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.

Traiesc! / I am alive!

Iti dai seama ca esti in viata dimineata, cand vezi soarele mijind printre nori si colorand cerul in rosu-porticaliu, pe fata ti se asterne un zambet palid si apoi iti trece prin minte exact chestia asta: traiesc, si ti se face instant pielea ca de gaina... 

Realizezi ca traiesti cand, in drum spre munca, iti trec prin cap zeci de idei pe care ai vrea sa le scrii pe blog, dar care, apoi, mor subit, in lipsa de timp. 

Traiesti cand tragi in piept aerul de munte si te lasi invins de linistea care invaluie peisajul alb: brazii sunt albi, aleea e alba, muntii sunt albi... 

Iti amintesti ca traiesti cand te suna mama, sa te intrebe, invariabil, daca ai mancat sau daca ai ajuns cu bine acasa. 

Iti amintesti ca traiesti mult prea rar, comparativ cu datile in care simti ca mori, pentru ca iti permiti sa mori, in fiecare zi cate un pic, pana la final, cand o sa uiti senzatia aia minunata cand rasaritul iti mangaie pleoapele!

***

You realise you are alive in the morning, when you see the sun peeking through the clouds and colouring the sky in red-orange, you get a pale smile on your face and then this exact thing crosses your mind: I am alive, and you instantly get goose bumps... 

You realise you're alive when, on your way to work, dozens of ideas come into your head that you'd like to blog about, but then suddenly die for lack of time. 

You live when you breathe in the mountain air and let yourself be overcome by the silence that envelops the white landscape: the trees are white, the alley is white, the mountains are white... 

You remember that you are alive when your mother calls you, invariably to ask if you have eaten or if you have arrived home safely. 

You remember that you live far too seldom, compared to the days when you feel you are dying, because you allow yourself to die, every day a little, until the end, when you forget that wonderful feeling when the sunrise caresses your eyelids!