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.

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.

You can't kill the sun

 "You can't kill the sun" she said, her brown wet eyes stairing at him in dispair. "You can cover your skin and belongings to protect them for damage, as you well know how it can sometimes burn.

You can find ways to enjoy its gentle kiss on your face every day and benefit from its wormth and energy without focusing what damage it could cause.

Or you could lock inside and put down the blinders and pretend the sun is no longer there, but do not be naive, the sun will still shine out there, rising proudly every morning and setting satisfied in the evening, in the most incredible mix of orange and blue one could ever come to imagine.

There will be darker days when you will feel the taste of success thinking the sun is gone. But deep inside you'll know better…

Eventually due to the lack of light your skin will become transparent and the smile will fade away. You'll slowly forget the sweet taste of a sunny day and all will look like a dream or a movie, as your skin will be wet and cold and unresponsive.

The things around you, the ones you tried so hard to protect taking them away from the sun's path, will slowly lose their glow as there will be no power reflecting in them. They will learn to live without the sun and take you as their hero, for a while. They will be pale and sad and when old enough they will build dark houses with small windows covered by thick blinders. And one day the sun will kiss them too and that day you will fall from your hero throne.

Source

You can also choose to walk the world with a blindfold around your pretty eyes. But the sun will still be there burning your skin, trying hard to reflect in your eyes and warm your soul. The people around you will watch you with compassion and try to guide you from time to time. But there would never be any blue or orange in your life, just the sweet memory of the games they do every day on the sky when the time is right."


He looked her in the eyes with a half smile. And because there, in her eyes - the same eyes in the drawing, mixing some strange sadness, playfulness and mistery in a way he had never managed to completely understand - the sun was playing carelessly causing a random ray to reflect in his blue eyes, he decided to put down the blinders and go in his small dark corner to cry for a bit.

Am iubit un maidanez / I have loved a stray dog

Asta nu e poezie, nici proza, nici metafora, e confesiune, e justificare, e felie de viata pe paine. Cei inteligenti, vor intelege, de restul, nici ca imi pasa...

Dragostea si respectul fata de animale le-am avut in sange, mostenire genetica de la tata, nu prea am avut de comentat in legatura cu asta. Copil fiind, am invatat cum sa ma comport cu animalele, astfel incat nu am ezitat niciodata sa mangai toti cainii de pe strada, chiar cu protestele mamei.

Mama iubea animalele, dar nu in casa, asa ca nu am avut voie sa crestem decat hamsteri, pe care i-am iubit generatii de-a randul, de la albi, crem, gri, mari, mici... Din cand in cand mai ingrijeam cateva zile cate un puisor de guguta cazut din cuib, plangeam o vrabie calcata de masina, mangaiam pitigoii care intrau in casa, ca a doua zi, dupa ce ii eliberam, sa se intoarca...

Asta pana in dimineata aia, cand a sunat mama la o ora imposibila, de la munca, sa ii spuna lui tata sa vina repede, ca la ei in curte este un catel frumos. A fost scanteia care ne-a adus-o in viata.

Sursa foto

Aveam vreo 13 ani. Telefonul m-a trezit, asa ca am asteptat cu sufletul la gura sa se intoarca tata. Imi amintesc si acum cand au intrat pe usa, el grijuliu, ea, eleganta, increzatoare, cuminte, cel mai frumos caine urat pe care l-am vazut vreodata! O boxerita de vreo 4-5 ani, roscata, cu botul negru si nasul cret. Abandonata de ceva timp sau neglijata, dupa cum se vedea dupa numarul coastelor la vedere, batuta cu piciorul, pentru ca avea rani si vreo 2 coaste rupte, purta la gat o lesa improvizata de tata dintr-o fasa medicala.

M-am napustit asupra ei cu o inocenta si o dragoste de care numai un copil este in stare, facandu-l pe tata sa paleasca pregatindu-se sa ma scoata din coltii animalului strain. Dar ea a acceptat imbratisarea ca si cum ar fi asteptat-o de mult.

Timp de o saptamana mama ne-a amenintat in fiecare zi ca "Maine o ducem la curte, la bunici", insa Lassie a ramas cu noi, membru al familiei, cel mai inteligent, docil, recunoscator, cuminte si educat caine din cati credeam ca exista. 2 ani si jumatate ne-a luminat fiecare zi si ne-a facut sosirile acasa o sarbatoare, agitand ciotul ei de coada si gudurandu-se de parca s-ar fi indoit ca ne va mai vedea vreodata. Ne-a creionat personalitatile, ne-a sadit in suflet ceva din bunatatea ochilor ei, ne-a ajutat sa ne gasim calea si sa ne descoperim principiile.

Lassie mi-a murit in brate, la 7 ani, varsta la care, de obicei, boxerii se duc. I-am vazut lumina disparandu-i din ochi, i-am simtit ultimul spasm si, daca sufletul ar fi fost material, l-as fi prins si l-as fi mai tinut cu noi o vreme, dar n-am putut. Am plans-o si o plang si acum, o simt in ochii fiecarui maidanez pe care nu ezit nici acum sa il mangai pe strada si pe care nu ezit sa-l compatimesc.

Pentru ca fiecare familie are nevoie de o Lassie care sa-i deschida ochii!

***

This is not poetry, nor prose, nor metaphor, it is confession, it is justification, it is slice of life on bread. The intelligent ones will understand, the rest, I don't care...

Love and respect for animals was in my blood, genetic inheritance from my father, I didn't have much to say about it. As a child, I learned how to behave with animals, so I never hesitated to pet all the dogs on the street, even with my mother's protests.

My mother loved animals, but not in the house, so we were only allowed to raise hamsters, which we loved for generations, from white, cream, grey, big, small... From time to time we would take care of a little dove that had fallen out of the nest for a few days, we would cry over a sparrow that had been run over by a car, we would stroke the bluebirds that came into the house, so that the next day, after we had freed them, they would come back...

