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!.

Asteptarea.

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Mă uitam în oglindă cu mâinile sprijinite de acel mobilier uzat. Mă uitam în proprii ochi, pluteam, mergeam, mă uitam în jurul meu în tren și așteptam. Mergeam pe o stradă paralelă cu gara undeva în sudul Italiei – oamenii surzi nu vedeau în fața lor iar eu mă simțeam o altă Eleonoră – așteptam. Dresorii îmi captivaseră atenția, oamenii surzi cu lesa în mână îmi aduceau în fața ochilor rândurile citite înainte și după. Înainte și după a ce, nu este important momentan. Oare atât poate mintea omului? Oare mă pierdusem atât de departe încât să îi dau dreptate Eleonorei? Oriunde mergeam pe acea stradă dădeam de dresori iar acel peron paralel mă făcea să mă gândesc și mai profund la profesor. Măcar aveam gândul la așteptare căci așa, ma gândeam la spusele lui, știam că n-am murit, aveam speranța că așteptarea asta duce undeva și tot așa știam că încă sper – nu știu ce sper – dar fără speranță nu mai avem de ce să trăim. Cam așa îmi aduceam eu aminte vorbele profesorului și revin în prezent, uitându-mă la acea lacrimă ce a căzut brusc din ochiul meu drept în fața oglinzi.
Mergeam pe stradă, altă stradă, altundeva, fără dresori, și-mi imaginam dialogul în care răspund eu fără ezitare – întotdeauna le voi iubi căci fac parte din mine și eu din ele.
Și el nu înțelegea și râdea iar eu îmi readucem aminte primele momente.
Zâmbeam mult atunci, râdeam, nu mă lăsam în mâinile fricii. Dragostea era un ideal al vremurilor lui Napoleon Bonaparte iar eu îmi doream să fiu o Josephine a secolului nostru. Viața mergea în ritmul ei, raționalitatea era un lux al scolii și al muncii. Seara, nopțile, erau ale lor. Îmi doream dragoste să mă consume, să fiu în culmea fericirii și în adâncurile tristeții. Nu-mi doream însă dezamăgiri căci acestea te lasă pe peron, te pun sa aștepți și foarte repede te fac să uiți de așteptare. Când uiți, ai pierdut. De acolo, nu știu să vă îndrum domnilor și nu-mi doresc să aflu.
Dar să vă povestesc cum stă treaba cu dresorii. Eleonorei îi era teamă de ei căci înainte să ajungă ea pe acea gară pustie cu profesorul, aceștia invadaseră orașul. Fiecare individ își cumpărase câini pentru a-l proteja de imblanzitorii de cobre. Orașul nu mai avea lumini iar peste tot se auzeau urletele câinilor. Eleonora era atât de speriată încât într-o noapte a plecat și nu s-a mai întors, ajungând astfel pe un peron pustiu.
Când am văzut atâția dresori adunați, ma gândeam doar la ea și ma simțeam exact la fel. Așa am realizat că degeaba am fugit, degeaba mă aflam în acel loc înspăimântată de dresori – că și aceia, precum și ai Eleonorei, aveau metafizica lor – trebuia să mă întorc în așteptarea mea, în pustietate.
Dar Universul nu te aduce în punctul așteptării așa ușor, te lasă să fii tu Josephine, te lasă să te consumi până la ultima răsuflare, te lasă să te ridici și să cazi, te lasă să-ți clatini sufletul cum vrei tu, să-ți pui organul vital pe masă și să-l tai cu propria mână în bucățele, să-l dai altora să ți-l lipească și altora să ți-l taie la loc. Și așa ajungi în pustietate, așteptând.
Așa i-am zis și ei într-o seară ca aș vrea. Și ei, și într-un fel și celeilalte. Și așa mi s-a dat. Dulce și amar. Separat și împreună, cuvintele, oamenii.
Am povestit tuturor despre Univers căci acela părea a fi Dumnezeul meu. Aveam dialoguri și monologuri în fiecare zi și noapte. El mă asculta silențios și în curând îmi răspundea. Ma rugam la el, mă sfătuim, plecam oriunde și știam ca e cu mine, nu ma simțeam niciodată singură. De aceea le și povesteam. Voiam ca persoana de lângă mine să știe despre Dumnezeul meu, să-mi vadă credința și frica. Căci ce Dumnezeu ar fi dacă nu mi-era frică de el? Si-mi era domnilor.
Fiecare mă credea. Fie mă făceau nebună fie îi simțeau prezenta. Până în punctul așteptării. Când timpul nu mai are efect, el pur și simplu trece fără a mai știi cât de încet sau cât de repede. Și acum o aud – nimic nu e pur și nimic nu e simplu. Acesta ar fi fost argumentul ei la spusele mele. La început îi dădeam dreptate și rectificam, schimbam propoziția să nu conțină acel “pur și simplu”. Ulterior nu mai făceam asta. Nu dădeam importantă cuvintelor și acest lucru m-a adus în punctul despărțirii. De ea sau de Univers? Asta vă întrebați?
De ambele. De el, care el?

