pm. My eyes were heavy as I needed sleep but I also wanted to eat, maybe somewhere nice.
The trip to Polignano was short but I couldn’t get my eyes to help me read so I had to stare at the view from the window and let myself think. What was I doing there? The train passed through some morbid places, dead, ruined. It wasn’t a pleasant view and I was wondering whether I made the right call to leave. I didn’t let these thoughts disturb me more than that. The train stopped on the empty platform, unprotected from the sun, with no stuff at the ticket office or anywhere by that matter. I followed the small crowd out of the station. A map on the wall at the exit exhibited the main attractions of the town. I went on a road going down, logically leading me to the sea.
I arrived in a square with gelatto shops, bakeries, crowded coffee shops and a place that sold parmigiano and had a queue longer than 20 meters. I saw people going in through some huge steel doors on my right but I didn’t want to enter. I continued down that road and at the end if it there was the famous cliff of polignano. It was like a small mountain opened in half and letting the sea form a beach between its cliffs. I’ve never seen a more crowded beach but the view was wonderful.
The sun was killing me and I was feeling my last strength going away. I wanted to find a place for lunch and then go back with the train of 4:20 pm. I wouldn’t let those steel doors be a mystery anymore because I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming back. I entered through them and it was a small world. Vendors selling souvenirs, restaurants filled with people, photographers taking pictures of their companions.
I found this cosy restaurant which was my image of Italy. I asked for a table for one. The waitress confirmed it in Italian as if my request was so bizarre. I sat next to a French old couple which had already travelled to a few places before Italy; as I understood from their conversations. I ordered a pizza and a glass of rose wine. My stomach was hurting and so was my chest now. Even if I was so physically tired, that pain wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t bear watching the surroundings anymore, I couldn’t stop wonder what had gotten into me and how was I ever capable of believing that if I’d go away my pain will too. I rushed to pay the bill and ran back to the train station. It was once again almost empty. I was accompanied by a young woman at the ticket machine. I managed to buy a ticket for an earlier train. It came in 5 minutes and I rushed back to the hotel.
The receptionist handed my luggage and wished me a pleasant stay. The next morning I had planned to go to Napoli, I even bought the tickets for a day trip. I entered the hotel room and threw all my clothes at the door. I filled the bathtub with hot water and sunk myself in it.
What am I doing here? I felt the urge to get away again. The pain was even more unbearable in that moment. It was 4:30 pm, I had a few hours in Bari and I wanted to go back. I felt that whole escapade was far from the time of my life.
One hour later I was clean, lying on some red sheets and contamplaiting my get-away again. No place in the earth would have made me smile those days. Instead, I was terrified that except my whole body and spirit hurting, I was living a charade of the Professor’s kind.
The next ship back to the port I left would be the next day, on Tuesday evening. I called the number I found on their contact list to change my return date and informed the hotel that instead of 4 nights I would stay just that one.
The receptionists asked if everything was alright with the room, if they could do something, what made me change my departure date. What would I tell that nice young lady? That I ran for my life and I realised my pain was running with me?
I said I had a family emergency and I had to go back. It sounded more plausible, more normal than my insane reality.
As it was my only night in Bari I decided to go out at around 8:00 pm. I went back though the station and to that platform I saw the broken watch. Nobody had fixed it, it was still 7:25 am or pm. I went out and walked in the city centre. It was crowded, all kinds of people, nationalities, gangs. I couldn’t find a nice place to eat so I took something to go. It was the worst pizza I have ever tasted but my stomach needed it.
My walk was short and just an hour later I went back to the hotel. I passed again through the underground tunnel of the train station and it was already dark when I walked on the road were the dog tanners would be. I saw the bus station where I was supposed the next morning to leave from for Napoli. I was disappointed of how things turned out but I could barely convince myself that I had to spend the night in Bari.
Once I arrived at the hotel I went to its restaurant. It was a 4 star hotel which was quite luxurious for that city’s standards. There was a nice waitress at the restaurant that helped me pick my desert. I ate a tartuffo and drank some more wine. The night had settled in and once I got up to my room I was a wreck. The oceans pouring from my eyes were unstoppable. Wherever I would go, the pain won’t stop.
The next morning I woke up at 10 am. I went downstairs to eat breakfast and by 12 pm I had already checked out from the hotel. The ship was departing at 7:30 pm and I had to carry the luggage with me all day. I walked the streets looking for those ladies that make pasta in front of their homes. I managed to find them and take a few pictures. I had to remember something from that trip. I continued walking then in an area closer to the port where I found a restaurant that would host me for the next 1 hour and a half. I had a strong espresso and one portion of carbonara. They were both extremely good. I couldn’t bear standing alone at that table. I decided to walk slowly to the port. It didn’t take long. At 3:00 pm I was there. In 10 minutes I printed my ticket and I was ready for departure. Opposite to the ticket office there was this cottage-bar with plastic tables and chairs. It had no door but it served the necessary to survive the waiting and the heat.
As it was my only option in that port, I took a refreshment and sat at one table outside. It was as if someone got me back 20 years ago in some villages in the Balcans, where drunk men used to keep them from closing. I opened my book but I could barely read. I just wanted to leave. The time passed extremely hard but the evening finally settled in.
At 6:30 I got on the ship and found myself a seat in the interior this time, not to get cold again. I had an inch of relief pounding on my heart as the trip of my life would be over soon. I would be again in my dearest misery at home, safe. I opened the book while taking a deep breath and continued my reading. It was Eleonora’s turn to give a verdict over a trial the Professor made her perform. I will go straight to her last words:

In conclusion, my dearest Professor, I know that the world is filled with paths that smell like hay. But I want to live. Do you remember what you once told me? That humans are the only unhappy animals. The other animals know thirst, hunger, hot, cold. They do not know unhappiness. “In that case, nor they know happiness”, I replied you back then. Now I’m telling you the same thing. But if we stay here there is no escape. The mongoose becomes weaker and weaker, more vulnerable, until one day she won’t have the courage to look at the shadow that swings by her side. I have one life which I ruined, that’s true, but I didn’t waste it. And I don’t want to waste it.

So, here it is my sentence in our trial, Professor. Get up on your feet to hear it. “The two imperfect mongooses are ordered to immediately leave and find a way beyond the forest.”
Do not protest against it, it’s definitive.
The shit had sailed. It was a long night in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t help myself to sleep so I continued reading. Every half an hour I would go outside and stare at the sea for 5 minutes. It was dark as the sun had gone away letting the almost full moon dominate the sky. I would go back then and read some more.
Eleonora had left the Professor and he started rambling again:
Sometimes waiting helps us mature, others it kills us. Have you ever thought that one phase of waiting doesn’t resemble to another? Waiting differs like people do.
I wanted to write beside my Decalogue: “Waiting is a way of not dying”. Then I gave up. Just waiting is not enough for me anymore.
Imagine that I would have stayed here with Eleonora until I would have been so tired of waiting. And one day, a train would come and we wouldn’t have the strength to hop on it…How would that happen? We would have stayed, Eleonora would be sitting in the waiting room, I would be laying on the bench on the platform, listening to the sound of the locomotive, the loud announcement “Come on board!”, but we wouldn’t even move, we wouldn’t have the strength to get on the train. We waited for it too much. We exhausted ourselves waiting and we didn’t have any drop of energy to enjoy the thing we waited so long for. We would be filled with deep sadness, remembering how much we waited for that train to come and it left without us. And what could we do after the train’s departure? Our only chance would be forgetting about it, forget about everything, sleep, and when we’d wake up, with our last strength, wait for another train.
I didn’t rest at all those days. I was permanently tired and it was once again, hard to fall asleep. It was 3:00 am when I finally did and woke up at 7:00 am as I was too cold from the air condition in the room. I stretched a bit and went to the bar to get some coffee. I gathered my things and took them all outside on the porch where the sun was heating the atmosphere. Soon I realized that it won’t take long and I would be face to face with that island again. Ithaca.
I was tired of hurting – as I am now writing these words – so I decided to watch a movie the whole way left so I wouldn’t face the view. I couldn’t listen to music, it was hard then, it can be sometimes now, the Universe wouldn’t let me forget. I turned the volume to the maximum capacity, made myself comfortable on those plastic chairs, had my coffee and watched a non-disturbing to my feelings movie. Once that ended, I was closer to the port and Ithaca was way behind. My chest was still in pain and I held my tears like crazy all the way. I couldn’t wait to get home, in my privacy and let it all out.
At 12:30 pm I walked on land again. I ran through the port’s gates to the taxi plaza and grabbed a cab to the bus station. Luckily, the next one was at 13:30 so it all happened very quickly from there.
I ran with my heart in my mouth, ready to burst, waiting and begging to get on my doorstep, leave the luggage down and drown in my oceans.
The bus arrived at 4:20 pm, at 4:30 pm I got in the taxi, at 4:50 I pulled the key to open the door and at 5:00 pm on that August’s Wednesday, I shed the tears I had been keeping inside for as long as I knew me.
On the 15th of August, that summer, I woke up wanting to cry but I had no tears. Physically, I couldn’t anymore. I just felt it all to the edge of my eye, I would swallow my saliva and live to wait – just like the Professor – another day.
As he says at last, God, protect me from myself!.