That was until that morning, when my mother called at an impossible hour, from work, to tell my father to come quickly, because there was a beautiful puppy in their yard. It was the spark that brought her into our lives.

I was about 13 years old. The phone woke me up, so I waited with bated breath for my dad to come back. I remember even now when they walked in the door, he thoughtful, she, elegant, confident, well-behaved, the most beautiful ugly dog I've ever seen! A little boxer about 4-5 years old, red hair, black muzzle and curly nose. Abandoned for some time or neglected, as you could see by the number of ribs in sight, kicked, because she had wounds and a couple of broken ribs, she wore a leash improvised by her father from a medical bandage around her neck.

I swooped down on her with an innocence and love that only a child is capable of, making my father pale as he prepared to pull me from the fangs of the foreign animal. But she accepted the embrace as if she had been waiting for it for a long time.

For a week my mother threatened us every day that "Tomorrow we're taking her to the yard, to Grandma and Grandpa", but Lassie stayed with us, a member of the family, the smartest, most docile, grateful, well-behaved and well-mannered dog we thought existed. Two and a half years she brightened our every day and made our arrivals home a celebration, wagging her tail stub and gurgling as if she doubted she would ever see us again. She shaped our personalities, she soaked into our souls some of the kindness of her eyes, she helped us find our way and discover our principles.

Lassie died in my arms, at 7, the age at which boxers usually go. I saw the light disappear from his eyes, felt his last spasm, and if his soul were material, I would have caught it and kept him with us a while longer, but I couldn't. I cried it and I cry it now, I feel it in the eyes of every stray I still don't hesitate to pet in the street and I don't hesitate to pity.

Because every family needs a Lassie to open their eyes!

Arid / Dry

Cand nu mai pot nici sa plang, lacrimile se transforma in versuri, cuvinte si note muzicale, razbesc pentru cateva secunde doar in lumea de afara, se incarca de sens si apoi se intorc spasite acasa. Atunci ma gandesc la tine, incerc iar, in zadar, sa dau pagina, cu mana usor tremuranda, si in loc sa inchid cartea, mai scriu un paragraf.

Sursa foto

Nu mai ploua pe strada mea. Norii stau gata sa se rupa, in fiecare zi, furtuna se dezlantuie numai la mine in suflet, cateodata devenind uragan si maturand totul in cale, ca sa se astearna apoi linistea. Totul e prafuit in jur, timpul ne-a facut pe toti pudra fina si ne-a imprastiat aiurea, farame din tine cu farame din mine, zacand fara sens pe trotuar, pe geam, pe frunze. Si fiecare pala de vant ne amesteca si ne desparte, si tanjesc dupa ploaie, sa ne spele, sa ne adune, sa ne ascunda, sa ne inece.

A trecut anul si nici nu mai stiu daca mai doare. Iti zambesc larg, fara subintelesuri, mai sincera decat am fost vreodata. Ma hranesc zilnic cu lumina din privirea ta, pasind cate o secunda in intunericul dulce-amarui al sufletului drag, fara sa incerc macar sa deslusesc povestile innodate acolo.

Timpul ma intareste, imi privesc carcasa calcifiata si simt constant cum se extinde, cuprinzand treptat fiecare coltisor de fiinta. Sunt clipe cand nu mai simt nimic, in afara de tine, stropul de viata din sufletul meu. Si as vrea sa stii cum imi salvezi viata zilnic, dar mi-as dori sa nu ti-o spun niciodata.

***

When I can't even cry anymore, the tears turn into verses, words and musical notes, they linger for a few seconds only in the outside world, they charge with meaning and then they return home spastic. Then I think of you, try again, in vain, to turn the page, with a slightly trembling hand, and instead of closing the book, I write another paragraph.

It's not raining on my street anymore. The clouds stand ready to break, every day, the storm rages only at my soul, sometimes becoming a hurricane and ripening everything in its path, to then stand still. Everything around is dusty, time has made us all fine dust and scattered us haphazardly, shards of you with shards of me, lying senseless on the sidewalk, on the window, on the leaves. And every wind blade mixes us and separates us, and yearns for rain, to wash us, to gather us, to hide us, to drown us.

It's been a year and I don't even know if it hurts anymore. I smile wide, without undertones, more sincere than I've ever been. I feed daily on the light in your gaze, stepping for a second into the bittersweet darkness of your dear soul, without even trying to unravel the stories knotted there.

Time hardens me, I look at my calcified carcass and constantly feel how it expands, gradually encompassing every corner of being. There are moments when I feel nothing but you, the splash of life in my soul. And I wish you knew how you save my life every day, but I wish I never told you.

Optimism

Am ajuns odata cu inserarea. Pe maini aveam sange rosu, cald, in suflet aveam un gol mare. Ma priveai crud si rece, dezamagit de tot, scarbit de mine. Murisem si inviasem acolo, sub privirea ta usor sfidatoare, ma tavalisem pe jos, in propria mea rutina, bolnava de tine, umilita de griji, indoita de ganduri negre.

Sursa foto

Mi-am sters fata de lacrimile care curgeau fierbinti pe obrazul meu crapat, si am lasat o dara de sange coborand incet de la ochi catre barba. Am simtit sagetile privirii tale si am stiut acolo, pe loc, ca era ultima secunda.

Incepuse sa ninga. Ascultam muzici ciudate si ma rugam sa-i fie bine. Si ninsoarea ma ascundea de privirea neiertatoare, de toate credintele nefondate, de juraminte, minciuni si ambiguitati. Simteam ca fiecare fulg care imi atingea fata e fierbinte si ma arde, lasand cratere adanci in piele. Mi-am ascuns ochii o secunda si ati disparut, cu totii.

Am ramas singura, pe strada pustie si rece, cu gandurile si grijile sfidandu-ma, cu rasetele care ma asurzeau, cu gandul la sfarsit, si cu rugaciunea in suflet: sa-i fie bine. Si mi-am dorit in secret sa ma salvez salvandu-l pe el.

