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      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. 

Driven.

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Let’s have the relationship talk. Let’s be more specific than wondering about someone’s mediocrity.
Let’s talk about her.
The night was intense. It had fallen quickly and we were still standing there, immune to its’ fall. It seems, gentlemen, that the physical condition of a human being can easily be affected by words. More than that, when they said that you should undress the mind and then the body will get undressed on its’ own, they weren’t wrong.
What’s your relationship like?
How do you get in bed?
I was feeling aroused by words that had nothing to do with carnal satisfaction. The psychological analysis I received over a phrase of mine impressed me to the point of desire. Is that what happens to you too? I would really like to know.
I was once asked to write from someone else’s perspective, not mine. Therefore, I am imploring you to think of you as you read. Put yourself into the main role and play your part as I say; get the mask I am asking you to wear.
She needed to stand higher than me and that did not bother me. We talked about non-existent principles, impressions, wrongdoings and last but not least, her leaving if hurting will pursue. That intrigued me to the level of rising even if I was standing lower.
There was a continuous analysis of every phrase or argument we were bringing to the table.
Her eyes were sparkling, contemplating my thoughts, impatiently waiting for me to finish my line.
There was no mediocrity in the air.
My insides were burning in need of corruption.
I reached her lips and grabbed her in my arms filled with dreadful desire. Her body wasn’t enough. I needed more of her. I was inhaling her once again. Once I entered her, her facial expression became softer. Her eyes responded to my desire perfectly and I was craving her even more. More than I could ever imagine.
The relationship talk faded.

El, despre ea.

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     Îmi fură privirea. Mișcările ei se rătăcesc in fața ochilor mei și-mi fură privirea. Îmi spulberă glasul. Este evident că lumea din jur există; numai dacă ai știi că defapt e nesemnificativă!

     Îți plimbi piciorul stâng în cerc; un cerc mic cât să nu se observe mișcarea. Îl aduci aproape de cel stâng si împingi pământul cu vârful lui. În secunda doi a revenit la normal. Ai acționat în stres; oare te stresa privirea mea? Oricum n-ai văzut-o. Dar poate ai simțit-o. Iei comanda lunaticului. O fii și el ca mine?

     Strângi masa corporatistilor îndreptand același picior, cel stâng, in aer; dreptul n-are nicio reacție. Fenomenal. Impecabil. Ce e atât de impecabil? Ai rabdare. Până la urmă o să te prinzi. Impecabil. Ce?

Modul în care se mișcă doar partea corpului ce străpunge în mod direct inima. De parcă sângele ti-ar pompa pe verticală! Oare așa o fi in cazul tău? Oare ție iti pompează sângele doar pe verticală? Oare de aici provine ”impecabilitatea” ta?

     Scoți micul tău jurnal cu rapiditate și zambești larg. Un pic forțat. E de înțeles. Masculul din fața ta nu-ți merită zâmbetul. Pentru câteva secunde nimeni nu-ți vede fața; ai profitat pe deplin de moment pentru a-ți da drumul la buze. S-au întins formând o linie dreaptă. Parcă ironică.

     Gesticulezi cu mâna stânga, fredonând cu degetul pe meniu. Spatele îți este un pic aplecat peste umarul masculului și pentru a – nu știu cât-a oară – piciorul stâng se pliază. Oare ce-ți surâde în cap?

     Așezi o masă de patru; iar folosești doar mâna stânga pe tacâmul ăla. Al patrulea l-ai aranjat cu ambele mâini. Oare ce a fost in capul tău în momentul acela?

     Ți-ai scos iar jurnalul si pixul.  Te joci cu ele, cu mâna stângă bineînțeles; forțând o privire spre masa din fața mea. Oare coada ochiului tău m-a prins?

    Te îndepărtezi de mine în grabă, îți cauți de lucru; de data asta gesticulând cu mâna dreaptă.

Te-ai apropiat de blonda sprijinită de casă și ți-ai înfipt mâinile în ceafa ei. Ai zâmbit, lăsând greutatea ta pe stângul.

     Ți un pahar de spumă in stânga, mergând cu bărbia în sus, citesc un zâmbet ecstatic pe fața ta; oare îți place să fii privită?

Hm. Nu mă pot abține din a zâmbi de data asta. A fost prea de tot.