Elements.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was my desire.”

Can I be forgiven for that gentlemen?

The inside out. #2018

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The shore was still there, buried inside my hidden dreams, unwilling to come up to the surface. It’s been so long since I haven’t dreamed of it that it would almost extinct. It was my deepest and guiding wish but I made a memory of it instead of pushing it’s realization. I did not forget about it. The perseverance was gone for a while.
I woke up thinking of it today. Who have I become. Reality caught too much space in my life and I let the dream go. Foolishness.
The shore was my life and the only thing keeping me alive. Alive by the full meaning of the word. That shall resurrect me. How can I end up on that shore if that is not the goal?
How do we get intimidated by small things and forget about the major goal? I don’t get fascinated by this side of humans. We get caught up in situations, place ourselves with the mass, fill our time with superficial habits and become mediocre. We become average and the sum of our being is kept captive by tolerable days and decisions. The sad thing is not realizing it on time.
What is the right time though? It’s now. It’s that one morning when you wake up and remember the exceptional thing you wanted to be.
Let’s bring up to the surface the shore, the goals, persuasion and excellence. After one year, let’s make it all about the first days, the shivering beginning, the kisses, the long nights, the one and only goal. The shore.

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. 

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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.

Driven.

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

Let’s talk about her.

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

What’s your relationship like?

How do you get in bed?

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

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

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

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

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

There was no mediocrity in the air.

My insides were burning in need of corruption.

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

The relationship talk faded.

5:30 pm.

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She was pouring oceans off her eyes, forcing laughter to come out and clear off the muddy waters. I took her chick into my hand and let her drown. She was drowning beside me and I was thankful for that. My face lines were still steady; until one moment. We had swiched places and she was drowning into my eyes this time. The earth shook gracefully and I had to lift her up. 

” I have always loved your surname. I used to imagine a curly hair girl running on a marble path towards us, trying to prove she can pronounce it. I used to imagine us staring at her running towards our open arms. I imagined our home behind her and us competing with the world.” 

Saying all that was melting my insides. 

“She would pronounce it just like you”, she said. 

I smiled while my sorrows were learning once again how to swim.

In that moment, down on the road of memories, I found my mind being in control. I was terrified and at the same time, surpised of the accomplishment. It was easy to dictate my body’s next move despite the burning desire or the flaming heart. 

I was alright and at the same time, I was ruined. 

In my existence, I never gave hope such a great extension. 

I was giving a chance to another chapter. Life. And that was alright. 

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I thought I saw the devil
This morning
Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue
With the warning
To help me see myself clearer
I never meant to start a fire
I never meant to make you bleed
I’ll be a better man today
I’ll be good, I’ll be good
And I’ll love the world, like I should
Yeah, I’ll be good, I’ll be good
For all of the time
That I never could
My past has tasted bitter
For years now
So I wield an iron fist
Grace is just weakness
Or so I’ve been told
I’ve been cold, I’ve been merciless
But the blood on my hands scares me to death
Maybe I’m waking up today
For all of the light that I shut out
For all of the innocent things that I doubt
For all of the bruises I’ve caused and the tears
For all of the things that I’ve done all these years
And all
Yeah, for all of the sparks that I stomped out
For all of the perfect things that I doubt
I’ll be good, I’ll be good
For all of the times I never could
All of the times I never could.

Antiexemplu.

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Nu-i cunosc povestea soro dar îți voi lămuri incertitudinile prin a-ți prezenta varianta mea, cea imaginară, cea pe care văd prin ochii tăi. Îmi cer iertare anticipat că-mi permit această perversitate. 

Îmi sare in peisaj, imaginea unui Bukowski. Așa îl percep eu. Domnilor, pauză; nu mă întrebați de ce îmi bat capul sa vă povestesc despre el. Ați implorat să o cunoașteți; v-o prezint pe Ea.

Nu fiți atât de ipocriți încât să-mi cereți un nume. Nu vi-l dau. Nu îl meritați. Ea, “Ea” este mai mult decât vă imaginați.

Revenind la el. Sau la “El”.

El părea în ochii mei un paradoxal, un om sărit de pe fix, un bărbat antiexemplu.

În imaginația mea chinuită de gânduri, El este înalt, bine modelat, fața acoperită de un așternut subtil de păr; mi-o imaginez des frecând obrazul ei fin de acea barbă, copil fiind, rareori cât să păstreze stratul subțire de gheață intact. Mi-o mai imaginez fredonând melodii pe ritmul buzelor lui, privindu-l când el se uită înapoi.

Țineți seama cuvintelor mele domnilor. Sunt alese cu atenție și apăsare pe suflet.

Mă întreb dacă și el, ca și Ea, are vreun tic ce-i trădează cursul sângelui. Oare și al lui curge pe verticală?

Își înghițea mâhnirea plutind dar sarea transpirației îi permitea să plutească. Oare ce metaforă o fi aceasta?