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.

November.

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I don’t have the permission to brag or make you pity me. Today is the first day of November, another first, another November, one more year. It saddens me. The cold weather, the wounded souls, desperate and yet, peaceful. It hasn’t even began yet (winter) but it seems a lot like it. The nights are noisier, the flashing of the soaked leaves is harshening and people tend to prepare themselves for the season. Some of them are sticking to their old habits while others keep on looking for their next year’s victim.
I fear these firsts; first infatuation, first catch of the eye, first kisses and first of November. All of the above have the tendecy to begin something. I even fear to admit what that something may be.
Last night I discovered how careless a soul can be. Even if the blurred mind can think clearly, the soul, no matter what, makes it its’ way. A man flushed me with his philosophies. I would only sip and listen. He wouldn’t keep his mouth nor his mind. He judged every movement of my face and body. I didn’t’t want to admit his rightfulness. I preferred trying to change his words with sporadic NO’s. He wouldn’t take it as an answer. He insisted with his meaningful words. He even dared to say that he could easily make me cry. That’s where my mind stopped; to that sentence. How can a stranger tell you that and be right about it? It was admirable.
Anyways. I will not write how it continued. It has no importance. Last night was the end of an era. Tonight is the beginning of another.
My eyelids are getting heavier and my skin is feeling the coldness. The foggy air is making it hard to breath and the darkness has fallen completely on my street. No soul, no light, just the noisy November.

Matutine Agitation.

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There was a line separating us. He thought that line was just because we had united two single beds together in order to make a big one. It wasn’t just that. In my mind, the line was infinite. It was like we had some boundaries separating us; like two different neighbouring countries. Our souls won’t bond even if our hearts imply a love affair.
At the moment, I feel a vast pain which I cannot explain. More than that, I feel an unusual rage in my heart and a suffocation of my lungs. There is a nod that makes it hard to breathe. Tears run of my eyes when writing these lines and a deep depression submerges me to the point of feeling like drowning into the dark bottom of the Atlantic ocean. The fact that I cannot find the roots of my heartbreaking keeps me awake. The night is longer this way, when my heart isn’t at peace and the only noise that I hear is his breath. I looked down the road from the window and there was no soul wondering around. It seems like the drunk are filling themselves with more alcohol and the peaceful lovers are holding hands under their parfumed sheets. What about the hopeless romantics and troubled minds? I guess we are all losing sleep or having nightmares that suffocate us even when we’re asleep.
I still find it hard to explain this pain that tonight has brought upon me.  I find it healthier if I close my tearful eyes and keep them that way until the sun rises again.

Over-analyzing.

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     When you fell asleep I tried to guess your dreams. I was staring at you impatiently because I was waiting for a gesture of yours; a movement with your right hand, a twist of your lips, even a hard breath. I wanted to see something that could betray your inner thoughts. My hand was moving over yours, close to your cheek and my lips were kissing your shoulder . At that sweet moment which many of you might call I wondered what I felt. The truth is that I couldn’t answer my question. I thought: ” What if we are more animalistic than we thought? What if we are rippers of inocent souls or failures of Adam and Eve?” A certain pesimism conquered me and more than that; sadness. I began to underestimate my abilities, the future and even the past but worse of all, I was confused about my decisions. I stood still for a while, without moving a cell and repeated to myself the last four words. What if this is the time I will regret? What if everything turns into a huge failure and I will be miserable? Those “ifs” are putting me into a judge court every night and there is nobody there to defend me. Around me there are different versions of myself, each and every one of them blaming me for a mistake.
He moved his body a little bit further from me, enough to kill my noisy thoughts and bring me back to that moment.
I had to sleep because that was the only thing that I could to at that moment. What if I tried to depress myself even more? It would have been such a futile thing. I wished for a dream that won’t be my guillotine and so I had…

Exasperation.

