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. 

Să mă porți in tine.

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    Am mărginit iubirea cu o bordură de fier, am transofrmat-o in praf, am adunat-o din toate colțurile sufletului meu, am curațat-o și ți-am dat un pic sa guști. Ai luat din ea un vârf de linguriță și ai atins cu vârful limbi. Ți-a fost frică să iei mai mult. Nu ți-am reproșat nimic. Te-am lăsat să faci ce vrei cu ea. Când ai simțit gustul picant, ai cerut mai mult. Nu am zis nimic, ți-am dat. Am spart-o din nou in bucațele mai mici, atât de mici incât sa-ți fie usor să o plimbi prin gură. Mă uitam la tine mirată cum iți străluceau ochii când saliva ta te dezgusta in lipsa iubirii mele. Am făcut ochii mari dar fără să comentez ți-am mai dat. In ritmul ăsta, ai reusit să mă lași fără iubire. Mă porți în tine in fiecare clipă. Îmi porți iubirea, oarecum furată, în sânge. Mă întreb uneori dacă te incomodează. Nu te doare sa trăiești cu iubirea oamenilor, ființă criminală? Ți-am cerut doar să ai grijă de a mea, să nu o plimbi prin alte paturi și să nu lași pe nimeni să calce pe ea. Sper că măcar asta ai fost in stare să faci. 
     Într-o seară friguroasă, ți-am cerut și eu la rândul meu, un strop din a ta. Am vrut doar să văd cum mi-ar sta cu ea în mine. M-am uitat in ochii tăi și am observat cum sufletul tău se scufundă în oceanul temerilor tale. Îti admiram frica; ai lăsat-o liberă să o privesc. Am zâmbit și te-am luat de mâna dreaptă ce incepuse să-și crească temperatura. Ți-am lăsat iubirea în pace și ți-am cerut să mă lași să-ți iau frica. Sufletul tău a început să plutească din nou și respirația ta s-a ușurat. Așa ai facut. Ai transformat frica ce-ți sufoca sufletul in nisip fin, ai suflat cât să-mi ajungă în toate colțurile lipsite de iubire și mi-ai cerut să fiu atentă când plec cu ea. Nu ți-am mai cerut iubirea, mi-a fost de ajuns că ai avut incredere să mă lași să-ți dărâm zidurile. Să știi că acum te plimbi dezbrăcată prin lume și numai eu te pot îmbrăca din nou. Dacă nu mai reziști, aștept să-mi ceri frica înapoi. Ți-o voi da necondiționat dar să ai grijă când o pui la loc; poate iubirea mea crește și nu mai ai unde. Ce faci? Îmi dai iubirea înapoi? N-ai cum. Nu o să mai aibă loc nici la mine, căci mi-ai luat temerile tale și în mine a intrat iubirea altcuiva; un narcisist ce îi era frică să și-o țină în el. Așa că lasă-mi temerile tale și dacă nu mai poți, transformă iubirea mea în fericire și plimbă-te cu ea dezbracată. Așa nu se ia nimeni de tine. Fericită. 

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.

Elysian.

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   Her eyes were filled with tears that she obviously tried to hide from the cynical popularity while her bitter heart was beating faster and faster at the thought of her delusional and unhappy reality. Her name did not resemble anymore to her emotional condition. They both formed an oxymoron, making her a sane person that has been locked up into her own internal sanatorium. In her mind there was only one person that could set her free. The whitish walls, the unpleasant clothing and the mass of psychically sick people led her to the conclusion that she was a lunatic like the rest of the world.

     I was looking at her neutrally, trying hardly to hide my judgmental and interrogating look. I sensed that she needed space and silence. I would sympathize with her pain if she let me but I did not dare to say a word. Her sadness silenced me and her aristocratic skin froze me away. However, even if she was flooding into that profound sadness, she was notably wonderful and fearless. Behind her sorrows there was a warrior, someone who needed affection and motivation in order to get up on her feet and dazzle the world.
     Her ponytail reminded me of a petite girl that had no worries tormenting her soul. Perhaps she was that blithesome child and I was just misinterpreting her piercing eyes.

”We accept the love we think we deserve.”

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Stephen Chbosky

Stephen Chbosky

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

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