Trains

"I would jump in front of a train for you" she whispered. He laughed nervously and he said something like "Don't do that, please", and she realised that he had no idea what she meant. She later explained the difference between "jumping for you" and "jumping because of you", pretending she would never do the later. He looked at her scared and the message hit his walls that were getting higher and higher with every word she said. For her it was just another romantic talk to remember, something sweet she told him while kissing his face and hands and hair. For him it was just another scary thing she said, because he did not see things the way she did. Nobody had ever jumped in front of any train, real or imaginary, neither for him, nor because of him. He was used to being pushed in front of imaginary trains and to a really messed up level that was what he thought love was. So she scared the hell out of him. This girl must be crazy... She was left alone on the life's railway, gazing in the horizon and asking what she could have done differently. She sometimes stares at trains and remembers the talk and contemplates about the possibility of taking one of those trains and leaving all behind. Because he took one train and ran away, leaving her in the train station, eyes drown in tears, waving a handkerchief like an old fashioned hopeless idiot. But if she takes another train, the pain will come with her, traveling in the same body to a different place. She would do anything to make the pain go away, train or no train, even cover it with a bigger pain in the body. Soul pain is the worst, makes you lose your mind and wish you were dead. Death must be sweeter than this, she says. She wonders sometimes if a pile of flesh left after the impact with a train would hurt as badly as a broken soul. But that would mean jumping in front of a train because of him, not for him. And she promissed not to... Trains come and go. She stays, no longer waiting, no longer hoping. She dies a bit with every train she has no courage to jump in front of.

Permissions

I kindly ask permission to suffer. I need time off to fall on the cold ground and feel it all, to collect my thoughts, to solve all the puzzles, to make sense of it all, reconstruct the truth, and breath. I need to fall deep, to the darkest abyss of them all, to feel the fear and the terror and to survive it, and to use that cold bottom as a trampoline to jump back in the game.  I need permission to be fully live for a bit, to bleed it all out, cry, shout, suffocate and breath deeply again, till I live the moment, till I gain the power to be back with you. I need permission to dissapear and to pretend and to lie and to play games and to be mean and cruel, to hide my face in order to make sure I survive this. I need to be coward for a bit, just to be able to show the courage I hold inside me.  I kindly ask permission not to care anymore, to treat all the rest with a fake smile, to turn my back at their laughter, to send them all to hell with a smile.  I kindly ask permission to search for the power to hate, the greatest power of them all. I want to hate in order to survive and to want to survive. I want the power to cross a bridge withour losing myself in denial and hope.  I kinkly ask permission to live. And to leave, to go away from it all, to hide my face for a while and uncover it later, all cried and changed forever, carved by pain and regret and questions.  I kindly ask permission to grief the loss of my soul and to wait for its return to my body, as I am empty like an airoport during pandemic, and scared and alone.  Permission granted.

Run

Source

You run and you run, you barely turn your head, just careful where you step, finding obstacles and surpassing them artististicly. Than you put on half a smile, satisfied. 

And you run and you run. Behind you a history of pain, around you questions unanswered, in front of you the fog of uncertainty. 

And you run and you run. At times you fall. Sometimes you hurt your knees and that makes it difficult to go on running. But you always find a nice way around it. Other times you step in mud and you stop a bit to look at yourself disgusted. But you hope for a rain to wash it all off.

And you run and you run. Here and there passers-by wisper in your ears "manipulation". Other hold red flags up high and they nearly pull them straight to your eyes. You stop a bit, reflect, breath in, and go again.

And you run and you run. Your feet get tired and painful, but they are trained to run. I mean, what is the alternative, freeze? Or maybe..fight?

And you run and you run...

Thinking of you

Days were long and night were cold,

Hope was thin and darkness thick,

Loneliness behind the corner.

But she only thought of you.

Worried over your long absence,

Excited over a certain look you gave,

Concerned over the future,

She would only think of you.