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     A simple gesture of tenderness, that was what I needed. More than that, I think I needed someone’s gesture of tenderness; but I can do nothing but deny my thoughts. It was the hardest but simplest thing that I could do for now. I feel suffocated by crowds and desperate for silence. My soul has become a controversial place and the demons that once used to ponder around my darkest corners, are hidden behind the depression that torments me.

     The man with the viridian eyes has become a necessary variable on my life equation. There is one thing I am not certain of; whether I want to solve it or not. Perhaps the procedure of solving it scares me. A brunette man once told me that love hurts and in the end I will see a soul being tortured. I would not believe his words if I didn’t see his own soul being tortured a few months after he confessed these words to me. I remember his eyes in tears both times. I wanted to become the solution to his equation and get him out of his misery. Perhaps my intentions changed in time and I forgot what I wanted in the first place. The night I counted fifty stars in the sky in his favor, we thought we wouldn’t need anything else in the world. We were enough for each other.
     Somehow I see part of the past repeating itself. I feel attached to those viridian eyes and even if my heart implores my mind to trust him completely, I cannot. Perhaps that shows how messed up I am and affected by the past.

Diamonds and Memories.

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    7ec749468838a325e9afdde88c8c6aa7   If only the days wouldn’t be so dark! The nights of the moody November seem tragically warm. The combination of oxygen and carbon dioxide that runs through my lungs is blocking my respiratory system making me forget my existence.     The flesh that covers my bones can’t protect my insides well enough. My soul is lost somewhere in the middle of eras and memories. At first I thought I had lost my mind but as the days of my loneliness passed, I found myself into a world that I had created a long time ago. I felt confused when I realized where my deepest thoughts lied. Somehow I was found between my mistakes and rights, not knowing what to choose as a life compass. Perhaps I was my mistakes and my flesh contained everything that was rightful to me. I embraced that theory while continuing the trip to finding out what I really wanted.
     I began torturing myself, feeding me useless love, aimless hopes. There was nothing that could save me from this vacuum that I had in my heart. I questioned my choices and I began my own interrogation. At the very end I knew I had to act based on how I felt.
     I closed my eyes for a few seconds while the raindrops were wetting my skin. It felt like a river of tears running of my eyes. I needed that one person that could make me smile, his hug and his suffocating perfume. We had created a home of our hearts and now it’s all gone because of the hurricanes that crossed our paths.
     The fireplace was still illuminating the room, my cup of coffee was half empty, the rain seemed to have stopped and my thoughts had entangled with my dreams.

Viridis.

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There are nights we all desire more than a simple hug or a gesture of tenderness. We need a fragrance that can make us choke of its’ powerful properties. That kind of fragrance I had every night in my arms as the sun was hiding behind the navy clouds. Every time he touched my skin with his baldly lips, I felt his need of affection. I always have an image of his eyes in my mind; the way he laughs is melting my bones. His riddles are gently visible while his eyes are miraculously twisting of amusement. His lips are the last ones to show the great excitement that unfolds a depressive happiness.

     I am used to falling asleep after him so I have the privilege to watch over him while his subconscious unravels his deepest fears or desires. His arm is wrapped around me and I am stupidly smiling while his heart is beating either slower or faster than usual. That moment I felt a great pain filling my lungs and conquering my soul.
I am haunted once again by the ghosts of my past and their countenance reminds me of a brunette man. No matter how hard I tried to breath out every concern that tortured my heart, it was futile.
     Tonight the darkness is silent and catastrophic for my mental health. The wind has stopped fizzling and the air I am inhaling is burning my insides. I feel every suffocating emotion submerging me and his absence keeps my demons alive. I shall fall into deep sleep now. All I need to see is the dazzling sun to give me hope.

Autumn Desire.

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     The burning hell amused me. There was no ocean flooding those eyes but the insensitiveness of a broken man. He possessed the keys of many hearts but he preferred locking his. Even his smile was hidden. His lips curved politely when he laughed at a joke but I didn’t feel that laughter coming out as joy. It seemed more like a depressive loneliness. Each word that came out of his mouth insinuated something different from the true definition of it. His body was rocking by the music he listened and I could do nothing else but keep staring at him. Whether his hell accepted me or not, I insisted on staying despite the emotional disturbance that his demons were causing me.

