November.

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I don’t have the permission to brag or make you pity me. Today is the first day of November, another first, another November, one more year. It saddens me. The cold weather, the wounded souls, desperate and yet, peaceful. It hasn’t even began yet (winter) but it seems a lot like it. The nights are noisier, the flashing of the soaked leaves is harshening and people tend to prepare themselves for the season. Some of them are sticking to their old habits while others keep on looking for their next year’s victim.
I fear these firsts; first infatuation, first catch of the eye, first kisses and first of November. All of the above have the tendecy to begin something. I even fear to admit what that something may be.
Last night I discovered how careless a soul can be. Even if the blurred mind can think clearly, the soul, no matter what, makes it its’ way. A man flushed me with his philosophies. I would only sip and listen. He wouldn’t keep his mouth nor his mind. He judged every movement of my face and body. I didn’t’t want to admit his rightfulness. I preferred trying to change his words with sporadic NO’s. He wouldn’t take it as an answer. He insisted with his meaningful words. He even dared to say that he could easily make me cry. That’s where my mind stopped; to that sentence. How can a stranger tell you that and be right about it? It was admirable.
Anyways. I will not write how it continued. It has no importance. Last night was the end of an era. Tonight is the beginning of another.
My eyelids are getting heavier and my skin is feeling the coldness. The foggy air is making it hard to breath and the darkness has fallen completely on my street. No soul, no light, just the noisy November.

Scenarios.

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“She was laughing so beautifully and I couldn’t explain myself why I was feeling the need to stare at her. She was simple: long brown hair, classic linen clothes, a common woman. Her look seemed depressive and every time I made her laugh, I would be conquered by a feeling of success. Contemplating these words I realized that was the thing that made me fell for her; she fed my ego. Watching her laugh I became serious, I wished I could seduce her, rip her clothes off and still, at the same time, protect her. It was both a romantic and a brotherly need but even now, I can’t admit which one is more powerful. Sometimes I just feel the need of people adoring me and she wouldn’t do that; I know my words imply that I am an egocentric man, arrogant and indecisive, but that’s what makes you still hang on my lips. I know you’re still listening to my story so I shall continue.
I was disturbed of the others’ presence. I needed to admire her, in detail; being a predator is what characterizes me. I was surprised by the fact that she wouldn’t become my victim. That made me want her badly, in every possible way that you may think.”
I studied his movements carefully. He’s always betraying his intentions. I would ask for more details but our intimacy – if it ever existed – wouldn’t permit me so I continued my study. His eyes flickered at every word she would say as if he was expecting a desirable answer to his thoughts. My coffee got cold. He made me feel uncomfortable. I needed something else to get my mind off the scenario that I had already created in my mind. I bet someone else at that table would have agreed with me.
After a while, my emotions were in a conflict of interests as the doors of the railway closed disturbingly quickly. Leaving the warmth of a coffee shop, I found myself surrounded by lovers of the night. October had grown old, this autumn was colder, the streets had emptied and I was still feeling dizzy. I think that the beggar outside the church saw me half smiling and tearful. Perhaps he thought that I had gone mad.
“I left the coffee shop alone. The railway station wasn’t as empty as I expected. I got amused by the publicity of a telecommunications company on the walls. The girl in the photo reminded me of an actress. When I got out, finally breathing fresh air, I felt relief and happiness. I was expecting winter so badly. The pub near my house was half-empty. The barman’s face was filled with boredom and the music was off. I ran up the stairs and reached to my room. I opened the door carefully so I wouldn’t wake up anyone. My act wasn’t successful. I said a quick “hello” and ran into the bathroom. I needed a cool shower. As the water was running on my skin I was thinking of her pleasing me. A knock on the door though, interrupted my imagination. I had to satisfy someone else’s needs. I gave in and an hour later I fell asleep. I dreamed of nothing or at least, I didn’t remember anything. Whatever it was, it must have been of no importance.”

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.

Disclosure.

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

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

”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.