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.
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.
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.
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.
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 gifts 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?
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.
Original post (uncensored):
I do not. Perhaps what I am saying seems a little, or a lot, nonsensical but you asked for my sincere answer and you should know that a sincere answer is what I am giving to you. I do not love him. I find it easy to admit or agree to such a thing and the reason why is simpler than you could ever percept. Whatever this feeling that cursed me is, it goes deeper than love. Since humans haven’t found a word for that yet or we may never find, I won’t let myself indulged into its’ charm. For love I have felt and it was not like this. It was indeed powerful, every emotion was triggered by it, but now, now it’s more than that. Now, the infinity of my feelings transfixes my body and has turned my feelings into a hunting warren. A warren of desire, seduction, empathy, vivacious feelings, feelings that if you ask me; I could even live for as eternity lies at dawn.
Maybe I should let you know, hoping you would understand my questioning this ”love” you want to name, that I have become a feathery person, sometimes even feeble. I am asking you please not to judge me or try to convince me that I should reconsider my statements, all because I will not. I am not gloomy. Do not ever understand that. I am as flippant as the hays of the sun on the sunup. You should see my expression now. A sough just escaped my lips, such a sweet and perky sough! It’s tingling my heart; this image of a demi-vierge person who craves for me as I crave for him every night. This rapture or cannibalistic need of flesh, which many of us may not understand, it’s provoking me a deep sensation of amour. I do not say love dear stranger. Mark that. I am biting my lower lip at the very moment and the hotness in the air has made my skin sweat. My humid lips have a salty taste of sweat. The hot breeze, the closed window, the feeble night, they all remind me of him. They all make me crave him even more, even sweeter. How can I make it understandable to you dear stranger?
In a parallel reality, where he exists only for me, or we might say that he is here for me, he touches my lower lip, undressing it from its’ salty taste with his own big softy lips. I fear writing to you the rest of the details so if you wish you can stop reading. If not, well…read on.
I have a need to reprint into words the dream that fed my desire two nights ago. I was intrigued dreaming the same thing twice in one night. Perhaps, or as someone today implied, it was either my fear or desire, that broke the chains to dreaming wetly. Yes, dear stranger, wetly.
In a former letter I have described you the expression on his face, of my saturnine man of course, but I omitted the erotic details. Those are that I am thinking about though. As I said, passion and rapture feed my dreams. His hand ran into me. As you see it, into me. Filling me completely. And oh! I would be called a liar if I didn’t admit that I loved it. More importantly, I felt it. My dream felt more real than any other dream. I am embarrassed admitting such a thing, or concerned of my own burning desires. However, I should tell. It was more than one sensation. My body was flooded. I felt like an ocean which couldn’t support any more water. Close to every imagination I have had, this dream pulled me to the edge, as all I have been thinking about the last forty eight hours is that.
On a third long parallel line, runs my heart competing to all the above or helping them get to infinity. I do not know what it actually does but I feel it running. It has become a beast, a warrior among cyclops. I shall not lie, I do feel deep feelings for him. As I said at the beginning, it is all about some other inexplicable feeling that has not been yet named because there is no greater than that. Writing the last sentence, perhaps I stupefy my own self for writing about ‘love’ as the greatest of all, but you should know, I am not. All I want you to do is understand the difference.
If I was a bird, closed into a roost, perhaps he would be my branch. In other words, he would be the freedom I have gained for myself. In even more words, he would be the one thanks to whom I have set my wings free to live without perks or boundaries, waking up every morning, setting my self to sleep, all with the knowledge of something greater than what we already know. Perhaps, life is all about that dear stranger. Perhaps not. You should not indulge into my thoughts, just listen and understand them.
As I said, I do not seek my cage anymore.”
The night was terrifying and silent. The void let the other emotions burst freely on the surface. It was the first time in months that a raindrop touched the earth without any hesitation. It fell abruptly from the eye and the second one followed. I was feeling the humidity in the air days now, but the heart of stone did not believe in giving in. The mind of the sinner refused to drown and fought hard to unravel the tangled thoughts. The meteorologists and my heart had predicted a thunderstorm. After the first raindrops, the others followed easily. It was hard to sham the pain as every thunder hit the bones of the thorax. The filmstrip seemed infinite. Myself and the tawny woman, both rubbed our forehead and covered our eyes. I could feel the skin under my nails hurting but the rain had to be stopped. I had created an ocean in which my sadness could reflect itself as if it had taken a human form; fine beauty, long curly hair, sparkling eyes. I wondered what is the source of that sparkle; radiating happiness, disturbing melancholy or painful regret?
Close to the shore, where the tiny waves hit the dry sand, I found a seashell that whispered to my ear your name. I fell in love once again. I used to find the way of someone turning into ruins that many would admire without knowledge of history quite exciting; but in moments of tiredness, the excitement goes away. The pain turns into disturbing anger and the person that once was your beloved, inspires a kind of disgust. I strongly believe that feeling is more painful than the pain of a lost love. The way you see a person changes; the emotions are stripped of their purity. In a way, this theory may seem a bit absurd or driven, but it cannot be worse than living with the sentiment of guilt; the last coming as a consequence of the person’s inability or thought of inability to give someone else what they need. Perhaps, you have given your best and tried for more; if the person beside you doesn’t want to receive or doesn’t give you the chance to prove yourself; then it is simply not your fault.
In the middle of the day, I discovered that the physical exhaustion was just an excuse for my doubtful thoughts. My soul was tired, on the edge of giving up. Would I be blamed if I did so? The pain of a lost love I would tolerate more than the loss of respect towards myself. But what if I’m wrong?
I could not control the hatred. It was as if a raven was being chocken by a human, harshly; the blood drops were colouring the ground in shapes of evilness and disaster. I was disgusted by the food he once served me; I was feeling my guts burning by the drinks I used to serve him. The gastric acid was running up my lungs elevating the blood pressure and I had no control upon it. His voice made me tremble; my hands were shaking. I looked at him from behind just for a few seconds; I could not resist the urge to see him. His standing was as provocative as always; the air I breathed was irritating, a little bit poisonous I might say.
The door is closed but I can still hear his penetrating voice; it runs fluidly through the walls, making the barriers of justice collapse. I remembered his glare and his laughter. I felt my spline hurting; I panicked unwillingly as if he still has power over me. I tried to cool down my insides for the sake of the tears that would run of my eyes. I cannot.
Perhaps it seems a little off to you that I never presented such desires of hate. I heard her voice approaching and the hatred had to be buried. Hopefully, she did not come alone so the interrogation had to wait. I participated into the conversation with a forced smirk painted on my face and a few random approving words. Every sound would penetrate me like I was made of thin air. Later on, she was sleeping on my arm. I had the time to forget his voice and study the room. She became the subject of my dark thoughts and slowly pushed them away. It was an unpleasant moment; being in that bed, starring at those walls, feeling the scent of another person that wasn’t you. In a certain way I managed to concentrate on her hard breathing. Every movement of my arm would disturb her peaceful sleep; you should see her in those moments; her hands around my neck, her legs crossed and possessive. I think, that was the first time I really felt the abrupt fall.
The hatred was forgotten, at least for a while, but the scar was still there; haunting me.
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.