Diseased desire. 

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 I have sinned.       

      The controversial weather was scary but perhaps, I was more afraid of my own thoughts than that. 

She exaggerated with her mind traveling. The raven’s eyes were stuck in her mind; their dark color was provocative. She was rubbing her finger over her lower lip, slowly while the saliva was gathering in the center of her mouth. It has been days since the stubborn desire had settled inside her and believe me or not, it was a torture. She had the permission to desire anything she wanted; the raven was forbidden. 

That was unscrupulous. The raven is sadistic and yet, sentimental, in the most provocative way. I have seen it around people; it shatters whatever is in the way of the desired object. She was mesmerized by this self-impotency that it inflicted to the crowd. Although aware of this nefarious thought, she is not able to forget it. In such an attempt, she margined herself from the world. She confessed to no one but herself this diseased desire. The world seemed of such pureness. Such a confession would have been a great disappointment. Does the raven know though? Did the devil tipped it off about the ailing needs of an insane woman? What if the insane woman, she and the devil shared the same face? She was still flattering her lower lip with gestures. Her face-lines disappeared. 

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Strike one. 

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       I knew that when I will get home from my short trip I would find her in bed sipping wine and words. I never imagined though that the view will be like a thunderstorm on a sunny day. I never imagined that I could feel my soul climaxing, ending and beginning, sobing and smiling. 

     I entered the room and my eyes caught her: almost naked, her left hand holding a burning cigarette, her right hand holding a book, a glass of wine leaning on her waist, one leg straight and the other bent. If that wasn’t enough, you should have seen her face and aura. 

     I took off my pants, I plucked the buttons of my shirt and leaned on my belly diagonally. I lighted up a cigarette and the world just unfold.

     She wasn’t bothered by my presence. I was just staring. In a few moments though, my thoughts were coming out of my mouth. I began a monologue that her smirk interrupted a few times, her eyes blurred, her chick lines continued and her aura; oh, her aura just made my monologue seem insane.

     She asked what I was thinking about and I just could not resist it. Words came out willingly. 

     ” I would say I love you but that underestimates you. I would say you’re perfect but that offends you. I would say you’re the ideal woman but that’s just a classic.” 

     My soul was smiling and her glare was fixed and steady into mine. 

     She smiled. Oh gentlemen, you do not  know that smile. Her lips separate enough to make your body feel the tremor; not too little, not too much. It’s easy to distinguish the line that colors that smile. 

42.

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      Își plecase capul pe genunchiul meu formând un unghi de zece grade spre stânga. O priveam în ochi dar simturile mele erau concentrate pe bătăile inimii Ei. Pulsa de sete iar zâmbetul schițat pe fața Ei indica o dulce tristețe. Acela era momentul realizării; oare este posibil să ai aceiași realizare de mai multe ori cu aceiași intensitate? 

   Lumea mea era asezata pe canapea, fumul excesiv de țigară îngreunând respirația, cel puțin așa mi-am zis eu, în ideea că mă voi crede. O priveam, o admiram, o devoram până am simțit că-mi scap inima. Mă aflasem în punctul în care organul meu vital și-a dat drumul, lăsând picături de sânge să se amestece cu moleculele aerului poluat; îi simțeam bătăile – într-un fel încă avea viață; poate mai în viață de atât nu se putea – în timp ce se pregătea de prăbușire; nu știam ce impact va avea căzătura mea, probabil fatală, dar a prins-o la o distanță de un milimetru.  Își plecase capul pe genunchiul meu formând un unghi de zece grade spre stânga. O priveam în ochi dar simturile mele erau concentrate pe bătăile inimii Ei. Pulsa de sete iar zâmbetul schițat pe fața Ei indica o dulce tristețe. Acela era momentul realizării; oare este posibil să ai aceiași realizare de mai multe ori cu aceiași intensitate? 

