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.”



“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.”




     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.

Rambling at Midnight #Fiction



            But how can one forget? Has anyone told you it is easy? It is not. The wind blows your scent and I can feel you as I inhale deeply, running through my lungs and I wonder; what if you are the one giving me life? And it kills me not knowing the truth. Doubt has never been an easy visitor to my mind. It’s consuming. My heart is once more consumed by your aura. Being close to you makes it harder. Makes it harder to forget, and I repeat it to myself as I write these lines. Harder. And my body can feel the pain suffocating every vein, not letting my blood run freely. How can one forget? I ask myself once more in desperation. Nobody can. At least I can’t. I know my soul still desires to meet your eyes and my body still craves your touch. But most of all, my eyes would die to see your face standing in front of me. I know they would.

I’m here. I scream inside me to myself, hoping you can listen to my inner voice. But hope is the latest thing I can do now. I’m hopeless and for the first time I know I won’t see you. I’ve lost you and it seems eternity to me the day I’ll ever see your angelic face. Perhaps the infinite days that we counted were a lie and I say perhaps because I shall give strength to myself by keeping a flame alive. I shall remember the fire that burnt us because it gave warmth to my heart and light to my brain. My darkness has now your presence that illuminates it. But how can one forget? No one can. These are the moments I wish for the ability to erase the pain. I wish nothing but that. I want to be left with the memories and their bittersweet taste on my lips, but shall my soul be left alone as it’s too much destroyed to live another day in this hell. The hell you created when you made your way to my heart and forgot the path to get back from where you came. What if I could erase the pain that I keep in my heart for so much time? Would it be better? Would it make me a better person? I shall not care as this moment the pain is not only emotional, but physical too. So yes! I wish I could erase all of it and if you left with the pain, perhaps I’d let you. I need my freedom and you can give me only that cage. Which I hate, I hate, I hate; because it burns and the wound is so deep that no treatment can be found.

But how can one erase it all? Nobody can. The feeling is still there, stuck deeply in my heart and I really doubt if it’s only there. I am sure it has the power to take it all from me, soul and body, mind and spirit, and I’m homeless. You’ve left me homeless into my own home. How is that possible? It ain’t. I can clearly answer all my questions. I’m so in need for you, my love. The voice inside my hopeless head is still arguing with someone at the end of the tunnel but it’s dark in there and I can see nothing. I wish it was you but it ain’t. I sense there are only ashes there; perhaps my broken and burnt pieces.

The pain has moved from my stomach to my spline and now it’s aching my heart. The territory around my chest is in pain and little by little I feel it spread everywhere. Its’ exact location I can’t predict but it hurts so damn much.

I’ve denied it the past days to everyone, including myself. I’ve denied you. I’ve denied your existence in my heart but I can’t anymore. I shall finally admit, everyone to know, myself included, that you will never die inside me. This love shall always live and conquer me, no matter whose hands touch my body or whose heart loves mine. I know that I will never love you. I will always love someone else because ‘’love’’ is such a little thing when it comes to you. There are no words used by humans or others to explain how I feel about you; but I definitely know it’s not love. I will never love you. Perhaps I’ll live for you, as it is the most valuable thing I have, even if you don’t deserve it. You, my darling, you don’t deserve any of this; it’s no right to feel this way and I shall never mention love when it comes to you. The reason I’m in pain is your existence but you should know that without it I’d be lost. So, how can one live without you? No one can. You are the most painful thing in my life which keeps my heart beating and you’ll always illuminate the darkness inside me. Your darkness will be my darkness, somehow it will lighten my spirit, just like the dark moon gives light to the hot summer nights.

#An Intervention. #Fiction#


Unfinished business. He always was that. This time though it’s different. This time it wouldn’t be right for us to ever be together. We’ve been banned and cursed by Aphrodite and it seems right. We’ve always been impossible and unrealistic. So it ended, quickly and roughly, but it had to.


My dreams confirm me that I’m a destroyed person, mentally ill, who’s been broken and broken all over again in the last three years. Time messed me up and I’ve become a shaded woman, lost in the emptiness of my soul, not being able to save myself.

