Diseased desire. 

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 I have sinned.       

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

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

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

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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.

Time of death.

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         At least I know how I want to die. The peaceful sky will be having the color of midnight blue; a star here and there; not too many; enough to shine wonderfully around the moon. The waves will be hitting the shore quite hardly but in the deep; the sable line will be clear and still. The roundness of the moon will be perfect; its’ hues will have a scarlet color; bloody but still dusty grey. Across the beach no soul will be whipping beside me. The horizon will seem endless and I will be greeting it. Opposite to the endless sea,  at the exit from the beach, a wooden bar will be still lightened. No soul will ponder on the porch. The unclean dishes on top of the sink will torture my soul. I will not leave unfinished business behind. The tick-tocking of the clock may feel exasperating but not so much as I will know it will be the last I am going to hear it. There is a half empty glass of whiskey on the corner of a table. I observed that night and only, the brunette woman sitting there. She would leave the same half empty glass every night, I would take it and toss it. That night I will not. I will ran my fingers over the shapes of that glass, sink one inside, rub it on my lips and flash it inside me. It will burn but I am sure I will not mind. The void will be filled with a song from the radio. Elliott Smith will be playing his favourite song, something about us between the bars. I will take that emptied glass and walk on the shore holding it. At some point, I will fill it with the ocean’s water and  when I am ready, I will drink up my unfulfilled  dreams. Their poisonous effect will be the end of me; there, on that beach, shaded by the midnight blue sky. The clock on the wall of the bar will stop tick-tocking. Time of death: 02:30 a.m. .
I woke up in the afterlife and all I did ever since was wonder; what if I had no unfulfilled dreams? Would that water still poison me? That was my hell. I was tortured by that idea, of never finding out; what if I had done all that I wanted? No remorse, no going back.

February.

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The darkness has fallen softly; the humidity in the air should feel suffocating but surprisingly, it doesn’t. On my table there is an object that indicates the greeting of Spring. I cherish this season deeply as it is always the beholder of new beginnings. For a few minutes, I thought I had fallen again into February’s trap; reliving old emotions, but hopefully I stopped myself.
I was staring at the other humans this morning; so agitated and yet a bit sophisticated. For a short period I thought I had her behind me. I turned my head to the left and then right, searching for her eyes. She has turned my mind into an infernal paradise. I know you wonder what that means, I do too, but it seems inexplicable. I did not get the chance to see that clumsiness of hers before. Her glare is an oxymoron; devastated and excited. Sometimes I try to put the pieces together, understand that controversy but I can only fail. 
Her body is curvy and expressive. She stimulates an eroticism that sometimes seems hard to avoid. She is everything but innocent. The fierceness she carries is well hidden behind an invisible mask. I would say that she is dominated by a demonic angel. 
She speaks arrogantly and with a lot self-centerism. Her words are exact. I felt them burning my insides, scratching the surface of my skin. 
It is the middle of the Aquarius’ month. The moon stays hidden, fearful of the dominating sign. I keep myself close to the moon as I know I must not fall into that hole again. I remembered Alice talking to the Rabbit: “I don’t want to go there again, it was peaceful in this jungle, don’t make me fall!”. I do not want to fall either.

Ineffable.

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

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

Scarlet.

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

Nyctophilia.

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

Back in time.

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

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.

Disclosure.

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

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

Hopes & Expectations.

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

Mourning.

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    We were falling into the temptation of giving up. There wasn’t much left of us than our misery. Our hearts had locks and chains. I don’t know if he wanted to save mine but I was tired of trying to save his. Sadness was my goddess now and I worshipped her so deeply that it consumed me .
The night had fallen darkly and noisy. The skies were also compelled by my goddess. Her pale pink dress fitted her perfectly, like the spring flowers fit their season. My imagination could make everything seem of such a beauty. I was silent and destroyed. There were sorrows gasping inside me and earthquakes diminishing everything that I had built.
There was a thing about his touch that disappointed me. A feeling of betrayal perhaps. He savaged my body and I savaged his. It never felt like a romantic intercourse that would lift you up to heavens, neither an unpleasant connection.
My chest is hurting and a nod is blocking my respiratory system. The way my saliva stops at some point  through my lungs it’s annoying and painful.
My soul is completely wrecked. I wish I could shout this pain out of my chest and drown the world with my tears but even that is impossible. I have lost all of my intimacy; all that I had. Now it’s all of me, standing by the window, sobbing, waiting for the next snowflake to fall down on earth so I can mourn about it until the morning comes.