Incepusem să respir prin ea; îi furam oxigenul, dându-i cât mai rămăsese din al meu, îl inhalam si îl dădeam înapoi. Fenomenul se repeta continuu cu o exactitate necontrolată a secundelor. Amortisem fizic iar ea își mula perfect mișcările după ale mele. Nu aveam nevoie de gândire pentru a face următorul gest. Eram concentrată doar pe viață, incercam sa trăiesc, efectiv, la propriu, trăiam din Ea și Ea din puținul meu. 

Își pleca capul într-o parte și îi respiram pielea din zona gâtului; aroma ei se transformase în oxigenul meu. Sărutul, acest gest inexplicabil, fizicul, atingerea, nu erau de ajuns. Căutam în mine, undeva, cumva, să gasesc mai mult; nu aveam ce să-i dau mai mult.

În momentul acela am simțit o apăsare, o durere al dracului de frumoasă. Îmi luam oxigenul în continuare de parcă ar fi fost deja o normalitate iar în fața ochilor mei aveam cea mai cumplită imagine a Lumii. Imi priveam inima cum îngenunchează în fața Ei, pleacă jumătate din ea în față, se lasă incet și-și dă drumul în fața Ei. Zâmbeam, mă simțeam cum zâmbesc; ochii mei s-au umplut de lacrimi , gest de admirație a imaginii inimii mele. Mă asteptam la urmatorul său gest. Nu a făcut nimic. Aveam inima in genunchi în fața Ei iar ea o admira precum eu; privirile ei arzând iadul din mine. 

     O priveam lângă mine, îi înconjuram trupul și nu-mi puteam stăpânii dorința de a o inspira. Ochii îi luceau iar zâmbetul era ascuns în spatele unei seriozități ce arăta a realizare. Este oare posibil să ai aceiași realizare de mai multe ori? Căci în privința ei, am aceiași realizare în fiecare noapte și nu se pierde sentimentul de necrezut. 

     

     Mi-am ridicat inima și am pus-o la locul ei odată cu trezirea noastră la realitate. Fermecată de momentele anterioare, mi-a șoptit că mai vrea. I-a făcut plăcere să îngenuncheze în fața Lumii. Oare știa ce își dorește? Oare Lumea urma să o mai prindă? 

Da domnilor, știu, întrebări fără sens. 

El, despre ea.

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     Îmi fură privirea. Mișcările ei se rătăcesc in fața ochilor mei și-mi fură privirea. Îmi spulberă glasul. Este evident că lumea din jur există; numai dacă ai știi că defapt e nesemnificativă!

     Îți plimbi piciorul stâng în cerc; un cerc mic cât să nu se observe mișcarea. Îl aduci aproape de cel stâng si împingi pământul cu vârful lui. În secunda doi a revenit la normal. Ai acționat în stres; oare te stresa privirea mea? Oricum n-ai văzut-o. Dar poate ai simțit-o. Iei comanda lunaticului. O fii și el ca mine?

     Strângi masa corporatistilor îndreptand același picior, cel stâng, in aer; dreptul n-are nicio reacție. Fenomenal. Impecabil. Ce e atât de impecabil? Ai rabdare. Până la urmă o să te prinzi. Impecabil. Ce?

Modul în care se mișcă doar partea corpului ce străpunge în mod direct inima. De parcă sângele ti-ar pompa pe verticală! Oare așa o fi in cazul tău? Oare ție iti pompează sângele doar pe verticală? Oare de aici provine ”impecabilitatea” ta?

     Scoți micul tău jurnal cu rapiditate și zambești larg. Un pic forțat. E de înțeles. Masculul din fața ta nu-ți merită zâmbetul. Pentru câteva secunde nimeni nu-ți vede fața; ai profitat pe deplin de moment pentru a-ți da drumul la buze. S-au întins formând o linie dreaptă. Parcă ironică.

