Dor de mine / Missing myself

Numaram zile, saptamani, apoi luni. Acum numar ani. Ani in care uitarea creste in mine ca o pacla neagra, acoperindu-ma, sufocandu-ma. Din cand in cand prind cate o bula de aer si imi contemplez sufletul zbarcindu-se sub greutatea dorului.

Sursa foto

Nu mai stiu cum arati, cum respiri, cum zambesti. Cu fiecare noua zi aerul devine tot dens si presiunea dureroasa. Ma apasa toate, din toate partile primesc doar impulsuri violente. Ma chinui uneori sa pic, dar viata nu-mi da voie. Nu mai stiu nici sa respir.

Ma intreb uneori daca si tu ai uitat. Sau, mai bine, daca ai avut ce uita. Poate ca am ramas cu tine acolo, in universul nostru paralel pe care l-am construit pentru noi, jucand pentru o secunda rolul unui dumnezeu confuz si partinitor. Si poate ca acolo traiesc, in timp ce aici, in corpul meu in degradare, a ramas doar o iluzie, o palida stafie a ce am fost candva.

Imi sterg ochiul uscat, cu nostalgia lacrimilor de alta data si intorc privirea de la oglinda. Si ea ma minte, cum ma mint si eu.

***

I used to count days, weeks, then months. Now I count years. Years in which oblivion grows inside me like a black fog, covering me, suffocating me. Every now and then I catch a bubble of air and contemplate my soul buckling under the weight of longing.

I no longer know what you look like, how you breathe, how you smile. With each new day the air grows thicker and the pressure becomes painful. I'm pressed down by everything, from all sides I receive only violent impulses. Sometimes I struggle to fall, but life won't let me. I don't even know how to breathe.

Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten too. Or, better, if there was something for you to forget. Maybe I'm left with you there, in our parallel universe that we've built for ourselves, playing for a second the role of a confused and biased god. And maybe that's where I live, while here, in my decaying body, I've remained only an illusion, a pale ghost of what I once was.

I wipe my dry eye, nostalgic for the tears of yesteryear, and look away from the mirror. And she lies to me, as I lie to myself.

Transparent

Ceata era groasa si umeda, invada interiorul si exteriorul. Ochii trecatorilor lacrimau in cautarea claritatii, brobonele de apa se scurgeau haotic pe ochelari, posete, poposeau pe firele de par rebele, intrau in suflete, reci si clare.

Rochia lunga, cu falduri generoase, usoara si cocheta, nu mai ascundea nimic, era si ea o ceata. Intr-o lume opaca, am ales transparenta totala, plimbandu-ma printre straini cu labirintul sentimentelor la vedere. Stive de vorbe nespuse, aruncate la intamplare, fara a-si mai gasi vreodata locul, alergau prin ceata densa.

Oamenii treceau prin mine, neatenti la dezastrul ce ma tinea ascunsa privirilor lor nepasatoare, si

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fiecare trecere strica si mai tare echilibrul fragil al elementelor care compuneau totul pe care il reprezentam.

Transparenta si invizibila, imi petreceam zilele sortand caractere, punadu-le in sertare mici, incuidu-le pe unele in locuri pe care speram sa nu le mai vizitez vreodata. In zilele cand prea multi calatori treceau absenti prin transparenta mea obscura, seara ma prindea cautand raspunsuri si solutii, varsand lacrimi pe cat de invizibile, pe atat de nimicitor de fierbinti. Si atunci am inceput sa te caut.

Erai o alta silueta ratacita, in noaptea aia cetoasa, ce parea eterna, o alta transparenta absoluta, cu teancurile ei dezordonate de trairi ascunse, cu franturi de povesti din alta lume, cu sperante si cioburi de vise. Te vedeam pentru ca eram atat de transparenta, cu nimic de ascuns, cu un curaj nebun de a schimba totul, acolo, pe loc, de a intoarce roata destinului care ma calcase in picioare fara mila.

Pentru ca in negura groasa ingerii sunt mai vizibili pentru cei care ii cauta bezmetici de nopti intregi, sperand ca, transparenta peste transparenta, sa isi recapete conturul, viata, visele.

***

The fog was thick and wet, invading inside and out. The eyes of passers-by watered in search of clarity, water bubbles dripped chaotically onto glasses, purses, landed on stubborn hairs, entered souls, cold and clear.