Iar ai mângâiat pământul cu vârful piciorului stâng, el îndreptat spre mine iar fața ta perpendiculara cu a mea; asta o înțelegi doar dacă poți să vezi și tu perpendicular in aer.

     Te-am lăsat un pic în pace dar parcă îmi vine sa te privesc din nou. Iar faci mișcarea aia cu piciorul stâng. Ce ai ființă cu pământul?

     Te duci la masa mediocrilor și râzi. Dacă ar știi ei ca tu defapt ai râs in ciuda lor!

    Timpul se scurge repede. Te văd peste zidul de lemn luând nota cu un zâmbet de “pleacă acasă dar nu mă uita”. Satisfăcută te întorci la colțișorul tău si îndrepți o privire doritoare spre masa de lângă. Ți-a surâs un corporatist. E de înțeles.

     Setezi iar o masă mușcând încet din buze. A fost un gest de nervozitate. Oare știai că te privesc?

Te-am pierdut în spatele unui perete; mai revine un pic în spate zâmbetul tău și te pierd iar. Pleci in grabă și un mascul îndrăgostit te fură de la spate. Ah. Ar fi fost ceva daca aveai ochi să-l vezi! A flirtat lejer cu spatele tău. Am râs.

     Iar ai dispărut. E greu să țin pasul picioarelor tale; să nu mai zic de expresiile feței sau de gândurile păcătoase.  Ești impecabilă oricum. Parcă așa am picat de acord ca vei fi in ochii mei, nu?

     Îți aud vocea la masa de lângă. Fascinant. Ce culoare i-ai dat!

     Îmi stă un drac pe gând și nu te scapă din priviri.

     Hm. Ce lent te miști cu paharele reci în mâna! Sensual. Impecabil.

     Torni spumă în paharul înalt, extrem de concentrată; atât încât sprâncenele se arcuiesc spre linia de înjumătățire a feței; cine nu te-a urmărit ar fi zis ca te-ai încruntat într-un mod nesimțit.

     Îți ți greutatea in piciorul stâng, corpul încordat si mă privești în ochi. Buzele tale au schițat un zâmbet cât de cât inocent, un pic ascuns, cu o idee de senzualitate, iarăși impecabil.

     Le mulțumești mediocrilor. Iar i-ai definit prin zâmbet. De unde să știe săracii că judecata le turna apă în pahare?

N-ar mai fi fost mediocri dacă îți recunoșteau chipul.

     Ai dat cu meniul diagonal în cineva, zâmbind a realizare, lăsând cumva să ți se ude buza de jos. Oare ce gândeai?

     Deja simt vinul în organism; în zâmbet. Fredonezi melodia. Hm. Pretty woman. Tocmai ți-ai plimbat limba pe buze. Oare știi ce am gândit?

Brutal.

Seducător.

Fascinant.

Sensual.

Păcătos.

Impecabil.

     Ia sa te văd la asta. O vei fredona?

Mă trag mai la stânga pentru a te vedea mai bine.  Am trecut toată dimineața peste melodia asta. Nu știu de ce n-am vrut să o ascult. La dracu!

Râzi. In momentul ăsta îți verși sufletul. Hm. L-ai băgat la loc repede.

“Acel ceva în mișcarea ta.”

A tresărit în mine versul și mi s-a aprins un zâmbet pe buze. Da, s-a aprins. Am zis bine. De ce? Mi-a zâmbit sufletul.

     Nu mai ești in peisaj așa ca pot să zâmbesc liniștit.  Fără să mă trădez. Cel puțin nu către tine. Restul mediocrilor au permisiunea mea să vadă. Corporatiștii oricum nu mă văd; poate de ăia mă mai interesa pentru că suntem aceasi nație de la nouă la șase. Restul sunt doar mediocri.

Hai să-ți explic de ce.

     Cuplul din diagonala mea nici nu-și închipuie că defapt vor fi un cuplu. Femeia își ține picioarele încrucișate in direcția bărbatului; își ascunde zona intimă cu legătura picioarelor dar de fapt nu se prinde ca mâna ei dreaptă a dezvăluit zona gâtului. S-a trădat singură. Piciorul ei stâng joacă a nervozitate.  El este greu de studiat căci îi văd doar spatele. Pot sa zic totuși cu o certitudine jignitoare că umerii lui sunt paraleli cu umerii ei iar corpul sta lăsat in fața. Ceva îi ține din joc. Ea se întinde spre el iar el se trage instinctiv si vice versa. Mediocritatea asta, ce face din om!