Spre dimineata m-am ridicat din noroi ca sa fac loc celorlalti. Am clipit des si mi-am admirat mainile curate cu care am pipait apoi obrajii reci.

Soarele stralucea. O sa-i fie bine!

***

I arrived once the evening came. There was warm, red blood on my hands, a big hole in my soul. You were looking at me raw and cold, disappointed in everything, disgusted with me. I had died and gone back there, under your slightly defiant gaze, I was wallowing on the floor, in my own routine, sick of you, humiliated by worry, bent by dark thoughts.

I wiped my face of the tears that ran hot down my cracked cheek, and let a trickle of blood slowly run down from my eyes to my beard. I felt the arrows of your gaze and knew right there and then that it was the last second.

It had begun to snow. I listened to strange music and prayed for his well-being. And the snow hid me from the unforgiving gaze, from all the unfounded beliefs, from oaths, lies and ambiguities. I felt every flake that touched my face hot and burning, leaving deep cracks in my skin. I hid my eyes for a second and you disappeared, all of you.

I was left alone, on the cold deserted street, thoughts and worries defying me, laughter deafening me, the thought of the end, and the prayer in my heart: be well. And I secretly wished I could save myself by saving him.

Towards morning I got up from the mud to make room for the others. I blinked often and admired my clean hands with which I then pecked my cold cheeks.

The sun was shining. He'll be fine!

Naiva / Naive

Sursa foto

Eram doar eu si cu tine

Doua aratari ciudate dintr-o carte de povesti.

Incercand sa-mi fie bine

Te-nvatam sa ma iubesti.

Sus era cerul albastru

Prea departe sa-l cuprind.

Legana pe el un astru

Care-apuse stralucing.

Mai tarziu, dupa furtuna

Incercam sa te gasesc

Alergand ca o nebuna

Dupa visul tineresc.

A ramas o amintire

Dulce-amara, undeva,

Un ciob trist de stralucire

Cu parfum de-al altcuiva.

***

It was just you and me

Two strange illustrations from a storybook.

Trying to make me well

I was teaching you to love me.

Up was the blue sky

Too far away for me to grasp

A star hung on it

That set away brightly.

Later, after the storm

I was trying to find you

Running like a madwoman

After the youthful dream.

Remained a memory

Bittersweet, somewhere,

A sad shard of glow

With someone else's perfume.

Cafea si tigara / Coffee and a cigarette

Pe plaja bolovanoasa erau aruncate corturi la intamplare, cearsafuri sifonate de vant si iubire, o palarie de soare cu esarfa colorata, umbrele roz, verzi si violete, sticle de vin golite si aruncate aiurea. Si tu... cu ochii limpezi, cu stralucirea din par, linistea din glas, puterea din brate.

Sursa foto

Pe buza de jos, rosie de soare, uscata de vant, ti se oprise un strop de apa sarata. M-am apropiat si l-am sarutat scurt, cu pofta, si gustul a ramas cu mine toata ziua.

Si pielea mea mirosea a cafea, iar mana ta mirosea a tigara. 

Si povesteai cu frenezie, te ascultam cu ochii mari, imi stapaneam o lacrima de fericire, de dorinta, de prostie. Iar tie un ochi iti plangea si celalalt iti radea.

In toate cestile mele e o farama din iluzia unei zile perfecte, pe o plaja populata, dar pustie, cu o mare linistita, nisip murdar, piele arsa de soare, ziua in care pielea mea miroasea a tigara iar mana ta mirosea a cafea!

***

On the boulder-strewn beach were haphazardly thrown tents, sheets soaked by wind and love, a sun hat with a colorful scarf, pink, green and purple umbrellas, empty wine bottles tossed haphazardly. And you... with clear eyes, the glow in your hair, the quiet in your voice, the strength in your arms.

On your bottom lip, red from the sun, dry from the wind, a drop of salt water had stopped. I moved closer and kissed it briefly, hungrily, and the taste stayed with me all day.

And my skin smelled of coffee, and your hand smelled of cigarettes. 

And you talked frantically, I listened wide-eyed, I held back a tear of happiness, of longing, of stupidity. And you had one eye crying and the other laughing.

In all my cups there's a trace of the illusion of a perfect day, on a populated but deserted beach, with a calm sea, dirty sand, sunburnt skin, a day when my skin smelled of cigarettes and your hand smelled of coffee!

Prapastia / The abyss

Prapastia din vis se adancea nebuna in fata privirilor mele demente si ma atragea cu o forta pe care nu mi-o explicam, pentru ca stiam amandoi ca nu vreau sa o inteleg. Si ma apropiam de marginea ei, cu pasi marunti, dar siguri, manata de curiozitate si de dorinte autodestructive, priveam spre abis cu pupilele dilatate.

Sursa foto

In prapastie vedeam zambetul tau, unic, fermecat, si lacrimile mi se opreau in suflet si inghetau acolo, sangele clocotea si o lua la fuga spre inima, si o dorinta nebuna ma indema sa invat sa zbor. Imi spuneam ca nu trebuie sa ai aripi ca sa zbori, atata timp cat zborul e descendent. Numai sa ajung la tine, sa-si sterg lacrima pe care o simteam pe obrazul tau.

Simteam perechi de maini mute cum ma opresc, ma apuca cu disperare de brate, de par, de picioare, dar calcam inainte, cu pas rar si decis, cu privirea din ce in ce mai salbatice. Pamantul sub picioare devea din ce in ce mai aspru, il simteam cum aluneca sub talpa mea, si in loc sa ma tem, ma umpleam de o bucurie nebuna: mai era putin si ajungeam la tine. 

M-am oprit la marginea haului sa privesc inca odata lumea din jur: trecutul, viitorul, prezentul jalnic. Ce pierdeam, sau cine ma pierdea. Am zambit triumfator, am tras aer in piept si am infruntat realitatea: m-am aruncat in gol.

