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Posted: https://livelovesmilee.wordpress.com/2014/06/22/do-you-love-him/

Original post (uncensored):

          Dear stranger,
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.”

Tears.

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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?

First to fall.

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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.

Să mă porți in tine.

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

Chimera.

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   I would tell you that I never wanted to associate this song with you; perhaps I wanted at least that to be mine, fully, unconditionally. I would tell you that I am filled with guilt and disappointment; perhaps that is what I should feel. I would tell you that I am disgusted of your eyes, your voice and your way of treating things. I would tell you all these lies, I would keep you away from me. I would laugh on the idea that it does not worry me; I would laugh on your face and tell you that I do not care. Sometimes it seems so easy to lie but these mentioned above, it’s impossible to say. Harper Lee says that you never understand a person until you climb into his skin and walk around in it. I do not contradict to this theory but walking on her skin; I cannot do. I tried and I failed when I realized that I cannot feed you with the lies I mentioned at the beginning.
     It was a shattering morning until I heard her peaceful voice. The night before, I saw her everywhere. She was entering that pub’s door at every turn of my eye. She had her hair down and then up, she wore black and at some point she wore red. She wore all colours and had all kind of expressions. She walked in every time a woman walked in. At four o’clock in the morning the alcohol’s effect was gone. That door opened again but she wasn’t the one stepping in. I saw a brunette woman, wearing a bright red lipstick and a slim fit pair of trousers. It was then when I realized that she’d never come. I smiled hypocritically and opened my eyes. It was just a nightmare. I was staring at her sleeping next to me and after a few minutes she opened slightly her eyes smiling too. She was biting her lower lip while I was touching her below her waist. How could I lie? She has become a bitter-sweet addiction; a necessary evil.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Moments of hesitation.

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     A dear woman once told me that you can’t be with a person that involuntarily stops you from dreaming and she was right.  The surface of the table was rough and he was moving his fingers towards it. My eyes got lost by the movement of his hand but my thoughts were insanely corrupting me. His eyes were staring at mine, impatiently, like he was expecting the next twisting of my lips or the next ‘I love you!’. But I said nothing; Even if his soul begged me to explain myself and my heart was desperately wanting, my mind’s power was too intense and authoritative. I did the only thing that I could do in that moment. I took his hand into mine and smiled. Even at the moment I cannot decide whether that curve that my lips formed was real or just an obligation.
     My thoughts scared me or maybe my past experiences. I was afraid of us. I am still afraid of the routine. More than that, I saw myself on my knees in his behalf and my dreams or usual activities being left aside. Somehow my heart blamed him. In a way, history is repeating itself and that dries my soul.

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.