     The crowd stopped my exasperating thoughts. Even the trees were too noisy while letting their dry leaves fall on the ground. They had created a majestic view that could calm any bittered heart. For a minute I forced myself to stop and stare at them. They didn’t seem dead to me. Neither his soul was dead. It resembled to those dried leaves of autumn. They didn’t seem alive to every person but only to those who cared enough to indulge into the spiritual world which they were keeping guarded from the cyclones of life.
     Every day I knew more of this man even if his depths were unreachable. I was still floating on the surface of his thoughts but that was enough for now. I was waiting for him to take away his sharks and let me dive in a little bit deeper. I just wanted to be the goldfish that would interject into his unabated waters.

A Shadow.

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     Sullen or saturnine define him for thousands of inexplicable reasons. His lips won’t curve and his eyes won’t stop sparkling. I was looking at a shadow that intrigued me. The peculiar expression on his face begged for interpretation and understanding. Perhaps there is too much complexity in that soul and a bit of disorganization. That would be a rational explication for my overwhelming mood; I need to solve the mystery.

     I felt an enchantment disincorporating me. Midnight blue fitted him. I could find the rummiest words to describe his countenance. His touch felt like a cold endearment, like a ray of light after a heavy storm. He was wandering disoriented in my mind. Perhaps I could not guide him or control his way there and that seemed to be the real motive of my amusement. The acknowledgment of this fact deceived me and made me even more curious about him. He was a wave in my ocean that outreached all the others involuntarily.

Memories tied with ribbon.

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    I plucked my index finger and I felt nothing. I had a feeling of numbness, as if someone injected me with morphine. My mind though was flicking ashes of some old memories, unwrapping them like they were tied with ribbon, then taking one by one out of their boxes and putting them side by side. After a couple of minutes, they were all put in pain sequence, firstly the ones that hurt most and then the less worrisome. Apparently, the alcohol was doing its’ job so I had to hurry before its’ effect will be gone. My memories sat on a continuous strip and my mind, as a machine, did the processing. Suddenly, it stopped. I heard a loud command coming from underneath, somewhere on the left part of my chest. My heart screamed.

     She wasn’t prepared for such a savage experimentation on her needs. I plucked my little finger this time and it felt as if plucking my soul. Then I remembered the words. ”You don’t know what you want.” For a second or maybe more, I wondered if that predication was true. Obviously it wasn’t. I laugh at myself when saying this but maybe you will understand. How can I pronounce myself to a person that wishes to become part of my life and tell him that what I truly want is completely different? Others will judge me for not telling him the truth. Can I be excused for not choosing to be cruel with another human soul?
     The ribbon was still untied, the boxes empty and my memories aligned like soldiers prepared for inspection. My heart was still quarreling with my mind, both having my soul sitting on a bench, staring at them desperately and deeply hoping that my heart will win. So she did. The alcohol tormented no more my veins and I was back to my senses. How was that really? Don’t ask me. I just chose to let my heart continue what she was already doing. Loving. She never stopped. Why would I make her stop now?

”We accept the love we think we deserve.”

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Stephen Chbosky

Stephen Chbosky

     There was a darkness I could not understand. Don’t ask me about it, just try to understand how I felt the moment I lost myself into the vacuum of superstitions. The generation needed love and money. Or everyone wanted the love of money. We are mistaken if we believe that we can be saved from this atheistic predator, the one we serve as our own God. Anyways. He wanted both but let me tell you about it.

     Even if he was level-headed and charismatically intelligent, he was lost. You can’t break a door without pushing, you can’t become fire if you don’t get burnt. And that was the ultimate answer to all his unknown and unquestioned questions. It’s strange how he made me question his beliefs without him realizing that they needed questioning. Stephen Chbosky said that we accept the love we think we deserve. He couldn’t be more right. He denied everything good that life would bring on his way just because everyday was a new day of castigation for his mistakes in the past. I wonder how much a man can live like this. In a moment of paranoia someone might believe that this man did it all on purpose. He needed people to feel bad for him so he chose to protest about him not respecting himself. Perhaps that is a little bit over-thought and paradoxic. You see; sincerely I believe that he respects himself more than he claims. It is all a game of revenge upon himself.
     I shall confess I am deeply annoyed by that kind of self humiliation, especially in people with much more experience than myself. How can you assault yourself like this? Everyone makes mistakes but if they’re still repairable, then why would you sacrifice yourself? Why would you push away every person that wishes you good?
     Do not forget. There is always time, chances, love. All you need to do is accept the past and embrace the future.