Day Dreamer.

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

Matutine Agitation.

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There was a line separating us. He thought that line was just because we had united two single beds together in order to make a big one. It wasn’t just that. In my mind, the line was infinite. It was like we had some boundaries separating us; like two different neighbouring countries. Our souls won’t bond even if our hearts imply a love affair.
At the moment, I feel a vast pain which I cannot explain. More than that, I feel an unusual rage in my heart and a suffocation of my lungs. There is a nod that makes it hard to breathe. Tears run of my eyes when writing these lines and a deep depression submerges me to the point of feeling like drowning into the dark bottom of the Atlantic ocean. The fact that I cannot find the roots of my heartbreaking keeps me awake. The night is longer this way, when my heart isn’t at peace and the only noise that I hear is his breath. I looked down the road from the window and there was no soul wondering around. It seems like the drunk are filling themselves with more alcohol and the peaceful lovers are holding hands under their parfumed sheets. What about the hopeless romantics and troubled minds? I guess we are all losing sleep or having nightmares that suffocate us even when we’re asleep.
I still find it hard to explain this pain that tonight has brought upon me.  I find it healthier if I close my tearful eyes and keep them that way until the sun rises again.

Once Upon a Time…

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  In fairy tales there’s is a saying that heroes always win and villains don’t get a happy ending. In the real world, there isn’t a Savior, nor a Wicked Witch. In the real world, there exist only humans.
     As Prince Charming fell in love with Snow White, men fall in love with women and the other way around. But as you know, our world is more black-hearted than any villain. If love happens, it could be easily characterized, as Bukowski said, a dog from hell. As if an evil curse had fallen upon my thoughts tonight, I am blinded by a certain pessimism. I have no intention of withering your feelings so I shall call my fairy and have her make me a dreaming potion.
     I am looking at myself in a mirror and my eyes are tearful.
I feel my heart pumping worriedly. The cold night filled me with pain for the dear person that my soul’s seeking. The fact that he’s missing from me increases my blood pressure, feeding my brain with brooding thoughts and my heart with a sadness that comes from this nostalgic emotion. I’m wishing for his arms around me to warm me. I remember the nights when I was falling asleep on his shoulder. The thought of it only, that he was by my side, relaxed me and made me feel safe. I remember the color of his eyes when the tiredness was conquering him. They used to darken in an unique way that his sweet melancholy swam even more freely into his unshed tears. Even more impressive it was the way he blinked, patiently and wanting, like the world owed him and he would be prepared to wait as long as it took to be given his merits. I always wanted to believe that. Sometimes, I thought of another theory but the pain that it brought me, erased it quickly. I imagined; perhaps he is that way because he thinks he deserves it. I thought of that melancholy as his own self-punishment and I had no motive of such a cruel thought.
     Before waking up, I saw him again, laughing happily. I haven’t seen him many times in our real life laughing from his heart and every time I did, I fell in love with him even more deeply.

Catharsis.

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      The road got slightly uphill and the stars were fading away into the midnight sky. His shadow walked beside me, conversing and laughing with me until a sudden silence froze the scene around us. I was able to hear his heartbeat, the way it rushed then paused for a few milliseconds and then quickened again. It felt as if he was struggling to win a battle that was taking place inside him. A curious sensation overwhelmed me. I needed to know the strategy that his mind was plotting and perhaps more than that; I needed to know his soul’s secret. My eyes weren’t enough for such a deep inquiry so I looked at the stars, waiting for them to give me an answer to my torturing thoughts. The shadow disappeared as if he was afraid of my insane gesture. The arrogant smile that was drawn on my face pointed me as a woman of unsound mind. I had a bitter taste in my mouth and my hands were freezing. I was staring at a door that appeared miraculously before my eyes and the temptation to walk through pushed me closer to it. A certain warmth was floating towards me from whatever was behind that door. I was skeptic whether to cross the line or not as the thought of what’s hidden behind agitated me.

     You see; my shadow had left me. He was scared of coldness. The thought that I might leave him first pushed him away. I was trapped between his fears and my own demons that begged me to be sincere. The only way to make him come back to me was to step in my flaming hell and confess what I have done.
     Maybe that was the exit of my labyrinth. I had all my cards opened and even if the choice seemed to be his, it was actually mine because I had nothing to fear anymore. I knew that whatever I would choose my heart will be peaceful.