The long dress, generously folded, light and flirtatious, hid nothing, it too was a mist. In an opaque world, I chose total transparency, walking among strangers with the labyrinth of feelings on display. Stacks of unspoken words, thrown haphazardly, never finding their place, ran through the dense fog.

People passed me by, oblivious to the disaster that kept me hidden from their uncaring eyes, and each passage further upset the fragile balance of the elements that made up everything I represented.

Transparent and invisible, I spent my days sorting characters, putting them in little drawers, locking some in places I hoped I would never visit again. On days when too many travelers passed absently through my obscure transparency, evenings caught me searching for answers and solutions, shedding tears as invisible as they were hot. And that's when I started looking for you.

You were another lost silhouette, in that foggy night that seemed eternal, another absolute transparency, with its messy piles of hidden traumas, with shards of stories from another world, with hopes and shards of dreams. I was seeing you because I was so transparent, with nothing to hide, with a mad courage to change everything, right there, on the spot, to turn the wheel of destiny that had trampled me mercilessly.

Because in the thick blackness angels are more visible to those who search for them, blindly, for nights on end, hoping that, transparency upon transparency, they will regain their shape, their life, their dreams.

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.

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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.

Despre rataciri / About wandering

Cu fiecare clipa care trece, cu fiecare gand care mi se perinda de dimineata pana in miez din noapte prin creierii obositi, cu fiecare zambet fortat sau hohot retinut, cu fiecare lacrima potolita, cu fiecare soapta secreta, simt cum te pierd.

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Aluneci treptat intr-o uitare grea, iar cand tacerea ta ma amuteste, uit sa mai respir. Iau apoi guri mari de aer, cu sperante impletite, colorate, ravasite, pentru a ma pregati pentru urmatoarea scufundare.

In apa deschid ochii mari si vad valurile navalind peste mine, de un albastru-verzui curat, crud si salbatic ca ochii tai, neintelesi. Si-mi amintesc de cate ori am incercat sa le sparg portile, sa le deslusesc misterul, sa le interpretez chemarea spre abis.

Si-n scufundare simt pulsul cum mi se linisteste, golul din piept mi se umple si in sfarsit nu ma mai gandesc la ce ma doare. Traiesc momentul, inconjurata de apele ce ma strang ironic in corsetul libertatii.

Raman ratacita, intre tarm si larg, plutind pe o pana roz, cu o mana intinsa, pe care nu o vezi, cu un strigat inabusit pe buze, pe care nu l-ai auzit, carand in spate cufarul cu amintiri care ma trage catre adancuri.

Cu fiecare zi in care mai mor cate un pic te caut si sper sa te regasesc, mai mult decat pentru o secunda, mai mult decat in vis, sa-ti fiu mai aproape ca umbra, mai calda ca rasuflarea, mai puternica ca vointa.

Respir sacadat si stau nemiscata, de teama sa nu sperii linistea. A mai trecut o zi.

***

With every passing moment, with every thought that wanders through my weary brain from morning till midnight, with every forced smile or held-back sob, with every quiet tear, with every secret whisper, I feel myself losing you.

You gradually slip into a heavy oblivion, and when your silence stuns me, I forget to breathe. I then take big gulps of air, with braided, coloured, ragged hopes, to prepare for the next dive.

In the water I open my eyes wide and see the waves lapping over me, pure blue-green, raw and wild like your eyes, unintelligible. And I remember how many times I tried to break through their gates, to unravel their mystery, to interpret their call to the abyss.

And as I dive I feel my pulse calming, the emptiness in my chest filling and finally I no longer think about what hurts. I live in the moment, surrounded by the waters that ironically squeeze me into the corset of freedom.

I remain lost, between the shore and the open sea, floating on a pink feather, with an outstretched hand that you can't see, with a muffled cry on my lips that you haven't heard, carrying the chest of memories that pulls me to the depths.

Each day I die a little more I seek you and hope to find you, more than for a second, more than in a dream, to be closer to you than shadow, warmer than breath, stronger than will.

I breathe shakily and sit still, not to frighten the silence away. Another day has passed.

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.

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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.

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!

Cu nasul in batista / Running nose

Sunt bolnava... Ei, nu rau, cu siguranta nu o sa mor din asta, m-a tras pe sfoara un soare zglobiu in weekend, si iata-ma dependenta de ceai si nurofen... Si stand eu si zacand asa, mi-am dat seama brusc de cat de putine ori in viata asta mi-am permis luxul de a zace, pentru a-mi recapata energia, pentru a fi in convalescenta, pentru a ma face bine... Si, a nu se interpreta gresit: "mi-am permis" nu e deloc impersonal, e o expresie care implica un agresor - EU si o victima - tot EU. Adica, pe scurt, eu nu mi-am dat voie mie sa pierd timpul refacandu-ma, dupa orice. Si ma mai miram ca la 20 si ceva de ani ma simteam obosita?