            The water running on my skin was one soul with my tears and I felt no difference between them. Everything was the same; the grass was the same; the stars were the same and the light of the day was the same. Only she was different. Every night the moon filled little by little with my dreams till it became whole. Every time that happened, I used to feel his touch but the other day, it died again inside me. Once a month I can feel it on every inch of my body, ripping my heart off my chest and drowning me. The next day I feel nothing. I suffocate from time to time but then I inhale deeply and exhale hard. Two seconds later, I feel nothing again. It’s not difficult once you get used to it; that’s why I can call myself crazy.lf from the curse of the universe. I’ve forgotten the definition of piece as my mind has none and my heart is no longer free. It has been taken hostage in somebody’s hands and drained of blood. It’s steep, dry and dark now. The stiffness makes me hurt people and I don’t deserve any of the love I’m given, if I am given any. I must unconditionally accept it and get used to living in such pain for the rest of my days. I shall never ask to be freed as my conqueror will kill anyone who approaches close by. I have no view of him though. He’s marvelous and fucked up, that I can feel. It’s his mind-blowing smile and those scars on his chest that give me a brief image of him. I can’t see more than that. It’s all dark and shady in there. Time has revealed part of what I see and it seems a long way until I can finally complete the puzzle. I’m scared of who’s hidden behind those curtains as he has every power to finish me off. He owns my spirit and my body without letting me take any of it back. I’ve been tricked to give it all up to him, but when? I have no memory of such thing even if every night I’ve seen all kind of stories developing in my subconscious. Perhaps one of those nights was real, but which one? The heart I have left in me wonders by my mind’s side if that night was a carpet of shiny stars and a bright moon. Was it? It reminds me of the sky being dark green and the ground surprisingly light. The darkness was brighten by the ‘’full queen’’ of the night. Such a magical view! I was feeling upside down, like the world had changed for me and my fucked up man. His face was unseen, and I tried, I really tried to uncover it, to get through him, but I couldn’t. I shall stop my mind from wondering as I’m mistaken. I woke up at five o’ clock in the morning and the dream was gone as he faded away on a dark road and I lost the view forever. With that, I lost him too. Only she remembers him and I’m so jealous of her because she has seen his face. The moon was the only one who had the opportunity to guide his way home, back to his scars. I turned around to the other side, facing my pillow and closed my eyes. Until dawn I dreamed of nothing. Truth is I woke up smiling so I guess it had been all real; I just couldn’t feel him anymore.

            It’s all the same until I break. Until you break. It can happen any time, any minute. I see a tear falling on my notebook, my food or my hand. I lift it up and clean myself up trying to hold it together. I can’t. So I cry. I give up to my conqueror’s possession until I have nothing left in me. Once I’m soaked, I can sleep. I usually dream of nothing but a white tunnel. At least my inner queen doesn’t let me remember any of it. It’s such a relief sometimes and such a pain on rainy days. I’m being reminded of who I am those days and I worship them. I go back to my crib and let silence blur the scene for me. I sit down on my armchair and think of all the staff that keep on torturing me. The light of the candle reflects warmly in my eyes and gives me strength. Once the sun fights away the navy clouds, I’ve already put boundaries to my existence. I’ve already decided how my route shall continue and I follow it up until my next alone session. Time has already been both my friend and my enemy. Truth is I had never had to choose which of the two I want it to be. My human life has no meaning if I don’t accept the way it rolls and my destruction has already come once I felt his hands on me that night. That dream was weirdly realistic, the one and only realistic thing about him. And possible, the one and only possible thing about him. The possession is overwhelming me with emotions I have never met and that’s why I’m afraid of it. I’m so much afraid of what future will bring and all I can beg for is mercy. Mercy for my heart which is unable to last much. I’m not a compatible vessel for his aura and I don’t understand how he can still be inside me, flirting with my veins and feeding from my blood. If only I could exhale and scream that hard that I’d force his exit from my red room of pain. But the question is, do I want to? Am I ready to put these emotions to sleep for eternity or should I infinitely cherish him?

Surprisingly, I had to answer..