Your smile brought the sunlight,

Your absence brought the storm.

Her eyes would call you day and night

And she only thought of you.

And you loved her, then you left her,

Then came back, then left again,

Every day a new surprise.

But she only thought of you.

And she loved you, and she scared you,

And she gave to you her all

Hoping to get you for herself

Because she only thought of you.

As her lips were turning silent

And her look was getting grey

She was wondering if she ever

Would only stop thinking of you.

Dirty window

There is blood on the window between the two of them.

Their small and secret window where they used to stare each other in the eyes and always take care to keep it clean, shiny and transparent, is stained with fresh poppy coloured blood. The hideous thing is dripping lazy all around. And they stare at the stain with no expression on their faces.

The words cut through her unprepared flesh like the angry teeth of an savage animal. She was watching her reflection on the trains that kept coming and going and she was wondering when did he ever find the time and skills to sharpen them so good and train them so well, like he had wanted to make sure the damage was guaranteed. 

At first she put some pressure on the wounds and took some distance, like a beaten dog gone away to care for herself. But then she called him back for more. She was hoping for a bandaid, but she got some more teeth. Sharper. Or maybe just as sharp, except this time the words bit her on the fresh wound. And the pain went through her bones, as the blood was splashing the spotless window.

When it was all done they tried to share the old looks through the window. But their faces seemed diformed. She tried to fake a smile hoping to bring the sun to help get some clarity, she even shed a tear or more to wash the stain away. But it was still blurry. And bloddy. And strange. And scary. 

Source

Now they stay close to the window, their foreheads separated by the glass alone, breathing quietly and waiting for a summer rain to wash away the mess.

And if there will be a dry summer, question remains who will wash away the remainings of the beast's feast on the window...

Lost

Tired. Not of you, but of the struggle, of the moments of silence, dispair, solitude. Of uncertainty. Of the constant risk of losing it all, even of I never even had it.

Scared and alone in my madness, facing decisions I never thought I'd consider, with no backup, no hopes and no promises. 

The closer I get, the further you run. And the higher I climb the harder I fall. I am full of bruises and my feet are tired for running. Yet, it takes a glimpse at the sparkle in those eyes to make my engine run again.

And I gave it all, played all my cards, used all my amunnition, my guns are laying dead on the floor and my misteries are open books on your table - sometimes you look at them intrigued, but some other times you close them and you put them away, for later, way later...

And I act grown up till I'm alone and the monsters show their ugly faces from behind the courtins. And I shake till the morning, waiting, hoping, praying.

If only you read me all the times...

Unlovable

Source

Love me when I feel there is nothing to be loved in me, when my face is ugly, body deformed, voice uncomprehensible and behaviour rude. 

Love me when I feel nobody else does it, when all the dark clouds crowd above my head and follow me everywhere, when even hope is black and far away.

Love me when I am unfriendly and sarcastic, when I try to spread pain around me so I am no longer different from the rest of them. 

Love me when I send you away, when my eyes tell you to go, even if my voice could never say it, when I lock myself deep and desperately need you to have a peak inside and save me, but I'm not saying it.

Love me when I trust you least and I pretend I could make it without you, when I use you as my punching bag just because you are the closest.

Love me when I feel I am slipping into the abyss but refuse to reach for your hand. Bombard me with love when I am wearing my armour and act defensively expecting ignorance.

Love me when I am unsure and aggressive for no reason, when I talk nonsense, make accusations and suppositions with no ground at all, when my logics seems berried in the ground with little chances of ever coming back.

Love me when I write and love me when I don't. Love me when I'm immature and irrational.

Love me when I desperately need a hug but I refuse to ask for it. And love me when I steal that hug without considering the consequences.

Love me when I am unlovable, and if I get no better, say it and show it. Because if you love me then, when I need it the most, I will eventually learn that I deserve it and little by little I will stop being unlovable ever again.