Plutesc, sau zbor, si asta de o vreme. Te vad din ce in ce mai aproape, ma imbat cu tine, si astept sa imi finalizez picajul, sperand ascuns ca undeva, pe parcurs, sa ma opresc brutal in bratele tale, inainte de a ma imprastia pe fundul prapastiei fara nume.

***

The abyss in the dream loomed crazily before my demented eyes and drew me with a force I couldn't explain, because we both knew I didn't want to understand it. And I approached its edge, with slow but sure steps, driven by curiosity and self-destructive desires, I stared into the abyss with dilated pupils.

In the abyss I saw your smile, unique, enchanted, and tears stopped in my soul and froze there, blood boiled and rushed to my heart, and a mad desire urged me to learn to fly. I told myself I don't have to have wings to fly, as long as the flight is downward. Just to reach you, to wipe away the tear I felt on your cheek.

I felt pairs of mute hands stopping me, desperately grabbing my arms, my hair, my legs, but I stepped forward, my step slow and determined, my gaze growing wild. The ground beneath my feet was getting rougher and rougher, I could feel it slipping beneath my soles, and instead of being afraid, I was filled with a mad joy: I was almost there. 

I stopped at the edge of the haystack to look once more at the world around me: the past, the future, the pitiful present. What I was missing, or who was missing me. I smiled triumphantly, took a deep breath and faced reality: I threw myself into the void.

I've been floating, or flying, for a while now. I see you getting closer and closer, I'm falling with you, and I wait to complete my plunge, secretly hoping that somewhere along the way I'll come to a brutal stop in your arms, before I splatter myself to the bottom of the nameless abyss. 

Dor / Missing

Mi-e dor de el, infiorator de dor, in fiecare clipa, ziua si noaptea, cand dorm, cand respir, cand plang, cand rad. Mi-e dor, cu toate ca nu l-am cunoscut niciodata, nu l-am strans in brate, nu l-am sarutat, nu i-am pregatit hainutele, nu i-am mirosit varful capului, sa ma imbat cu mirosul si sa imi dea energia vitala de zi cu zi. Mi-e dor de el si de sentimentul ala pe care mi-l dadea, ca nimic nu mai conteaza daca suntem amandoi, ca traiesc cu el si numai pentru el, ca m-am nascut sa-i fiu aproape, sa il protejez, sa il iubesc, sa il rasfat, sa il fac mare.

Sursa foto

Mi-e dor, si dorul doare si erodeaza si nu pleaca. El a plecat, nici n-am simtit, nici n-am stiut, de parca anestezia ar fi fost facuta dinaintea plecarii sale, si dureaza si acum.

Mi-e dor sa il ascund, in suflet si in trup, sa fie secretul meu cel dulce si frumos, speranta mea, viitorul meu. Mi-e dor sa il visez, sa imi fac planuri pentru el, sa ii fac promisiuni pe care stiu foarte bine ca nu le voi putea respecta. Mi-e dor sa cred ca nu voi mai fi singura niciodata, mi-e dor de singuranta si de lipsa de temeri pe care mi-o dadea. Mi-e dor sa fiu cea mai puternica femeie din lume, pentru el.

Mi-e dor sa nu-mi mai fie dor.

***

I miss him, terribly, every moment, day and night, when I sleep, when I breathe, when I cry, when I laugh. I miss him, even though I have never met him, never held him, never kissed him, never prepared his clothes, never smelled the top of his head, to be imbued with his scent and to give me vital daily energy. I miss him and that feeling he gave me, that nothing matters if we are together, that I live with him and only for him, that I was born to be close to him, to protect him, to love him, to spoil him, to make him great.

I miss, and the longing hurts and erodes and doesn't go away. He's gone, I didn't even feel it, I didn't even know it, as if the anesthesia was done before he left, and it lasts now.

I long to hide him, in my soul and in my body, to be my sweet and beautiful secret, my hope, my future. I miss dreaming of him, making plans for him, making promises to him that I know I can't keep. I miss believing that I will never be alone again, I miss the safety and lack of fear he gave me. I miss being the strongest woman in the world for him.

I miss not missing him anymore.

Un el si-o ea / A He and a She

Despre el si ea nu s-a scris niciodata nicio carte, niciun rand macar, nu s-a compus niciun cantec, nu s-a scrijelit niciun vers pe hartie, pentru ca el si ea nu au existat vreodata, iar povestea lor, nescrisa, necitita, nepovestita, nu a zguduit niciun suflet in pragul serii.

El si ea s-au cunoscut candva, dar nu s-au cunoscut niciodata, iar cand s-au intors cu spatele sa uite, refuzand sa scrie povestea, ecourile le-au rasunat un timp in suflet, le-au brazdat un rid pe frunte, apoi au trecut, pentru ca de fapt nu s-au auzit niciodata.

Sursa foto

El si ea s-au plimbat de mana pe malul marii in Vama, intr-o noapte cu o luna mai mare decat exista, dar nu au facut niciodata vreun pas impreuna, chiar daca din cand in cand isi mai simt picioarele pline de nisip si parul mirosind a mare. Pentru ca marea era prea tulbure si luna nu se oglindea perfect in ea.

Un el si-o ea, niste straini, atat de cunoscuti insa mie si tie, si-au spus totul fara sa rosteasca vreo vorba, s-au privit ore intregi, insa cu ochii inchisi. Si-au dat mana si au refuzat sa mearga mai departe si sa raspunda intrebarilor nerostite.

El si ea, ea si el, prea greu sa inteleaga ce nu era de inteles, prea bland sa nu raneasca, prea trecator sa nu dureze, prea inficosator sa nu fascineze, prea evident sa nu treaca neobservat.

***

No book was ever written about him and her, not a single line, no song was ever composed, no verse was ever written on paper, because he and she never existed, and their story, unwritten, unread, untold, never stirred a soul on the threshold of evening.