Today in class we were asked by our english teacher to describe in a composition the person that influenced us over the years and made us what we are. Being asked this question I had to answer. At first it seemed easy, but then…writing about it got complicated. I couldn’t keep myself to those 120 words and after I presented her the first page, I continued the story for myself. I got hit by the memories and I couldn’t stop my hand from writing.

” I had those butterflies clenching in my belly, reaching through my lungs, blocking my words from spreading around. The fire was burning so that I could feel my skin boiling . The reflection of the flames burnt into his maroon eyes and all he could give me was silence. It was obvious we were nervous around each other. Mostly, I was. The chair he was standing on was hot and my uncovered legs started shaking as the wind blew like a quick tornado. He was still silent touching my hand in a gently was that all my insides got worm and loving. I wanted him but I was limited on touching him. I don’t know why but his body language made me feel that way.

After a few seconds the silence was covered by his words.

”I’m nervous around you and I can easily lose my words.” His outloud thought was an interpretation of my clenched stomach. I smiled as I  saw the flames in his eyes but the fire was shutting down. I wouldn’t let it die though because I knew that if it died, the heat will go away with it too and I’ll be lost in my nervousity. I stood up from his side and collected some wood which I threw with a quick move above the ashes. The fire got life again and for a second time we were lost in our silence.

He grabbed my hand and made me sit on his lap wrapping his hands around my belly. That moment I was reminded of Charlie in The perks of being a wallflower. As he said, that moment I felt infinite. I had everything but I knew that if I’d stand up I’ll lose it all. I had the warmth of his body and the lost-kid look on his face which hid so much pain. In a way I was pleased by the image of his face as it was an opportunity to see his true character, a deeply frightenned one. His every day joy and always smiley face didn’t convince me of  real happinness. On the contrary, I knew behind that smile was more than that.

That moment I saw it. I saw part of the kid that cared too much and had lost too much. That made him indifirent and myseriously attractive. I was surely one of his predators, drown in my own thoughts, locked in a cage of memories. His existence though was a motivation to find the key and free myself.

Today, I did it. I’m free from that steel cage, locked again though in a messed up world.”

Part 36: Present: It is Love


        For those readers who follow my story, there was this part, 26 I think, titled “It wasn’t love”. It may have not been true love then, but it is now. It’s been a while since I’ve realized that I fell in love again. Actually I’ve never stopped loving. I was just passing through a transition period from one love to another. Clearly, there is a huge difference between what I felt then and what I’m feeling now. What I have to admit, is that by saying it wasn’t love, I might have hurted a person very important for me now. Though it was the truth. THEN. I definitely know now, I feel the sparkling again. I can’t stand being mad at him because it hurts. That’s a sign I’m attached to him and what I have now it’s is something I want to last.
         There are times, I find myself thinking about the past, what I had, what I didn’t. There are also those times, I wish I could have had then everything that I have now. But on the other side, I say, it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe N was right. He had to be the worse thing that happened to me so in the future I’ll appreciate more what’s to come. Definitely, I can’t compare them. Neither the situations. What I have now it is what I asked for. Perhaps life thought she owed me. (Though never say big words, it may all broke). And I say <<she>> because life must be feminin. Her cruelty and sensitivity are both unlimited.
I’m happy when he stares of boredom at his shoes during the lesson, with a childish expression on his face. I’m happy when he whispers that he loves me when everybody around us has something to do. But mostly, I’m happy when we’re together in public. It is something that always I’ll have to deal with. I am tired of hiding and if some day T decides to end it, I’ll have some good memories. I’ve learned my lesson and earned some experiences. Most importantly  I’ve learned to love again. But still, there is something holding  me back from showing everything. I guess it is better. The more you give people, the more they take advantage of it. That’s what I’m not willing to risk. Being played, again.
           So, it wasn’t love. It was fun. That finally occurred to be love. So, yeah, I can scream it, write it, post it, paint it and feel it, It is love what I’m feeling now and my past is finally over for me. Sure it is.