     Gesticulezi cu mâna stânga, fredonând cu degetul pe meniu. Spatele îți este un pic aplecat peste umarul masculului și pentru a – nu știu cât-a oară – piciorul stâng se pliază. Oare ce-ți surâde în cap?

     Așezi o masă de patru; iar folosești doar mâna stânga pe tacâmul ăla. Al patrulea l-ai aranjat cu ambele mâini. Oare ce a fost in capul tău în momentul acela?

     Ți-ai scos iar jurnalul si pixul.  Te joci cu ele, cu mâna stângă bineînțeles; forțând o privire spre masa din fața mea. Oare coada ochiului tău m-a prins?

    Te îndepărtezi de mine în grabă, îți cauți de lucru; de data asta gesticulând cu mâna dreaptă.

Te-ai apropiat de blonda sprijinită de casă și ți-ai înfipt mâinile în ceafa ei. Ai zâmbit, lăsând greutatea ta pe stângul.

     Ți un pahar de spumă in stânga, mergând cu bărbia în sus, citesc un zâmbet ecstatic pe fața ta; oare îți place să fii privită?

Hm. Nu mă pot abține din a zâmbi de data asta. A fost prea de tot.

Iar ai mângâiat pământul cu vârful piciorului stâng, el îndreptat spre mine iar fața ta perpendiculara cu a mea; asta o înțelegi doar dacă poți să vezi și tu perpendicular in aer.

     Te-am lăsat un pic în pace dar parcă îmi vine sa te privesc din nou. Iar faci mișcarea aia cu piciorul stâng. Ce ai ființă cu pământul?

     Te duci la masa mediocrilor și râzi. Dacă ar știi ei ca tu defapt ai râs in ciuda lor!

    Timpul se scurge repede. Te văd peste zidul de lemn luând nota cu un zâmbet de “pleacă acasă dar nu mă uita”. Satisfăcută te întorci la colțișorul tău si îndrepți o privire doritoare spre masa de lângă. Ți-a surâs un corporatist. E de înțeles.

     Setezi iar o masă mușcând încet din buze. A fost un gest de nervozitate. Oare știai că te privesc?

Te-am pierdut în spatele unui perete; mai revine un pic în spate zâmbetul tău și te pierd iar. Pleci in grabă și un mascul îndrăgostit te fură de la spate. Ah. Ar fi fost ceva daca aveai ochi să-l vezi! A flirtat lejer cu spatele tău. Am râs.

     Iar ai dispărut. E greu să țin pasul picioarelor tale; să nu mai zic de expresiile feței sau de gândurile păcătoase.  Ești impecabilă oricum. Parcă așa am picat de acord ca vei fi in ochii mei, nu?

     Îți aud vocea la masa de lângă. Fascinant. Ce culoare i-ai dat!

     Îmi stă un drac pe gând și nu te scapă din priviri.

     Hm. Ce lent te miști cu paharele reci în mâna! Sensual. Impecabil.

     Torni spumă în paharul înalt, extrem de concentrată; atât încât sprâncenele se arcuiesc spre linia de înjumătățire a feței; cine nu te-a urmărit ar fi zis ca te-ai încruntat într-un mod nesimțit.

     Îți ți greutatea in piciorul stâng, corpul încordat si mă privești în ochi. Buzele tale au schițat un zâmbet cât de cât inocent, un pic ascuns, cu o idee de senzualitate, iarăși impecabil.

     Le mulțumești mediocrilor. Iar i-ai definit prin zâmbet. De unde să știe săracii că judecata le turna apă în pahare?

N-ar mai fi fost mediocri dacă îți recunoșteau chipul.

     Ai dat cu meniul diagonal în cineva, zâmbind a realizare, lăsând cumva să ți se ude buza de jos. Oare ce gândeai?

     Deja simt vinul în organism; în zâmbet. Fredonezi melodia. Hm. Pretty woman. Tocmai ți-ai plimbat limba pe buze. Oare știi ce am gândit?

Brutal.

Seducător.

