She was pouring oceans off her eyes, forcing laughter to come out and clear off the muddy waters. I took her chick into my hand and let her drown. She was drowning beside me and I was thankful for that. My face lines were still steady; until one moment. We had swiched places and she was drowning into my eyes this time. The earth shook gracefully and I had to lift her up.
” I have always loved your surname. I used to imagine a curly hair girl running on a marble path towards us, trying to prove she can pronounce it. I used to imagine us staring at her running towards our open arms. I imagined our home behind her and us competing with the world.”
Saying all that was melting my insides.
“She would pronounce it just like you”, she said.
I smiled while my sorrows were learning once again how to swim.
In that moment, down on the road of memories, I found my mind being in control. I was terrified and at the same time, surpised of the accomplishment. It was easy to dictate my body’s next move despite the burning desire or the flaming heart.
I was alright and at the same time, I was ruined.
In my existence, I never gave hope such a great extension.
I was giving a chance to another chapter. Life. And that was alright.
It was mesmerizing. I can tell you that. The way Darkness was inhaling me was mesmerizing. I counted seven stars on the sky, a few humans around and the speed of the cars racing; infinite; at least in my mind. In reality, there was just a soul beside me, humidity in the air and a few cars running sixty miles per hour. But I did not want to see the reality because my surreal dream was so absorbing.
I went back to it and I began rambling again while staring at the spark of the lamp post.
We conversed about the mediocrity of the human soul; me and the universe. I had a soul beside me listening but my mindset was elsewhere. I was imagining myself on an untidy bed, a soul losing its’ mind into my eyes, between my legs.
Devouring a soul and lifting it up to the defining line of the universe it’s the most exquisite gifts a human can receive. Keeping it on the ground, sane and steady, can cause the syndrome of mediocrity. Judging the corruption of the soul would be a great mistake if you do so gentlemen. Define happiness if you can though and you will understand what I am mumbling about.
Perhaps you’re not interested in my definition of it but I am free to state it anyway.
Devouring happiness: the liberty of the soul to collude with the walls of dispair while reflecting itself into the depth of a moment’s realisation.
The eyes, love. The eyes. Lose yourself into the mournful excitement of those eyes.
Mediocrity. Lose it. Give it up. Chase your soul to the end of the world. Do not keep your greatness intact.
Ruin yourself, stay still and feel the adrenaline of your blood. Now you’re not mediocre anymore.
But, can you do that?
The night had fallen darkly and noisy. The skies were also compelled by my goddess. Her pale pink dress fitted her perfectly, like the spring flowers fit their season. My imagination could make everything seem of such a beauty. I was silent and destroyed. There were sorrows gasping inside me and earthquakes diminishing everything that I had built.
There was a thing about his touch that disappointed me. A feeling of betrayal perhaps. He savaged my body and I savaged his. It never felt like a romantic intercourse that would lift you up to heavens, neither an unpleasant connection.
My chest is hurting and a nod is blocking my respiratory system. The way my saliva stops at some point through my lungs it’s annoying and painful.
My soul is completely wrecked. I wish I could shout this pain out of my chest and drown the world with my tears but even that is impossible. I have lost all of my intimacy; all that I had. Now it’s all of me, standing by the window, sobbing, waiting for the next snowflake to fall down on earth so I can mourn about it until the morning comes.
“My mother is Love and my father is Pain. I’m the miserable daughter of the Moon and the Sun, Something between Darkness and Light, lost among the stars.”
For those readers who follow my story, there was this part, 26 I think, titled “It wasn’t love”. It may have not been true love then, but it is now. It’s been a while since I’ve realized that I fell in love again. Actually I’ve never stopped loving. I was just passing through a transition period from one love to another. Clearly, there is a huge difference between what I felt then and what I’m feeling now. What I have to admit, is that by saying it wasn’t love, I might have hurted a person very important for me now. Though it was the truth. THEN. I definitely know now, I feel the sparkling again. I can’t stand being mad at him because it hurts. That’s a sign I’m attached to him and what I have now it’s is something I want to last.
There are times, I find myself thinking about the past, what I had, what I didn’t. There are also those times, I wish I could have had then everything that I have now. But on the other side, I say, it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe N was right. He had to be the worse thing that happened to me so in the future I’ll appreciate more what’s to come. Definitely, I can’t compare them. Neither the situations. What I have now it is what I asked for. Perhaps life thought she owed me. (Though never say big words, it may all broke). And I say <<she>> because life must be feminin. Her cruelty and sensitivity are both unlimited.
I’m happy when he stares of boredom at his shoes during the lesson, with a childish expression on his face. I’m happy when he whispers that he loves me when everybody around us has something to do. But mostly, I’m happy when we’re together in public. It is something that always I’ll have to deal with. I am tired of hiding and if some day T decides to end it, I’ll have some good memories. I’ve learned my lesson and earned some experiences. Most importantly I’ve learned to love again. But still, there is something holding me back from showing everything. I guess it is better. The more you give people, the more they take advantage of it. That’s what I’m not willing to risk. Being played, again.
So, it wasn’t love. It was fun. That finally occurred to be love. So, yeah, I can scream it, write it, post it, paint it and feel it, It is love what I’m feeling now and my past is finally over for me. Sure it is.