He and she once knew each other, but never met, and when they turned their backs to forget, refusing to write the story, the echoes sounded in their souls for a while, furrowed a wrinkle in their brow, then passed, because they never actually heard each other.

He and she strolled hand in hand along the seashore in Vama on a moonlit night, but they never took a step together, even though every now and then they could still feel their sandy feet and their hair smelling like the sea. Because the sea was too murky and the moon didn't reflect perfectly in it.

A he and a she, strangers, so familiar to me and to you, told each other everything without saying a word, looked at each other for hours, but with their eyes closed. They shook hands and refused to go on and answer unspoken questions.

He and she, she and he, too hard to understand what was not to be understood, too soft not to hurt, too fleeting not to last, too inficuous not to fascinate, too obvious not to go unnoticed

Loves me, loves me not

Sursa foto

Mi-am rupt petalele una cate una, incet, ritmic si am ramas acolo, in plansul gol, in fata multimii salbatice, cu genele in pumni si cu margaritare in par. Si pentru o secunda, doar pentru o frantura absurda de timp, rasul lor m-a asurzit, am simtit sangele inghetand undeva intre inima si creier, rozul a devenit negru, sec si crud, iar tu ai devenit strain.

M-am intrebat la rand, de zeci de ori, pana cand cuvintele, repetate la infinit, si-au pierdut sensul si au devenit absurde si fade: oare ce am invatat eu din asta? Si linistea de dupa m-a asurzit, mi-am piedut echilibrul si am inceput sa delirez impartind ganduri in stanga si-n dreapta, fara a cere permisiune sau a primi vreun raspuns de la vreunul dintre umerii pe care am plans.

Nu mai am incredere in oameni. Unii, mai desptepti, experimentati si mai optimisti, recunosc, decat mine, ii spun starii asteia "prudenta in business" si o catalogheaza ca pe un castig. E un fel de a colora golul ca in tablourile 3D, sa creeze iluzia inaltimii, sa ascunda uratul.

Ma rup de ce-a fost, chiar daca am transformat, cu buna stiinta, punctul in trei puncte, si atarn acum in suspensia lor.

Si daca te intrebi si tu ce-am invatat din asta, stai langa mine si asteapta sa imi creasca petalele la loc. Ceva imi spune ca vor fi si mai spectaculoase, colorate cu experiente, asteptari, regrete si bucurii. In linistea din miezul noptii sunt convinsa ca le-am auzit crescand din carne, sfasiind invelisul aspru.

Si daca vor fi  urate si batrane, coloreaza-le cu grija si drag, iubeste-ma si nu ma intreba niciodata ce am invatat din asta!

***

I tore my petals off one by one, slowly, rhythmically, and stood there, crying naked, in front of the wild crowd, eyelashes in my fists and daisies in my hair. And for a second, just for an absurd fraction of time, their laughter deafened me, I felt the blood freezing somewhere between heart and brain, the pink turned black, dry and raw, and you became a stranger.

I wondered in turn, dozens of times, until the words, repeated over and over, lost their meaning and became absurd and bland: what have I learned from this? And the silence afterwards deafened me, I lost my balance and began to deliriously share thoughts left and right, without asking permission or receiving any answer from any of the shoulders I had cried on.

I no longer trusted people. Some, more savvy, experienced and admittedly more optimistic than me, call this state "business caution" and label it a win. It's a way of colouring the void like in 3D paintings, to create the illusion of height, to hide the ugly.

I tear myself away from what was, even though I have knowingly turned the point into three points, and now hang in their suspense.

And if you're wondering what I've learned from this too, sit next to me and wait for my petals to grow back. Something tells me they will be even more spectacular, coloured with experiences, expectations, regrets and joys. In the midnight stillness I am sure I hear them growing from the flesh, tearing at the rough covering.

And if they will be ugly and old, color them with care and love, love me and never ask me what I have learned from this!

Definitie / Definition

Sunt urma de ruj lasata pe tigara mocninda. Sunt tot ce ar fi putut sa fie si n-a mai fost deloc. Sunt o parere, un regret, o gheara infipta in sufletul zdrentuit. Sunt lacrima amara picurata in paharul pe jumatate gol.

Sunt silueta palida ce a disparut odata cu zorii zilei. Sunt statuia gri ramasa fara cuvinte, asortata cu cerul plumburiu pe care l-am adus. Sunt un vis despre care nu te-ai decis inca daca a fost frumos sau un cosmar.

Sunt o urma de toc pe asfaltul incins, oamenii vor pasi pe langa mine si vor simti ca cineva a trecut pe acolo in momentul nepotrivit. Sunt privirea ascunsa de ochi straini, sunt secretul sinistru ce te infasoara.

Sunt o petala cazuta in tarana, pe un mormant proaspat pe care nimeni nu il mai viziteaza. Sunt un fluture care a poposit pentru o secunda in viata ta, si a disparut lasand in urma o atingere discreta si o bataie colorata din aripi.

Sunt simbolul a nimic.

***

I'm the lipstick smudge left on the smoldering cigarette. I'm everything that could have been and wasn't. I'm an opinion, a regret, a claw dug into a shattered soul. I am the bitter tear dripped into the half-empty glass.

I am the pale silhouette that disappeared with the dawn. I am the grey statue left speechless, matched with the leaden sky I brought. I'm a dream you haven't decided yet if it was beautiful or a nightmare.

I'm a heel print on the hot asphalt, people will walk past me and feel like someone walked by at the wrong time. I'm the hidden gaze from foreign eyes, I'm the sinister secret that shrouds you.

I'm a petal fallen in the dust, on a fresh grave that no one visits anymore. I am a butterfly that has landed for a second in your life, and disappeared leaving behind a discreet touch and a colourful flutter of wings.

I am the symbol of nothing.

Viata nu e ca in filme... / Life is not like movies...

Filmele tampesc. Sau, ma rog, incearca sa tampeasca, sau sa isi bata joc de inteligenta noastra, aia, cata mai e ea acolo...