Fascinant.

Sensual.

Păcătos.

Impecabil.

     Ia sa te văd la asta. O vei fredona?

Mă trag mai la stânga pentru a te vedea mai bine.  Am trecut toată dimineața peste melodia asta. Nu știu de ce n-am vrut să o ascult. La dracu!

Râzi. In momentul ăsta îți verși sufletul. Hm. L-ai băgat la loc repede.

“Acel ceva în mișcarea ta.”

A tresărit în mine versul și mi s-a aprins un zâmbet pe buze. Da, s-a aprins. Am zis bine. De ce? Mi-a zâmbit sufletul.

     Nu mai ești in peisaj așa ca pot să zâmbesc liniștit.  Fără să mă trădez. Cel puțin nu către tine. Restul mediocrilor au permisiunea mea să vadă. Corporatiștii oricum nu mă văd; poate de ăia mă mai interesa pentru că suntem aceasi nație de la nouă la șase. Restul sunt doar mediocri.

Hai să-ți explic de ce.

     Cuplul din diagonala mea nici nu-și închipuie că defapt vor fi un cuplu. Femeia își ține picioarele încrucișate in direcția bărbatului; își ascunde zona intimă cu legătura picioarelor dar de fapt nu se prinde ca mâna ei dreaptă a dezvăluit zona gâtului. S-a trădat singură. Piciorul ei stâng joacă a nervozitate.  El este greu de studiat căci îi văd doar spatele. Pot sa zic totuși cu o certitudine jignitoare că umerii lui sunt paraleli cu umerii ei iar corpul sta lăsat in fața. Ceva îi ține din joc. Ea se întinde spre el iar el se trage instinctiv si vice versa. Mediocritatea asta, ce face din om!

Râzi cu glasul tare și mă distragi. Iarăși colorezi cu râsul tau. Vii spre mine zâmbind și ma induci in eroare. Ți-aș fi furat un sărut sau mai multe dar ma abțin.

Cei trei mediocrii din diagonala mea perfectă și-au făcut ieșirea. Bineînțeles îi așteaptă pluta…

…va urma.

Denial.

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I have to talk about it. I have to think about it. I have to decide on it. I have to and all I wish is that I hadn’t.

There is that nod again; a feeling that I haven’t felt for a long time. It’s suffocating. That would be the perfect description for the way my insides are twisting up to my lungs. It bitters me to admit that I feel caged again. I want to break free but my heart stops me.

I am sitting on the corner of the bed, inhaling polluted air, imploring my thoughts to stand down for a bit and give me piece. You’re having your usual pause from any noise that may come out of your mouth. I have been wasting saliva for so long and with it, I wasted myself.

I am in deep waters, swimming, hoping that my miserable soul won’t lose control.

I want to be free and I want to be me. That’s what I said.

You didn’t hear me. You heard another story.

The end.

Ineffable.

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

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

Scarlet.

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

Nyctophilia.

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  My eyelids were getting heavier but I couldn’t persuade my mind to fall asleep. January has always been the coldest of all months. Her chicks were almost frozen. Their bloodish pink colour was obvious from far away while her sparkling eyes couldn’t get any brighter. I always believed that her name was perfectly chosen for her personality; the Greek goddess Hecate would be proud.
She was lying by my side. It was a bit after midnight. Her hand was moving slowly in my hair, playing with it until I closed my eyes. I was feeling her intense look. She put her knee between my legs as if she was a bit provocative but at the same time stretching her tired body. I felt her hand moving lower, closer to the main neck vain but I wouldn’t open my eyes. I put my right hand under her cheek while my left one wrapped her to me. She continued her soft and gentle movements until I fell into deep sleep. Even in my dreams, I could see the purity in her eyes. It was magnificent. Never have I ever seen before such an intense glare.
It was a little before dawn when I opened my sleepy eyes and kissed her forehead. She sighed hard as if she carried a great burdain. I took her face into my hands and held her tight to my bosom. We stood there for a few minutes while the first sun hays were trying hard to push away the dark night. The moon persisted a bit longer in the sky and the room was still dim. I brought her face up to the level of mine and leisurely touched her lower lip with my thumb. A little while before the disappearance of the moon we engaged into deep sleep together. The next moment she opened her eyes, the room was smelling of fresh made coffee and a little bit of snow. She half-smiled and hugged the mug I served her with both hands.