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In 8 ani de munca am avut concediu medical o singura data, si era dupa o operatie, trebuia sa stau acasa 2 saptamani, insa dupa 5 zile, in care am stat calare pe telefon si laptop (mi-aminteesc ca, ironic, s-a defectat routerul wireless, drept pentru care m-am mutat cu arme si bagaje pe hol, langa priza de internet, stand pe jos, ca sa verific mailul...), incotosmanata in halat de baie si papuci de casa, m-am intors la munca "refacuta" complet.

Anul trecut, cam pe vremea asta (sau mai devreme putin, prin februarie), m-am luptat cu o gripa teribila, cu frisoane noaptea, cu febra, cu mare, mare nevoie de stat in pat si tratat babeste. Dar credeti ca am stat acasa? O, nu... Aveam treburi mai importante de rezolvat, la munca... Si uite ce bine mi-a prins, eforturile mele au fost indeaproape observate si luate in seama! Cum confundam responsabilitatea cu prostia!

Cum de am ajuns sa ma iubesc atat de putin? De unde tendinta asta de a ma plasa pe mine pe ultimele locuri in lista de prioritati, si, daca eu gandesc asa, de unde pretentia ca ceilalti sa ma plaseze in topul listelor lor de prioritati?

Mi-am acordat prea putin timp sa ma refac, sa jelesc, sa port doliu. Lasati statuile sa fie construite pentru altii, oricum mare utilitate nu au pe lume, decat sa foloseasca ca vesnic suport pentru gainatul porumbeilor...

Asadar, chiar daca m-ati cauta azi, e posibil sa fiu ocupata - bolesc!

***

I'm sick... Well, not bad, I'm definitely not going to die from this, I got dragged down by a miserly sun over the weekend, and here I am addicted to tea and nurofen.... And sitting and lying there like that, I suddenly realized how few times in this life I've allowed myself the luxury of lying down, to regain my energy, to convalesce, to get better... And, not to be misunderstood: "I allowed myself" is not impersonal at all, it's an expression that implies an aggressor - ME and a victim - also ME. I mean, in short, I didn't allow myself to waste time recovering, after all. And was I surprised that at 20-something I felt tired?

In 8 years of work I had only one sick leave, and it was after an operation, I had to stay at home for 2 weeks, but after 5 days, when I sat on my phone and laptop (I remember that, ironically, the wireless router broke down, so I moved with arms and luggage in the hallway, next to the internet socket, sitting on the floor, to check my mail...), in my bathrobe and slippers, I went back to work completely "recovered".

Last year, about this time (or earlier, around February), I was battling a terrible flu, with nighttime chills, fever, a great, great need to stay in bed and treated sick. But do you think I stayed home? Oh, no... I had more important things to do at work... And look how well I did, my efforts were closely observed and taken care of! How we confuse responsibility with stupidity!

How did I come to love myself so little? Why this tendency to place myself at the bottom of the priority list, and, if I think that way, why the demand that others place me at the top of their priority lists?

I have given myself too little time to recover, to mourn, to grieve. Let the statues be built for others, anyway they have little use in the world, except to serve as an eternal support for the pigeons' sheath...

So, even if you were looking for me today, I may be busy - I'm sick!

Vis / Dream

Lasa timpul sa mai stea in loc, asculta linistea, priveste-ma din umbra nepasarii si taci. Aduna saruturile inghetate pe buze si fa din ele nopti eterne de ganduri si vise. Asculta cum se strang firele de nisip in clepsidra, fiecare sapandu-si drumul pe fruntea mea. Si taci... Nu e nimic de spus, de amintit, de memorat. Se apropie timpul sa stam in loc cu totii, sa inghete vremea si sa umplem lumea de statui.

***

Let time stand still, listen to the stillness, watch me from the shadow of uncaring and be silent. Gather the frozen kisses on my lips and make them eternal nights of thoughts and dreams. Listen to the grains of sand squeeze into the hourglass, each one digging its way onto my forehead. And be silent... There's nothing to say, nothing to remember, nothing to memorize. The time is coming for us all to sit still, freeze the weather and fill the world with statues.