# A DEAR FRIEND…# (based on true story)


            “He was young, around thirty. He was dirty, haven’t slept normally for weeks, haven’t eaten, he was standing there on the corner of the street staring at the world. People were giving him money, he didn’t want them. He’d give them to the kids passing by. Nobody asked to hear his story. Nobody cared enough for him. He was holding a peace of paper and a pencil. He used to write every night. Don’t know why he chose to write in the moonlight. He was nothing but harmless. You could see it in his eyes. He loved to stare at little ladies. Not in a brutal way. He seemed to admire them. That corner of the 65th Graham’s street became his home for 3 months. He wasn’t poor though or homeless. He just preferred simplicity. Maybe too much of it. Nobody ever wondered why until one day, a 15-year-old girl on her way back from school approached him and asked him why is he giving his money away. Nobody has ever heard his voice. He looked the girl in the eye and answered graciously, money meant nothing for him. He lost the love of his life and everything now was of no importance. He said that standing there made him somehow happy. The girl was surprised. She left her bag down and made herself comfortable next to the strange man. It was for the first time he smiled. The girl took an interrogatory expression and started asking the man general questions about his life. Time passed so quickly. They were talking for hours. It was around nine o’clock. After a comment of the man about the moon the girl realised she had to go. She promised him she’d be back the next day. The man smiled of satisfaction. That night was even more darker. Having someone to talk to, now he felt lonely. He got used to the companion of his little friend. He was only left with his little piece of paper. Many would have wondered how he sees in the moonlight to write. He didn’t need light. The story was enough to full-fill the lines. Being tired he slept till the morning. It was the first time he could sleep so well and so much. He knew he had someone caring about his story. He wasn’t of no importance any more  Since the minute he got up, his heart was beating so fast, he was expecting his little lady. He seemed like a child that was given a candy. After 5 hours of waiting his friend arrived. She brought a chocolate. She sat next to the man and shared with him half of the sweet. The man took it with his perfect hands and ate it slowly. He said chocolate has to be savoured like love. Slowly, feeling every trace of it in your mouth, willing to have more and more because it pleases you. The girl stared at him eating, smiled and gave him her other half. He kept it for later. That other half would full-fill her absence when she leaves.
         After some minutes of silence she remembered the reason he was there. Love. The girl so impressed of the man’s answer yesterday was about to question him. She took a deep breath and when she was about to speak the first word her parents were approaching the corner. The man didn’t know what was going on. He just saw the girl taking a scary look. She got up in a rush and ran. She knew her parents won’t like seeing her staying there with a homeless man. They’d found him dangerous although she knew he had a pure heart. She stayed hidden in the coffee shop just opposite the 65th Graham’s corner. After a while she got back to the man. He was disappointed because he understood the reason the girl left. He knew nobody can see her with him. He was an embarrassment  His face was sad. The girl took his hand as an action of excuse. His eyes were filled with tears. She stopped him from crying with a hug. They were friends now. She finally asked him; what happened  how he lost his love. This time tears were unstoppable now. He was silent for a couple of minutes and then, the only thing he could tell the girl, the only thing his mouth could speak were three words: my love died. The smile on the girl’s face disappeared so quickly. It was replaced by sadness. The man’s face had only pain. It was nothing else to say. They both stayed there in silence until the moon reached again the sky and the stars were shining in the dark. It was time for his little friend to go home again. She promised again she’d be back the next day. That was the only thing that could make the man happy. After she left, he continued his work; writing. The girl even if she knew about his piece of paper she never asked to see what it is. She considered it personal; maybe too personal. That night was the second and last time the girl talked to the man. They both didn’t know what life had prepared for them.
            Around midnight, a gang of the so called ”macho men” approached the man. They were drunk. They had no control of themselves. They decided to have fun by beating him up to death. The man was helpless. They caught him in his sleep. He hadn’t harm anyone but they didn’t care. For them he was just a homeless dirty idiot who would make a favour if they killed him. They thought that would take him out of his misery. What they didn’t know was that, that man wasn’t miserable. He actually was happy, at least in the last two days. In the morning the man was found, taken and buried in the city’s cementer y  At noon, when the girl came to visit her friend she saw an empty corner. The 65th Graham’s street corner had no life any more  She knew something bad happened  A tear came out of her eye, her legs weakened  her hands were shaking. She stood for a minute blocked looking from far the corner and then she ran. She ran so quickly. Her friend wasn’t there any more  She screamed and cried. She knew; in her heart she felt it. He was gone. The first thing she did was get up and run to the cementer y  She saw a priest near a grave, with tears in her eyes and pain in her heart she approached him and asked who had been just buried. He told her about the man. On the graveyard she saw his name. She never had asked. She didn’t have to know. Jeremy. That was his name. The girl fell on the ground on her knees. She cried there for hours. She hadn’t have the chance to know him better. After a couple of hours she got back to the corner of the street. She left her bag, as she used to, she took a chocolate, ate it slowly as he used to, crying about her lost friend. She prayed for him. She stayed there until the fist star showed in the sky. She did that every day since then.
          After the first month passed people got used to see her there but she didn’t got used to the people passing by. She now understood what Jerr felt. In a way. One night, as she stood up taking her bag to go, a brick of the building she supported her back to fell. Unconsciously she took the brick to put it back. There, in that hole she saw Jerr’s papers. Her face smiled, she took them and read the title. It said ”The story of my life from the day I met love”. There were so many pages, enough to make a whole book. The girl’s hands shaking got to the last page. She looked at the date. It was from the night she saw him for the last time. Though, it was something strange. There was a final line on the bottom of the page saying ”…I hoped someone worth loving to have it one day. For my little lady that made me smile again…and don’t forget my dear friend to keep the one half of your chocolate because if you give it away people will ask for more”. It was like he knew. The girl collapsed on the ground, having no tears, she left herself feel the pain in every inch of her body. After an hour laying on the ground she looked one more time into the hole on the wall to be assured she hadn’t miss anything. But she had. She put her hand into the hole and she felt something. It was the other half of chocolate she had given to him that noon. He didn’t eat it. She threw it away as it was stale and kept the packing. That night she got home with a treasure. It was someone’s life story in her hands. It was her friend’s, Jerr, story. She stayed all night awake and read it. The morning light found her with tears in her eyes. It was a line in the story she memorised so easily. ”My darling, life is like a kiwi. Yes, that. Dirty but green and beautiful. Black in the middle. Sweet and fresh but it can make you shiver of it’s kind of bitterness. When you find yourself to the end of it, you may want more but you have to understand exotic fruits aren’t that cheap to buy. So, my darling, everything has an end but if you ate it slowly and made every second of it a pleasure then you’d be happy”.