Râzi cu glasul tare și mă distragi. Iarăși colorezi cu râsul tau. Vii spre mine zâmbind și ma induci in eroare. Ți-aș fi furat un sărut sau mai multe dar ma abțin.

Cei trei mediocrii din diagonala mea perfectă și-au făcut ieșirea. Bineînțeles îi așteaptă pluta…

…va urma.

Addicted.

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We should stop seeing each other.
We should stop playing with our demons.
I inhale you. I can feel your hands touching me from a distance. The untamed desire sets me on fire. It burns and I cannot stop. Your smirk excites me. Your hands fill me and I breath deeply, exhaling hard and coming. You come closer to my lips without touching me. It’s exasperating. Half of my body is wet and the other half is wizened. I’m losing control and I am lifting my chin towards you. You’re half smiling again passionately, moving your head around. I am still powerless, licking my lip needy. You’re playing with my desire. You push yourself inside me and my voice trembles. I am losing it. I grab your neck and squeeze you hard as you keep pushing and insisting on me with that smirk of satisfaction.
We should stop.
You let go of me easily and I am relieved.
Your demons won’t leave me alone while your hands are playing with the line between my back and my front. You run gently between my legs and hardly getting inside I find myself coming unexpectedly.
You run your body on me, throwing words into my mouth, without letting me taste you.
We should stop seeing each other.
It’s becoming addictive.
I want you.
Your mind is heroine. Your perfume is cocaine. Your lips… oh those lips!
We should stop.
I wish I wanted it to stop.

CC.

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Short, straight, burnt caramel hair. I do not know of her eyes, neither their form nor their colour. Her smirk forced me to lower my chin while smiling back. I only observed her laughter and few of her gestures. I’ve also heard her curse and her face was extremely calm. She excused herself with a deep breath. 

Later today, she walked by, eyes on the ground, a little bit tired, that’s how she seemed to me. Before that, she came again in the room. This time I looked at her eyes when her glare was focusing elsewhere. I saw the same burnt caramel colour. 
Her shirt was too chaotic, unfit, out of her standards. It amazes me how easily she changes. Her sceptical staring permitted me to watch her closer. The moment she laughed I tried to take my eyes of her but still, the chaotic shirt caught my eye. 
I was telling you about earlier when she walked by me. She gave me a quick look but I did not let our eyes meet, I narrowed my chin to the ground once again. The skin on the back of my neck tightened. 
It was something special about this woman, a mystery I will not understand but I wish I could explore.

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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.”

Healing.

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There is an intermediate phase that characterizes loss. There exist three types of loss and you would all wish to remain with the taste of the one mentioned in the very beginning. Firstly, we have the untamed loss, the painful and dreadful feeling that something is missing, the agony of losing one self too, the suffocation with one’s skin. I would never wish such a misfortune. There is also the liberating loss, the one that was truly necessary and amiable, the one that is rare to encounter but still less painful than the previous one. Most commonly we face the first type of loss.

Once your own skin is suffocating you and the knife on your chest is pulling your bones out, there is a significative probability that you might not be able to cry. In that moment, the pain is stored inside and as a consequence, the breathing process gets a lot harder. In that moment, say or think of something that your ego or the circumstances would not permit you to say; say “I love you”, “I’m sorry”, say whatever you hold back. The moment you liberate your mind from the things that you kept behind, the heart takes over and lets the pain spread.
My eyes became tearful in a few milliseconds. I blinked and the river flew harmonically off my eyes. The healing process had already began.   

Sinner old man.