Revenge upon ourselves, not a solution.

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     There was no warmth anymore. There was only fire, the kind of burning and revengeful fire, and I wondered whether life wanted to say something to me or it was just time to stop playing with it. The second theory begs for approval, first in line in my mind. You see; sometimes people tend to make the worse out of a situation and we become revengeful with ourselves for someone else’s mistakes because we think we deserve it or just because we lost something that used to make us better humans. Perhaps that is what I am doing now. I have made consciously the worst of decisions and let people in my life make it more complicated. Have I become feverishly nonsensical? They say that when you wear an armour or a mask you should be careful not to lose yourself in it. Now I know they’re right.
It’s just ( and yes, “just”, because any other word would be unfit and too sophisticated for my current mentality) messy how people knock the door of your heart after leaving without saying a simple reason, possibly expecting you to open your arms and welcome them back warmly. You cannot do that even if it is what you desire most. Do not misunderstand me. I am in favour of second chances, sometimes maybe thirds , but no more. So perhaps that knock on my door disturbed my inner peace, if there was any lately, which I would doubt but still, I thought I had it all under control, I had all emotions turned off, or at least the parts that I wanted to forget for a while.
Obviously gentlemen my theories turned against me and the armour I equipped myself with became flesh of my own flesh. Isn’t it funny how life rolls gentlemen? Or it is not funny at all and the disturbance I feel makes every normal emotion that I should be feeling worthless of living inside me…
P.S. Or maybe I’m “a Bukowski” and there is nothing to be done but live in the sweetness of addictions.

New Perspective.

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   ”Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.” – The Fault in our Stars

     That’s what impressed me today. That is what I will remember from the 7th of September. That and the night’s breeze. The empty streets. The moon and the stars. No soul would bother the noisy silence. I walked alone home and I felt a particular kind of fear pondering in my veins. There was no fear of darkness. I was scared of the world, the people who wondered freely and arrogantly on the sidewalks. I know I must not look back. That was the arcanum.
     As I was approaching the entrance of my apartment I felt the fear fading away. However, something else happened. Surprisingly, my emotional state changed and the burden would not get away from my heart. This time though, it was pain. It may sound surprising but I am relieved for having my pain back. I do not know if I should worry for my non-expected happiness for a bitter sentiment, but I must admit, it gives me a purpose. I can feel again the gap in my soul and now I know, better than ever, that I should find a way to fulfill it again. Perhaps that was it! That’s what I needed. A new purpose.
     Now I am thinking; maybe that is what we all need and that also answers a question which many of us have been asking the universe. Why life should have ups and downs? Is it suffering and struggling necessary for the human kind?
     There is a writer I deeply admire who claims that humans are the most unhappy animals. When I first read that phrase I did not give it much thought. He was right though.
      So I have to deliberate on that even if you don’t want to hear it. We need bitterness and obstacles in order to achieve greatness. We might be the most unhappy of all animals but except that, as the same writer claims, the human kind has the ability to create majestic and unimaginably things. We just need a purpose. 
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Dizziness.

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    We live in fear of admitting everything that ponders in our hearts. I gave my all to you and I am still wondering if my current denial comes as a consequence to all the drama we had. I find misinterpretations walking back and forward in my mind. An inner voice is still whispering words of love or pain. I cannot distinguish what dominates in me, whether I am free or locked in my own desperation. The nights of September have brought upon me a new sentimental crisis. It feels like a dizziness. I see my soul on its’ knees praying and I am wondering: for what? Am I praying for more consuming love or it’s just an immense desire for freedom?

     I live in fear because my dreams stopped challenging me. Everything is blurred and I blame myself for that. I am responsible for suffocating my heart. It has been long since nobody conquered me. I have always been emotionally occupied and it feels exhausting. Even now that I am not in love with someone, my soul is still chained. Do I need someone to break the chains? I wish I could do it myself.
     The insanity of these long nights have created a vacuum, a dark space between the past and the present. I do not want to tickle my heart’s chords, I want them to be left in piece, untouched. There is a battle taking place inside me but I cannot see the two parties fighting or the results of the war. No matter how hard I try to understand what is going on inside me I see nothing. In vain I struggle to control my demons. I will let them defeat each other. There is no other way.