Tocmai ce am vizionat doua filme care jongleaza aceeasi idee cretinuta: sotii inselati iarta si uita repede.

Primul: The End of the Affair. Ea il inseala de-l rupe pe amarat, pana la urma isi lasa si amantul, din motive mai mult sau mai putin obiective, apoi, spre finalul vietii (ca vorbim de o drama, nu asa, oricum), se reintoarce la amant, iar sotul ei cel mult iubitor accepta sa stea la capataiul ei de muribunda impreuna cu amantul. Pentru c-o iubeste asa de mult...What????

Photo source

Al doilea, The Painted Veil: la fel, ea inseala un prostisor mult prea moale si prea prins de menirea lui de om destept, el afla, se supara, dar supararea dureaza mai putin de 2 luni, si cand ii trece, ii trece asa de tare incat accepta si ideea ca nevasta-sa e insarcinata cu un copil despre al carui tata nu este sigura nici ea cine este... Si, la finalul grandios, care se lasa, desigur, tot cu o moarte, a lui, ea e rupta in doua, sufera cumplit, dar mi-e neclar daca din cauza mortului sau din cauza ca se simte vinovata.

Nu stiu cum se intampla lucrurile in filme, eu cunosc sentimentele alea care se cimenteaza mai greu si dureaza cu anii, cunosc gelozia aia nebuna, pe care o asociez cu o iubire la fel de nebuna.

Si imi tot spun: mai putine filme, mai multa lectura...

***

Movies make us stupid . Or, well, they try to make us stupid, or to make fun of our intelligence, that is, how much of it is there...

I've just watched two movies that juggle the same moronic idea: cheating spouses forgive and forget quickly.

The first: The End of the Affair. She cheats on the poor stupid, eventually leaves her lover too, for more or less objective reasons, then towards the end of her life (like we're talking drama, not like this, anyway), she returns to her lover, and her much-loved husband agrees to stay at her dying bedside with her lover. Because he loves her so much...What????

Second, The Painted Veil: similarly, she cheats on a fool who's far too soft and too caught up in his clever man's mission, he finds out, gets upset, but the upset lasts less than 2 months, and when it passes, it passes so badly that he also accepts the idea that his wife is pregnant with a child whose father she's not sure who the father is either... And, at the grand finale, which of course also ends with his death, she is torn in two, suffering terribly, but it's unclear to me whether it's because of the dead man or because she feels guilty.

I don't know how things happen in the movies, I know those feelings that take years to cement, I know that crazy jealousy that I associate with an equally crazy love.

And I keep telling myself: less movies, more reading...

Cand ai plecat / When you left

Iti amintesti privirea ei cand ai plecat? Se pierduse cumva in adancul sufletului tau, cautand cu disperare raspunsuri si solutii. Si nu te-a rugat sa stai, cu toate ca i se innodau silabele in gat iar sufletul gemea sub greutatea cuvintelor pe care nu putea sa le rosteasca. Ar fi vrut sa te cuprinda pe tot intr-o privire, sa te inchida intr-o casetuta ascunsa adanc in sine, sa iti deschida portile catre sufletul ei, in speranta ca vei intra si nu vei mai pleca. Dar n-a facut-o.

Sursa foto

Iti amintesti discursul ei cand ai plecat? A intrugat in pripa doua fraze, jumatate confesiune, jumatate lamentatie, a suspinat adanc intre ele. Ar fi vrut sa se arunce in genunchi, sa se agate disperata de glezna ta, sa uite de toata lumea din jur, sa urle, sa isi smulga straturile ce ii acopera sufletul, doar sa stai. Dar n-a facut-o.

Iti amintesti lacrimile ei cand ai plecat? Au tasnit din ochii mari, doua fire salbatice de cristal transparent si fierbinte, s-au rostocolit pe obraz, s-au desprins si s-au lovit violent de asfaltul rece. Ar fi vrut sa pice si ea acolo, in mijlocul multimii, sa hohoteasca ore intregi, sa isi urle durerile pe rand, doar sa mai stai. Dar n-a facut-o.

Ochii ei te-au urmat pana ce silueta ti-a devenit transparenta si difuza in noapte, apoi, dupa ce ai disparut privirilor ei, a continuat sa stea in mijlocul strazii ca o stana de piatra, sperand sa te intorci. Dar n-ai facut-o.

***

Remember the look on her face when you left? She was somehow lost in the depths of your soul, desperately searching for answers and solutions. And she didn't ask you to stay, though her syllables were coiling in her throat and her soul groaned under the weight of words she couldn't speak. She would have wanted to take you all in with a glance, to lock you in a little box hidden deep within herself, to open the doors to her soul, hoping you would enter and never leave. But she didn't.

Remember her speech when you left? She hastily strung together two sentences, half confession, half lament, sighed deeply between them. She wanted to drop to her knees, cling desperately to your ankle, forget everyone around her, scream, tear away the layers covering her soul, just sit. But she didn't.

Remember her tears when you left? They spilled from her big eyes, two wild strands of clear, hot crystal, rolled down her cheek, broke loose and smacked violently against the cold asphalt. She would have liked to fall there, too, in the crowd, sobbing for hours, howling out her pains in turn, just so you stay. But she didn't.

Her eyes followed you until your silhouette became transparent and diffuse in the night, then, after you disappeared from her gaze, she continued to stand in the middle of the street like a stone pillar, hoping you'd come back. But you didn't.

Masca / The mask

Da-ti masca jos, carnavalul a luat sfarsit, artificiile au ars pana la ultima, au luminat cerul si au speriat porumbeii de pe stalpi. Jocurile au fost facute, rolurile au fost jucate, aplauzele au palit, cei care au huiduit urmeaza a fi omorati cu pietre, in alta piesa, mai sangeroasa.

Sursa foto

Asteptam cu inima la gura sa inceapa viata. Cum, nu esti pregatit? Eu m-am nascut pregatita, numai ca de atunci au trecut niste ani.