Back in time.

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It was last winter when I was rambling about that careless girl with the ponytail, right? I remember the cold weather that scared me and her abundant laughter. I used to compare them because she wouldn’t fit in. She was such an intimate person; a summer rain. I remember the first time she caught my eye. It was a cold October morning. She passed by for a cup of coffee but, unlike others, she had her own mug. She used to sit herself on the chair parallel to the exit door. Those mornings back then, I used to enjoy tremendously. I always paid attention to her movements as if I wanted to unravel that intimacy that she held on so tightly. There were times when her devastating sadness wouldn’t allow me to interfere with her thoughts. I admired her for that sensibility. She was brave enough to let her heart drown again and again. Sometimes the sound of her laughter was heard from the end of the corridor while others, I used to hear the songs she played when trying to pick up the pieces. Those moments were the most difficult for me. She was so dear to my heart but I never knew how to deal with hers. I just wanted to make her laugh but in her case, that was never an easy game.
As I was staring at her today, I tried to see through that intimacy again. She’s changed. I am not yet sure but I strongly believe that she lost that sensitiveness.
I  wasn’t willing to talk. I just wanted a few hours to watch her so I can examine again that intimacy. But I didn’t have hours and the frost had steamed the windows of the coffee place. In a few minutes, the sun had set and the misty night was once again, present to my confusing thoughts. I dreamt a bit of her eyes later today. Those were the same; pure and seductive.

Midnight hues.

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He had the flavour of vanilla and cinnamon. His lips twisted arrogantly, disturbing me in a seductive way. The color of his eyes was burnt umber, sensual and stunning. I would describe him as the the most cunning man I have ever encountered but that would be only the preface. There is a spark of sensibility in his eyes, well hidden behind his pride.
It was after midnight when the rain stopped. The pavements were humid and the contemporary bars which once used to host an army of people were soulless. Not far away from that deserted road, the second floor of an unpopular coffee shop was more alive than ever. While stepping in, I remembered the beginning of last autumn when a short, brunette lady was serving me hot coffee, accompanied by a paper and a pen. When I first met her, she was glancing me moderately. After a while she got used to my presence at the table near the left window but she never asked me why I was always coming alone.
She wasn’t there that night and I wasn’t there alone.
The room was darker than the rainy night. I was staring at the beautiful shape of our glasses, somehow avoiding his glance. We talked about things that my mind wants to forget but it pleased me so much talking to him. I wanted to hear more of his stories as I had the curiosity to learn his deepest thoughts. Every movement of his, I studied carefully. He was a book that I wanted so badly to read but some pages were still unwritten; he didn’t have the courage to reveal the whole story and that is were I stopped.

Disclosure.

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    She was seeing through me. That she never knew; I never admitted that she had conquered me. I feared that she would consider me such a fragile work of art. I did consider myself a peculiar person. “You are a rare species, your mind is always locked, unknown, twisted”, she said. I was gazing her temptingly. I took a deep breath desiring to complain on her statement. In a split of a second I exhaled back as if I never meant to say a word. In that moment I realized she was right.

