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!.

Infatuation.

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     The way he blinked was obsessing her. In a few hours he lost his boyishness. She was staring at him, waiting for the right words to come out of his mouth. His glance was empty and his soul had grown. He was saying nonsensical words, hoping that he would confuse her.
That morning the sky was clear. Even the navy clouds were afraid to confront his temper. Her bed was warm, the creases of her blanket tightened her body and she wouldn’t leave that bed if the alarm clock wasn’t so persistent. Hours later she found herself insulted by his manners. Clouded by that feeling of disavowal, she was still studying his movements with the edge of her eye. She used to do that quite often as it was such a pleasure to observe a man’s wildness fighting the child inside him. “Men must believe us stupid when thinking that we don’t know!”, she quoted. She was repeating the same preposition to herself. That was the truth that she didn’t want to live by.
She was a bit charmed and half excited. He was unpredictable and that was the thing that agonized her.Even if he became what she couldn’t stand to encounter, a part of her was thrilled to read another chapter of him.

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.

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.

Sillage.

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     The night has been covered by a glossy humidity and most of the stars were hidden behind the navy clouds. Last night I was feeling vulnerable and incapable of controlling my emotions.
We were watching the city lights at three in the morning from the sea shore. There were only twenty centimeters separating us but it felt like miles because our hearts had chosen different paths.
I strongly believe though that somewhere on the road, our souls touched again, for a few seconds. Then they pulled each other away because of the rationality of our maddening thoughts. Perhaps it was the first time when we calculated the consequences of possible irreparable mistakes. At the end of the night, I felt a strange happiness.
       You see gentlemen; this was the night that changed the paths of our hearts. I knew the moment before closing my eyes that I did the right thing. I dove into a deep relaxing sleep. My dreams confirmed my reality.
       At the heart of this blustery winter I found my soul tantalizing.I was conquered by an emotion more powerful than perturbation. It was so intense that somehow led me to being euphoric. I would have easily been characterized as a lunatic woman. Even if I was that, I have to share my insane thoughts with you or at least, the ones that might hearten you.
      I slipped into an intimacy that brightened me up because now I knew the reason why my heart was burning. It was him; the viridian man. He slashed part of my past without even knowing and made himself comfortable at my heart’s side.

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.

Vanity.

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     A fearful person. That is the perfect word to characterize him. The man wearing the viridian mask was always silent while his thoughts could torment any demon in hell. He thought that words have no meaning when you can conquer the world with your actions. Even if deep down in my soul I believed in his theories, I think of him as truly mistaken.
The sky is cloudy and the black widow surprises me with her serendipity and negligence of the revengeful heavens. The city lights are blurry, reflecting as murderous shadows on the glassy windows. The autumn leaves seem all blackish now, same pattern and nuance. The pine trees are moody because their children are gone and the dirty water of the rain has sickened them. Somehow, those pines trees can resemble to the viridian man. His seedy provision has the same effect on my disposition. Even if it is a fact well known, I cannot accept it. I wish his branches could expand more on my thoughtful mind and answer to my pitiful questions. I am being conquered and pestered by every possible word that can come out of his mouth.
The walls around me are whitish and the furniture seems nothing like luxury. The mattress has no sheets on it and the floor is cold. The window is half opened. I can see the wildness of the human souls pondering on the streets; some indecisive, others lighthearted.
The viridian man was still wearing his impersonal mask. His lips won’t curve into a smile and his eyes won’t show any annoyance. Some may say that hiding what’s torturing you is the only armor that can protect you from the untamed world. I might agree but in the viridian man’s case I fear he excesses the use of this lethal drug.

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?

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. ”

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.