Mi-am agatat masca intr-un colt de suflet si ma lupt cu mine in fiecare zi sa imi arat fata in public. E bine ca publicul e diferit, cel putin cateodata, e bine. Nu-mi trebuie spectatori, si nici spectacol, de altfel. Vreau liniste, sa refac machiajul in spatele cortinei grele, sa-mi aleg costumul si rolul, sau sa renunt la toate si ies goala in fata tuturor, tinandu-mi strans intre dinti inima.

Renunta la masca, paseste gol prin multime. Si ei sunt goi, cu totii, insa se tem de priviri, de reprosuri, de sentimente. Alearga cu mine de mana, cu ochii inchisi si mintea deschisa, vom ocoli prapastia impreuna, sau ne vom imbata cu ecoul caderii in abis.

***

Take off your mask, the carnival is over, the fireworks have burned down to the last, lit up the sky and scared the pigeons off the poles. The games have been played, the roles have been played, the applause has paled, the booers are to be stoned to death in another, bloodier play.

We wait with bated breath for life to begin. What, not ready? I was born ready, only it's been a few years since then.

I've hung my mask in a corner of my soul and fight with myself every day to show my face in public. It's good that the public is different, at least sometimes, it's good. I don't need an audience, and I don't need a show, for that matter. I want quiet, to redo my make-up behind the heavy curtain, to choose my costume and role, or to give it all up and go out naked in front of everyone, holding my heart tightly between my teeth.

Drop the mask, walk naked through the crowd. They're naked too, all of them, but they're afraid of stares, of reproaches, of feelings. Run with me by the hand, eyes closed and mind open, we'll skirt the chasm together, or we'll get drunk on the echo of falling into the abyss.

Inimi frante/ Broken hearts

Problema cea mai mare cand vorbim de inimi frante nu e durerea nimicitoare, care te face sa iti doresti sa iti scoti inlauntrul la lumina, sa il speli, peticesti, usuci si sa-l indesi sifonat inapoi. Durerea trece, e parte din viata si cumva stim cu totii ca e normal sa apara din cand in cand. Problema cea mai mare este ca o inima franta devine parte din tine, te urmareste peste tot, iar senzatia aia, de franjuri de carne sfasiata, sangeranda, care se zbat in vant, creeaza dependenta, o placere bolnava, amara, astfel incat cei care au ajuns, la un moment dat al vietii, sa fie posesorii unei astfel de inimi, nu vor mai fi aceiasi niciodata.

E culmea cum o maladie asa de veche si de hidoasa e la fel de actuala si ataca la fel de violent, in timp ce ne concentram mai mult pe gasirea de leacuri eficiente contra intepaturilor de tantari.

O inima franta te face brusc matur, te trezeste din visare, te palmuieste ca ai fost naiv, te obliga sa vezi uratul din lume si sa accepti uratul din sufletul propriu. Si cand, intr-un final, sangerarea s-a oprit, cicatricea e atat de hidoasa incat te intrebi daca vreodata cineva isi va mai putea dori sa iubeasca aceeasi inima, pentru ca apoi sa o calce in picioare.

***

The biggest problem when we talk about broken hearts is not the wrenching pain that makes you want to pull your insides out into the light, wash, patch, dry and wring them out. Pain passes, it's part of life and somehow we all know that it's normal to occur from time to time. The bigger problem is that a broken heart becomes part of you, it follows you everywhere, and that feeling, of torn, bleeding, flesh flailing in the wind, is addictive, a sick, bitter pleasure, so that those who have come, at some point in life, to be the possessor of such a heart, will never be the same again.

It's funny how such an old and hideous disease is just as current and attacks just as violently, while we concentrate more on finding effective cures for mosquito bites.

A broken heart makes you suddenly mature, wakes you from your reverie, slaps you for being naive, forces you to see the ugliness in the world and accept the ugliness in your own soul. And when, finally, the bleeding has stopped, the scar is so hideous that you wonder if anyone will ever want to love the same heart again, only to trample it underfoot. 

De la "Celei care pleaca" la "Celui ce-a plecat" / From "The one who's leaving" to "The one who has left"

Am o noua preocupare: imi forez in continuu in creierasi ca sa gasesc ce sa mai scriu pe blog. Si cum multe s-au spus deja, chiar si de catre mine, in cele 5 posturi (sau cate sunt ele), sarcina e destul de grea. Si e bine ca e grea, pentru ca niciodata nu am alergat dupa lucurile usoare.

Ziceam mai ieri de versuri transparente, mult prea transparente ca sa le iau ca sursa de inspiratie, si asta m-a purtat cu gandul usor la Minulescu, si la serile alea magice, de acum vreo... 20 de ani (uf, cum suna asta...), cand tu completai integrame, fumai tigara dupa tigara, si imi recitai din Minulescu. Iar eu stateam cu o ureche in radio, cu genunchii la gura, cu ochii mari si cu inima alergand aiurea prin bancile scolii, pentru ca usor, usor, incepusem sa iubesc. Cand ramaneam singura imi rupeam din suflet si insiram pe hartie franturi din ce simteam, in cea mai inocenta si mai naiva forma, versuri de inceput, povesti nevinovate, ganduri razlete, nelinistit si tulburari care nu aveau sa ajunga niciodata la destinatar.

Ma gandesc acum cat de ciudat e ca ani la rand m-am prostit cu ideea ca ne e dat sa iubim o singura data in viata, pana la lacrimi, pana la sange, pana la moarte. Si asta m-a facut sa ascund in uitare toate rascolirile de alta data, sa ma prefac ca nu eram eu, ca nu ma doare ce n-a iesit, ca nu a existat, ca nu m-a marcat, ca nu am trait, nu am visat, nu am plans, nu am strans din dinti amar. Si cum ajung toate sa se razbune...