     My silence is a blasphemy. I neglected her, offered her less than she ever offered me; I haven’t showed her the love that weights my heart. I have a nod in my neck that makes it hard to breath. Perhaps it is my way of regretting. I do care for her, I do love her in an inexplicable way. I am tormented by her dreams, her wishes, her unrealistic world. At the beginning, that’s what made me fall for her. Her way of laughing without boundaries, her craziness and her believing in warm-hearted people. She spread a light over my darkest nights.
     On a Sunday night I was all alone. She was gone. I didn’t understand why, I still don’t. ”I am tired of fighting your darkness”, she said. I took it as if she didn’t care. I let my ego ravish my soul. It pained me but it was easier than understanding her. Days later, she came back but I fear I might not be able to keep her close to my heart. She runs freely and I can’t take too much freedom.

Hopes & Expectations.

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     If only our hopes were equal to our expectations! I hoped for an unconditional, consuming and undoubted love. What I got, was nothing but the opposite of the three above mentioned. My dreams were bigger than that, other people’s lives were implicated in it and the doubts that consumed me were born by my own lover. My expectations were grounded.
     In present, my mind is more polluted than ever. I won’t dare comparing it to the unsettling weather. I would insult mother nature. But I can definitely find a resemblance somewhere; to the infected human mind over the years. As seen in our narcissistic history, our hopes through the years might evolve into a destructive road trip. We are dreaming, hoping and aiming. With carefulness we should proceed, no doubt. If not, the fault lies within us. In this equation, our expectations might not be the same to our reality.
     I did hope for those three gifts mentioned at the beginning to be given to me but what did I expect? After all, I must admit, I didn’t expect an easy journey nor a path filled with roses.
     I fear the one thing that I hoped was a story. Perhaps that makes me a mentally disturbed person. What if all I wanted was inspiration? And if so, will I be charged with the ‘crime’?
     After all, what if I am clouded by this love that I didn’t expect? I shall confess, my expectations changed even if my hopes and dreams remain the same.

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.

Day Dreamer.

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      The wind was blowing out but the sun was still shining proudly. I was tormented by my thoughts and the desire that haunts my heart. There wasn’t anything irrational about that moment, when my feet were moving rapidly keeping my heartbeats’ pace. The road seemed infinite and his portrait in my mind made me feel as if I didn’t really existed. Those moments were a dream or just a game of my untamed imagination. I was able to hear his soft voice and for a certain inexplicable reason, I smiled. Even my subconscious was laughing at me. The wind was fighting against me and a few seconds later I felt my soul drowning in its’ sorrows. I was trying hard to keep my tears in my tiny tear ducts. His figure was hanging around on the red carpet of my worrisome mind, proud of himself for being there. The look in his eyes was contemplative. I began breathing hard, almost not at all. My heart was dizzy alongside my body while climbing up the marble stairs of the campus. The wind blew tougher upon me, fulfilling my insides with a devouring sadness. I was obliged to smile in order to hide my tearful eyes and continue walking on a slower rhythm.
     He was walking by my pace, still on my mind. I would swear that his hand was holding mine all the way but I would be called nonsensical. But then; he was the only one who understood my craziness. He dealt with it fearlessly. And yes, he was holding my hand and I was the happiest person in that moment. His maroon eyes were shining as the sun that was accompanying me from the very beginning. I would dare say, he was my sun.

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.

Moments of hesitation.

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     A dear woman once told me that you can’t be with a person that involuntarily stops you from dreaming and she was right.  The surface of the table was rough and he was moving his fingers towards it. My eyes got lost by the movement of his hand but my thoughts were insanely corrupting me. His eyes were staring at mine, impatiently, like he was expecting the next twisting of my lips or the next ‘I love you!’. But I said nothing; Even if his soul begged me to explain myself and my heart was desperately wanting, my mind’s power was too intense and authoritative. I did the only thing that I could do in that moment. I took his hand into mine and smiled. Even at the moment I cannot decide whether that curve that my lips formed was real or just an obligation.
     My thoughts scared me or maybe my past experiences. I was afraid of us. I am still afraid of the routine. More than that, I saw myself on my knees in his behalf and my dreams or usual activities being left aside. Somehow my heart blamed him. In a way, history is repeating itself and that dries my soul.