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     There were not necessary many gestures to get my eyes filled with tears. My grandfather’s arm on my shoulder was enough. Not many words either. Just his saying that I will always have him.
     I always saw my grandpa as a sinner. I did not know any of his sins but that’s what I saw in him. Through his sins, I would also see his affection and love. As a man born in the 50’s, he was not the kind to share his  feelings openly. He did it differently, as if he was ashamed of them or me.
     When I was a little girl, he used to come and take me for long walks. He made me see the world from a different level; 2 meters height to be more specific. My legs would play freely around his neck, my fingers would twist though his hair and my eyes would not stop sparkling. He carried me on his shoulders from the mountains to my grandma’s house. He was proud of his first born niece. Two years after, he used to pick me up from school. I would climb the hill to home with him and our discussions would be nothing but childish. Even back then, I used to see him as a sinner but his sins loved me. Not long after that time, he got sick and I lost him for ten years. To be honest, I do not recall a lot of moments with him those years. I have one image though that I cannot forget. It was at the beginning of his worsts and as his illness hadn’t been defined by any doctor, we defined it ourselves. Even now, we live by the same theory; psychical exhaustion. As I was saying, I remember him making sounds of different animals; snakes, frogs, the perfect imitation. His eyes were turbulent. It was dark outside and the room had been filled with his growling. My grandmother had gone to call the priest, my little aunt was standing as still as a tree and her face had all shades of yellow. My older aunt was sitting on her knees in front of him, crying and praying. I was in the corner of the room, tantalizing my eyes from my grandfather to my crying aunt. I would never forget those few minutes; neither my aunt’s tears nor my grandpa’s sounds. I also remember that when the priest stepped in, his condition got worse. I do not recall the next hours or days. I grew up visiting them in summer. His stare would not leave the noisy black box and his body won’t get out of the house. That’s how he lived until 2010 when my grandma called, saying that her husband went to the city and he wants to come to visit us. No word about those ten years had been said to him.
     Today, he came after me on the streets as I was talking a short walk. I saw that profound affection for me through his kind touch and still, his sins love me.

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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?

Mirrors.

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“She fantasized me looking in the mirror. She thought I would see whatever she saw in me; Mirrors lie. They show all physical imperfections, every curve and every unwanted scar. Do they show what is hidden behind my skin? Mirrors cannot show my heart. “

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.

Habromania.

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She believed in nothingness as I believed in the universe. She is a peculiar creature and fascinatingly stormy. She was lying half naked in the middle of that bed, staring at me. Her smirk provoked me but I could not move. I was sitting beside her with a paralyzed leg on the ground and the other one half-hanging on the bedside. Her skin was soft and the hays of the sun were creating quite an intriguing form down on her waist. The curtain was covering the other half of the window. The view outside was as magnificent as her sparkling eyes. I turned to look myself on the mirror at the headboard; her shirt fitted me. It was as if I was wearing a part of her. Her glare was hypnotizing. She took my hand into hers and brought it close to her face. I approached to hug her cheek. She inclined her head towards my hand as if she needed to feel me. She blinked hardly and slowly; for a moment I thought she would not open her eyes. The smirk on my face transformed into a straight line. Hers too. Our thoughts aligned, we were both aware about the uniqueness of that moment.

We escaped from the mountains and ran to the sea. The sun had hidden away and tension was dominating in the air. Even the stars were afraid to come out. The universe was absent those moments; she was well dressed but her emotions were completely naked. She was overwhelmed by the sea’s agitation. She was looking at me from the driver’s seat; perhaps a bit lost or disappointed. I did not know what feeling was really dominating in that moment. I felt as if my guts had been filled with sand and I could not breath. I felt a strange need to feel the cold breeze on my skin. The sea was stormy and dark. I had to go back. She said nothing and with the same feeling dominating inside her, she took a sharp curve to get back in the abandoned city. I was still having that nod in my guts. I thought she wanted to escape; I saw her fearful and indecisive. I think she felt the world was not enough to run; words were not enough; her thoughts were disturbing and a continuous loud voice would not let her rest.

The universe had to intervene. She was forced to stop driving. It had no importance why. We were stuck there; on a dark night, by the stormy sea, no human life pondering around, just a few stars on the sky and the harsh sound of the waves hitting the shore. She exhaled madly. The sunrise was an impeccable show of colorful shades; the moon that once was touching the sable line of the sea had been driven away by the marvelous burning sun. The shattering silence had been replaced by minor worries and laughters. In that moment I saw the universe in her eyes. She told me that mine were filled with nothingness; I had hidden my thoughts. I suppose that the love I felt took a little bit of alone time to grow and then it would show up again.

…to be continued.

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.

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.