Am luat de la tine sufletul sensibil, capacitatea de a simti puternic, uneori mai puternic decat ma tin picioarele, puterea de a exprima. As fi vrut sa mai stai, sa ma inveti cum trec peste un esec, cum ascund o durere, cum imi explic niste schimbari, cum sa ma prefac ca sunt bine atunci cand nu sunt... As fi vrut sa ma asculti acum, sa ma ghidezi, sa imi spui in ce parte sa caut raspusul, daca e vreo sansa sa il gasesc vreodata, ascuns printre alte banalitati.

***

I have a new preoccupation: I'm constantly digging into my brain to find what else to blog about. And as much has already been said, even by me, in the 5 posts (or however many there are), the task is quite hard. And it's good that it's hard, because I've never chased the easy stuff.

I was talking yesterday about transparent verses, far too transparent to take them as inspiration, and that led me to think back easily to Minulescu, and those magical evenings, some... 20 years ago (ugh, how does that sound...), when you were filling in crossword puzzles, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and reciting Minulescu to me. And I was sitting with one ear to the radio, knees to my mouth, eyes wide and heart running wild in the school benches, because slowly, slowly, I was beginning to love. When I was left alone I would tear from my soul and paste on paper fragments of what I was feeling, in the most innocent and naive form, beginning verses, innocent stories, rambling thoughts, restlessness and turmoil that would never reach the intended recipient.

I think now how strange it is that for years I fooled myself with the idea that we are given to love only once in our lives, to tears, to blood, to death. And that made me hide in oblivion all the laughter of another time, to pretend it wasn't me, that I didn't hurt what didn't come out, that it didn't exist, that it didn't mark me, that I didn't live, didn't dream, didn't cry, didn't grit my bitter teeth. And how they all end up taking revenge...

I took from you the sensitive soul, the ability to feel strongly, sometimes stronger than my legs hold me, the power to express. I wish you'd stayed, to teach me how to get over a failure, how to hide a pain, how to explain changes, how to pretend I'm fine when I'm not... I wish you'd listen to me now, guide me, tell me where to look for the answer, if there's any chance I'll ever find it, hidden among other trivialities.

PS. I love you

Cateodata nu e nevoie decat de o dupa-amiaza linistita, de un film bun, un halat de baie moale si parfumat si de o cutie plina cu servetele ca sa-ti dai seama de o multime de lucruri absolut evidente pe care nepasator le treci cu vederea zi de zi. Am plans 2 ore in continuu, si la final m-am straduit sa dau voie unui zambet tamp sa mi se astearna pe figura umflata de-acum de lacrimi, si de ciuda, ca suntem asa de ... tuti cateodata incat ne trezeste un film si ne da cate 2 palme peste ceafa.

Nu e romantism, nu e dulcegarie, e viata pe paine, intinsa bine si uniform, astfel incat sa poata fi digerata de orice stomac, oricat de sensibil ar fi el, chiar daca iti dai seama de la prima scena ca filmul asta nu o sa-ti cada bine.

Da, iar am un moment din acela crucial si memorabil, in care ma jur pe rosu ca "de maine ma apuc de invatat", traiesc clipa, iubesc momentul, scot ce-i mai bun din viata. Oare cat o sa ma tina, de data asta? Pana la viitoarea disputa intelectuala legata de vasele din chiuveta sau de rufele de pe balcon? Nicio problema, pastraz filmul pe hard, cate o palma de incurajare nu strica niciodata.

***

Sometimes all it takes is a quiet afternoon, a good movie, a soft, scented bathrobe and a box full of tissues to realize a lot of the absolutely obvious things you casually overlook day after day. I cried for 2 hours straight, and at the end I struggled to allow a tamed smile to hang on my now tear-swollen face, and the spite that we're so ... you know sometimes that we wake up to a movie and slap the back of our heads twice.

It's not romance, it's not sweetness, it's life on a slice of bread, stretched out nice and even so that it can be digested by any stomach, no matter how sensitive it may be, even if you realize from the first scene that this movie won't sit well with you.

Yes, I'm having one of those crucial and memorable moments again, where I swear to myself that "I'll start learning tomorrow", live in the moment, love the moment, make the best of life. I wonder how long it will last this time? Until the next intellectual dispute over the dishes in the sink or the laundry on the balcony? No problem, keep the film on the hard drive, a little slap of encouragement never hurt.

Aiurez... / Nonesense

Unde ne grabim asa, iubire? Nu vezi ca trece vremea peste noi, ca lasam in urma lucruri importante? Nu mai stim sa privim ploaia, nici curcubeul, iar de cei din jur parca nu ne mai pasa, preocupati sa tinem calea drepta.

Vreau sa cad putin aici, pe iarba rece, sa stau sa respire aerul diminetii si sa miros o floare. Ce daca ne astepata viata? Las-o sa astepte, mai avem timp. E timpul nostru. Stiu, il impartim, dar tot al nostru este.

Mi-e dor de un cer senin pe care sa-l simt cu tot sufletul, de privirea in gol si de fluturii din stomac. Mai stii fluturii din stomac? Unde s-au dus? De ce simt ca prin vene imi trece acum gheata, si nu sange? De ce ma simt mai mult moarta decat vie, si las valul sa ma poarte?

Taraste-ma pana la linia de finish, nu mai am putere, nu vreau sa ma mai grabesc. Si unde alearga toti asa? Ce e asa de minunat acolo, incat se duc toti peste noapte? De ce nu le mai place aici?

***

What's the hurry, love? Can't you see that time is passing us by, that we're leaving important things behind? We no longer know how to watch the rain, nor the rainbow, and we don't seem to care about those around us, preoccupied with keeping the path straight.

I want to fall here for a while, on the cool grass, to sit and breathe the morning air and smell a flower. What if life is waiting for us? Let it wait, we still have time. It's our time. I know, we share it, but it's still ours.

I miss a clear sky that I can feel with all my soul, the blank stare and the butterflies in my stomach. Remember the butterflies in your stomach? Where did they go? Why do my veins feel like ice now, instead of blood? Why do I feel more dead than alive, and let the wave carry me?