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!.

Elements.

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Between lust, pain and love there is a unique connection. As you know gentlemen, lusting for a woman, loving her and feeling the pain she can inflict you with is one of the saltest pleasures of life. But do not forget, that you might want to really live it if you dare to let yourself expecience it.

If you choose to do so, I will remind you that the journey is not an easy one.
I will also remind you that I am just a narrator of a story or multiple stories, depends on how you choose to see them.

“A lot of time has passed since that cold skin touched my hand. It was as if my hand touched the surface of the cool sea in a hot summer day. Likewise, the water felt cold as the body was filled with warmth. My skin felt as if a sparkling gas was running though me. That was the reaction of her hand in mine. At first, just one finger, then the other and then all of them curling with mine, not wanting to let go but still doing it.

Our hands let go and for those moments that followed my stomach felt a void supressing it.”
I will interrupt you by mentioning that letting go of a hand contrary to what you are feeling, gentlemen, it is included in the offer presented above. Love. Lust. Pain.

“Standing by her I second-guessed myself a thousand times in a minute. I asked silent questions that only I was able to answer. All amswers that came to mind were the exact opposite of what I desired in that moment and the few moments after. I knew that by the end of the night I will second-guesss my choices once again so I answered to all questions hoping that I won’t end up in that situation.
Even though my answers were rational, in that moment when our hands came back together, I did what I desired. And that desire, and every desire is the motivator and impulser of all actions, actions that as I said, I knew what other questions will bring up.”

Gentlemen, please, tell me: are we allowed to act by our desires and not to be blamed for creating a certain chaos to seas that have achieved a certain piece with the universe?
“I thought I would be lost without love, lust and pain so I disturbed the balance to feel it just for a few minutes. What if though the balance of nature shouldn’t be disturbed? ”

“Come to me, I want to see you standing in front of me. She approached leaned on the drawer behind her.
I had no words to say but that desire that overwhelmed me all day. Finally now that I got her standing here all dressed up, my only wish was to take those clothes off her just how I want it. I asked her to say nothing and do nothing. She understood every silent word of mine. I run my hand under her shirt slowly, up on her back and down on her neck bones, continuing the journey further to her weist and up again to take off her underwear. I didn’t undress her, she wore all her clothes except her underwear. She gasped and closed her eyes feeling my fingers on every inch of her skin.
I approached my mouth to the corner of her mouth and I kissed it, I tasted the skin between her breasts and up to her earlobe. I wrapped one hand around her lifting her up on the drawer and the other couldn’t just wait anymore. I wanted to drown her and do it my way. Have her as I wished and as I pleased. My greatest pleasure was hearing her heavy breath in my ear as she came for me.

That was my desire.”

Can I be forgiven for that gentlemen?

Driven.

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Let’s have the relationship talk. Let’s be more specific than wondering about someone’s mediocrity.

Let’s talk about her.

The night was intense. It had fallen quickly and we were still standing there, immune to its’ fall. It seems, gentlemen, that the physical condition of a human being can easily be affected by words. More than that, when they said that you should undress the mind and then the body will get undressed on its’ own, they weren’t wrong.

What’s your relationship like?

How do you get in bed?

I was feeling aroused by words that had nothing to do with carnal satisfaction. The psychological analysis I received over a phrase of mine impressed me to the point of desire. Is that what happens to you too? I would really like to know.

I was once asked to write from someone else’s perspective, not mine. Therefore, I am imploring you to think of you as you read. Put yourself into the main role and play your part as I say; get the mask I am asking you to wear.

She needed to stand higher than me and that did not bother me. We talked about non-existent principles, impressions, wrongdoings and last but not least, her leaving if hurting will pursue. That intrigued me to the level of rising even if I was standing lower.

There was a continuous analysis of every phrase or argument we were bringing to the table.

Her eyes were sparkling, contemplating my thoughts, impatiently waiting for me to finish my line.

There was no mediocrity in the air.

My insides were burning in need of corruption.

I reached her lips and grabbed her in my arms filled with dreadful desire. Her body wasn’t enough. I needed more of her. I was inhaling her once again. Once I entered her, her facial expression became softer. Her eyes responded to my desire perfectly and I was craving her even more. More than I could ever imagine.

The relationship talk faded.

5:30 pm.

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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. 

Mediocrity.

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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 gift 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?

Mourning.

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    We were falling into the temptation of giving up. There wasn’t much left of us than our misery. Our hearts had locks and chains. I don’t know if he wanted to save mine but I was tired of trying to save his. Sadness was my goddess now and I worshipped her so deeply that it consumed me .
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.

Pain & Happiness as a life compass.

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Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo

   There is a chance when you are born that you will know only happiness in your life. But that, despite the fact that is a simple chance, that is the deepest wish of a caring parent. Many of us haven’t known caring parents or others had the misfortune of paying their parents’ mistakes. Either way, the chance to know only happiness in your life is ‘one in an infinite’ , if infinity was countable, but still impossible. Considering an infinity bigger than other, we could say that the chance of complete, life-time happiness is considerably small or just non-existent.

     Growing up, learning to walk and speak, we realized that we loved those who loved us and granted our most profound wishes. I have not heard of a child in this world loving the evil or someone who hurts him or her. But a book stays still as the reader grows, becomes wiser or stupider. But that doesn’t matter because we are not books, we are the stories that color every page. That’s why we grow, our internal cosmos expands, travels on unknown lands, fighting, wishing, hoping, laughing and hurting.
     Is it always going to be like this? Yes, gentlemen. Always. Because as you know, when you first met love, when you first got into bed with it, when you first cried of love and disappointment, that wasn’t your choice. You chose a good evil. How is that possible? It is gentlemen. Growing older we realize that despite happiness, we bring upon ourselves pain, or life does so, but still, we cannot always fall for what is meant to do good.
     Somehow my thoughts ran to my chemistry classes. My professor always pointed out that the opposites attract but as you may have seen in your own lives, that is not a standard. We are usually deeply attracted to those who can reveal our true selves, the ones who dare living the way we don’t. Am I right? Think of it. The truth is though that we are much more alike than we admit. It’s just that the other person has the courage to do it or show it, as you have the courage to do or feel things, which for someone else, your partner, may be restricted or inconceivable to make it public knowledge.
     In this game of magnetic attractions, both parties win and lose. That’s the irony gentlemen. We chase the ultimate happiness, the one and only soul-mate, hoping that we won’t get hurt. What if we didn’t? Have you thought of that? What if it was that easy? What if the person you firstly fall in love with, feels the same way about you, no complications and no remorse? Do you think that there comes the ”happily ever after”? And if so, what then?
     I’ve got one fear, the deepest one and perhaps it is time to let you know it; I fear the day I will leave this world I will feel regrets because some day in my life I felt boredom, I wasn’t consumed. I wish that day never comes.
     There is a chance when you are born that you will know only pain in your life. But that, despite the fact that is a simple chance, that is the deepest fear of a caring parent. Growing up, we make our own fate based on the fears we overcome and at the end of the road, there is only one thing we should be saying: ” I lived and had it all. Misfortune, pain, happiness, pride and love. Now I shall have more of it in another life. ”

Part 36: Present: It is Love

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        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.