Dintr-o dimineata / Random morning

Piciorul tau drept paseste repede pe trotuarul umed, iar urma pasului tau dispare treptat, uscata de vantul de primavara.
Pe trotuar se tarasc melci multi, rataciti prin lumea moderna, fugiti sau pierduri din hatisul de ierburi de pe margine. Dupa-amiaza, cand soarele va fi uscat trotuarul si inainte de ploaia de seara, le pot urmari traseiul fara tinta care a lasat o urma mucoasa pe caldaram, la capatul careia se afla cadavrul proaspat al nefericitului. Ma napadeste un val de scarba amestecat cu mila, o stare pe care o experimentez zilnic, dar cu care nu ma pot obisnui deloc.
Analizez in tacere tatuajul generos de pe piciorul tau drept, un tatuaj ciudat, negru, cu forme rotunjite si colturi indraznete, un desen de vreo palma si jumatate, motiv tribal, sau rod al imaginatiei artistului, sau poate ceva care inseamna mult pentru tine. Ma amuz in sinea mea gandindu-ma, de fiecare data cand te vad, ca nu am mai vazut niciodata asa postas, sa semene cu Dr. House si sa aiba un tatuaj mare pe piciorul drept, si pantaloni trei sferturi.
Aici nimic nu e ca acasa. Nici eu macar nu mai sunt. M-am pierdut. Iar. Si nu mai e nimeni care sa ma gaseasca. Si eu am renuntat sa ma mai caut.
Maschez durerea sub un strat gros de nepasare, iritabilitate, bucurie mimata si negare. Ma doare propria fiinta, ma doare timpul pe care il simt in spate, ma doare absenta vocii tale, ma doare locul unde candva aveam o inima.
Piciorul tau drept, cu care calci stramb...

 

***

Your right foot steps quickly across the wet pavement, and your footprint gradually disappears, dried by the spring wind.

Many snails crawl along the pavement, wandering through the modern world, fleeing or lost from the jumble of grasses along the edge. In the afternoon, when the sun will have dried the pavement and before the evening rain, I can follow their aimless trail that has left a mucous trail on the warmth, at the end of which lies the fresh corpse of the unfortunate. A wave of disgust mixed with pity overwhelms me, a state I experience daily but can't get used to at all.

I silently analyze the lavish tattoo on your right leg, a strange, black tattoo with rounded shapes and bold corners, a design about a palm and a half long, tribal motif, or figment of the artist's imagination, or perhaps something that means a lot to you. I amuse myself by thinking, every time I see you, that I've never seen such a postman, looking like Dr. House and with a big tattoo on his right leg, and three-quarter pants.

Nothing here is like home. I'm not even me anymore. I'm lost. And again. And there's no one left to find me. And I've given up looking for me.

I mask the pain under a thick layer of carelessness, irritability, mimed joy and denial. It hurts my own being, it hurts the time I feel behind me, it hurts the absence of your voice, it hurts the place where I once had a heart.

Your right foot, with which you stomp...

Alta / Another one

Intr-o alta viata as urca cate un munte in fiecare zi, echipata cu un rucsac care sa imi care toata bogatia si toate grijile, as cutreiera lumea cu sau fara tine, purtandu-te mereu in gand si avand grija ca toata lumea sa stie asta.

Intr-o alta viata as trai de zece ori mai mult in fiecare secunda, suprimandu-mi lacrimile in spatele unui zambet urias care sa ma cucereasca chiar si pe mine.

Sursa foto

Intr-o alta viata te-as iubi patimas, fara rusine, fara regrete, fara limite, fara grija de gura lumii, de reguli si de obstacole. Si m-ai iubi si tu, pentru ca intr-o alta viata as fi altfel, imposibil de neiubit, as fi tot ce nu sunt acum, fara tot ce ma face sa plang si sa bantui ca o stafie trista prin viata asta. Si nu ai inceta sa ma iubesti, pentru ca ar fi viata mea perfecta, diferita de asta, intr-o lume utopic de buna.

O alta viata nu m-ar darama, ci m-ar face mai puternica. As face totul altfel, sau la fel, dar mai bine. As transforma regretele in oportunitati, as rasturna lumi, as crea altele. Si as scrie carti, pentru a potoli vocile neobosite care ma bantuie zile si nopti, cu fraze pline de inteleseri clare numai mie, cu metafore amare, cu simboluri opace.

Ne vedem acolo.

***

In another life I would climb a mountain every day, equipped with a backpack to carry all my wealth and all my worries, I would travel the world with or without you, always carrying you in my mind and making sure everyone knew it.

In another life I would live ten times longer every second, suppressing my tears behind a huge smile that would conquer even myself.

In another life I would love you passionately, without shame, without regrets, without limits, without caring about the world's mouth, rules and obstacles. And you would love me too, because in another life I would be different, impossible to unlove, I would be everything I am not now, without everything that makes me cry and stalk like a sad ghost through this life. And you wouldn't stop loving me, because that would be my perfect life, different from this one, in a utopian good world.

A different life wouldn't make me weak, it would make me stronger. I'd do everything differently, or the same, but better. I would turn regrets into opportunities, I would turn worlds upside down, I would create new ones. And I would write books, to quiet the relentless voices that haunt me day and night, with phrases full of meanings clear only to me, with bitter metaphors, with opaque symbols.

See you there.