Își inhala fericirea precum fumul unei țigări jumătate stinse. O aprofunda. Si Ea, de altfel, o aprofundează. În cazul ei, fericirea era o căzătură a sufletului, o mărginire a iubirii, un instinct ce nu trăda. N-am de unde să știu ce înseamnă pentru El fericirea dar știu că fericirea lui este orice amintire o cuprinde.

Vocile lor se aseamănă; la fel de degajate, extremiste, pline de trăiri. “Iartă-mi expresia”, zise ea.

Mi-am imaginat peisajul dulce și în același timp, amar, al adevărului, al jurămintelor, al iertării, al unui lac calm, al tăcerii.

Se auzea liniștea copleșitoare. Ea surâde cu mândrie la prima mișcare a firului. El o privește uitându-se înainte, spre lac.

Domnilor, nu mai așteptați explicații. O privește ca pe o umbră a sa. Îi cunoaște trăsăturile precum și le cunoaște pe ale lui.

Nu sare în sus de fericire nici la a doua întindere a firului. Își așteaptă momentul. Răbdarea este un dar chinuitor. Firul se strânge și o trage în jos. Este o întreagă artă în a prinde prada perfectă.

Iarăși îi copleșește liniștea amortitoare. Îl vad cum își destinde chipul și îi bate un apropo. Peștele se sperie de râsul ei colorat dar neputincios și perturbat, mușcă.

El comentează ceva cu haz și mândrie. O glumă auzită prin colivii de vrăbii.

“Tată, aruncă-mi momeala aia”, zise Ea.

Cine este Ea?

Tu o cunoști.

Cine este El?

Un alt soi de Bukowski.

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.

Mediocrity.

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It was mesmerizing. I can tell you that. The way Darkness was inhaling me was mesmerizing. I counted seven stars on the sky, a few humans around and the speed of the cars racing; infinite; at least in my mind. In reality, there was just a soul beside me, humidity in the air and a few cars running sixty miles per hour. But I did not want to see the reality because my surreal dream was so absorbing.

I went back to it and I began rambling again while staring at the spark of the lamp post.

We conversed about the mediocrity of the human soul; me and the universe. I had a soul beside me listening but my mindset was elsewhere. I was imagining myself on an untidy bed, a soul losing its’ mind into my eyes, between my legs.

Devouring a soul and lifting it up to the defining line of the universe it’s the most exquisite gift a human can receive. Keeping it on the ground, sane and steady, can cause the syndrome of mediocrity. Judging the corruption of the soul would be a great mistake if you do so gentlemen. Define happiness if you can though and you will understand what I am mumbling about.

Perhaps you’re not interested in my definition of it but I am free to state it anyway.

Devouring happiness: the liberty of the soul to collude with the walls of dispair while reflecting itself into the depth of a moment’s realisation.

The eyes, love. The eyes. Lose yourself into the mournful excitement of those eyes.

Mediocrity. Lose it. Give it up. Chase your soul to the end of the world. Do not keep your greatness intact.

Ruin yourself, stay still and feel the adrenaline of your blood. Now you’re not mediocre anymore.

But, can you do that?

Addicted.

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We should stop seeing each other.
We should stop playing with our demons.
I inhale you. I can feel your hands touching me from a distance. The untamed desire sets me on fire. It burns and I cannot stop. Your smirk excites me. Your hands fill me and I breath deeply, exhaling hard and coming. You come closer to my lips without touching me. It’s exasperating. Half of my body is wet and the other half is wizened. I’m losing control and I am lifting my chin towards you. You’re half smiling again passionately, moving your head around. I am still powerless, licking my lip needy. You’re playing with my desire. You push yourself inside me and my voice trembles. I am losing it. I grab your neck and squeeze you hard as you keep pushing and insisting on me with that smirk of satisfaction.
We should stop.
You let go of me easily and I am relieved.
Your demons won’t leave me alone while your hands are playing with the line between my back and my front. You run gently between my legs and hardly getting inside I find myself coming unexpectedly.
You run your body on me, throwing words into my mouth, without letting me taste you.
We should stop seeing each other.
It’s becoming addictive.
I want you.
Your mind is heroine. Your perfume is cocaine. Your lips… oh those lips!
We should stop.
I wish I wanted it to stop.

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.

CC.

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Short, straight, burnt caramel hair. I do not know of her eyes, neither their form nor their colour. Her smirk forced me to lower my chin while smiling back. I only observed her laughter and few of her gestures. I’ve also heard her curse and her face was extremely calm. She excused herself with a deep breath. 

Later today, she walked by, eyes on the ground, a little bit tired, that’s how she seemed to me. Before that, she came again in the room. This time I looked at her eyes when her glare was focusing elsewhere. I saw the same burnt caramel colour. 
Her shirt was too chaotic, unfit, out of her standards. It amazes me how easily she changes. Her sceptical staring permitted me to watch her closer. The moment she laughed I tried to take my eyes of her but still, the chaotic shirt caught my eye. 
I was telling you about earlier when she walked by me. She gave me a quick look but I did not let our eyes meet, I narrowed my chin to the ground once again. The skin on the back of my neck tightened. 
It was something special about this woman, a mystery I will not understand but I wish I could explore.