Part 15: Happy Endings


They say movies differ a lot from life. They say movies always turn out to have a happy end. Only a few people like those with a tragic end that’s why they seem to be fewer. In my point of view movies and life seem pretty much the same. I’m not talking here about fictional or sci-fi movies. I’m talking about rational movies with everyday facts. Maybe the end in life is different but the story can be pretty much the same. During the centuries we have seen people die for each other as in Romeo & Juliet, we have also seen friends hooking up just for fun and then fall in love accidentally, as in Friends with Benefits. We have also seen people travelling across the world and reaching their goals only just because of love, as in A Lot Like Love. Old couples still loving each other after having a difficult time, years maybe, trying to be together, as in The Notebook. These are only a few examples of how reality may be just like a movie. I’m also sure that many of us have lived a great story, maybe worth telling, maybe not.
The beginning of a story comes with “once upon a time”. For me it should sound like “What If”. That’s because I deeply think a story should be written after grabbing every chance to make it successful, after trying everything to make it have a happy end. If not, well, then you’ll know you have tried everything so you won’t be disappointed. That’s another kind of happy end. But still, a happy end. You see, even if Romeo and Juliet died for their love, we see this story as a great proof that pure love exists. Even if their story was tragic, we celebrate it. The outcome was actually something worth telling to all the generations to come. It is pretty obvious that everything negative can also have a positive outcome. You ask; how is it possible to talk about death as a positive outcome? It’s not death I’m talking about. It is the story. It is the effort I’m talking about. The risk.
People are used to back down easily. They’re afraid to try. Of course, you can’t make someone love you if he or she doesn’t. I’m generally speaking about how we should not be afraid to explore the opportunities and chances. That’s all I’m talking about. Make your story worthy.