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!

Fara rabdare / Patienceless

M-am rugat pentru multe prostii in viata asta, dar niciodata pentru rabdare. Si foarte rau am facut, pentru ca rabdarea este o virtute cu care sunt mult prea putin inzestrata, e o calitate a carei absenta nu o simt mereu, insa atunci cand apare nevoia de rabdare, simtirile sunt profunde, chinuitoare si de lunga durata.

Nu mi-a placut niciodata sa astept, nici autobuzul, nici soneria sa anunte finalul orei, nici telefonul sa sune, nici o declaratie de dragoste, nici pe el sa apara de oriunde ar fi plecat, nici inceputul, nici sfarsitul. De multe ori am stricat lucruri frumoase, din imposibilitatea de a astepta ca pur si simplu sa se intample.

Sursa foto

Cand astepti destinul sa se decida e insa si mai greu, sau asa mi se pare. Pentru ca acum, cu rabdare sau fara, sunt obligata sa astept. Imi simt mainile incatusate la spate, simt funia cum mi se strange in jurul picioarelor, nu pot sa fug, simt calusul din gura care sa impiedica sa urlu ca sa minimizez tensiunea. Si zilele trec, nici nu le pasa de toate framantarile mele, pentru ca timpul, asa cum am realizat de la Morometii incoace, nu prea mai are nici el rabdare...

A venit vara, fara sa intrebe pe nimeni, de la fular si umbrela intr-o zi, am trecut a doua zi la maneca scurta si 25 de grade. Simt ca am pierdut ceva intr-o noapte, un intreg anotimp, si ma gandesc fericita ca Cerul si-a facut mila de lipsa mea de rabdare si m-a purtat cateva luni mai tarziu. Insa lucrurile sunt tot neterminate, tot incepute si lasate asa, in paragina, in jurul meu numai bucati de vise, cioburi de sperante, farame de amintiri, regrete si bucurii. Planuri nu mai fac, cum as putea oare? Ma ghidez dupa amanari, incurajari, din ce in ce mai putine, incertitudini si amagiri.

Si tropai nervos cu picioarele sub birou, ca si cum as fi baut in graba trei cafele una dupa alta. Si nu mai am rabdare...

***

I've prayed for a lot of crap in my life, but never for patience. And very badly I did, because patience is a virtue with which I am far too little endowed, it is a quality whose absence I do not always feel, but when the need for patience arises, the feelings are deep, tormenting and long-lasting.

I have never liked waiting, not for the bus, not for the bell to announce the end of the hour, not for the phone to ring, not for a declaration of love, not for him to appear from wherever he has gone, not for the beginning or the end. Many times I have ruined beautiful things out of the impossibility of waiting for them to simply happen.

When you wait for destiny to decide, however, it's even harder, or so it seems to me. Because now, patiently or not, I am forced to wait. I feel my hands cuffed behind my back, I feel the rope tighten around my legs, I can't run, I feel the callus in my mouth preventing me from screaming to minimize the tension. And the days go by, they don't even care about all my frailties, because time, as I've realised since Morometii, doesn't have much patience either...

Summer came, without asking anyone, from scarf and umbrella one day, I switched the next day to short sleeves and 25 degrees. I feel like I lost something in one night, an entire season, and I think happily that Heaven took pity on my lack of patience and carried me a few months later. But things are still unfinished, still started and left like that, in ruins, around me only pieces of dreams, shards of hopes, shards of memories, regrets and joys. I don't make plans anymore, how could I? I am guided by postponements, encouragements, less and less, uncertainties and amazements.

And I trot nervously with my feet under my desk, as if I were hastily drinking three coffees one after the other. And I couldn't wait...

Text din obligatie / A text because I have to

Mi-am luat un angajament fata de mine, in primul rand (incerc sa ma catar iar pe prima pozitie in clasamentul prioritatilor mele, e cam greu, dupa tot praful care s-a asternut in anii astia) sa scriu cate ceva in fiecare zi. Terapie, sa-i zicem, sau nevoie primordiana de a ma simti, intr-un fel, utila.

Azi n-am ce scrie, iar versurile pe care am zis ca o sa le citez sunt mult prea transparente pentru ce as avea de zis, asadar o sa imi rod gandurile in liniste si o sa astept sa se potoleasca si sa-mi dea pace, sau, daca nu, macar sa se aseze regulamentar intr-o ordine mai transparenta, pe care sa o pot analiza si transpune in practica.

Lumea se invarte fara mine. Ei, nu ca nu stiam, dar era placut sentimentul ala ca as fi, macar pentru unii, centrul universului. Ei bine, nu-s, si, in caz ca isi mai face cineva iluzii de acest gen, trag un semnal de trezire: niciunul nu suntem centrul niciunui univers! Si nici cei pe care ii alegem ca centru al universului nostru nu sunt deloc asa, fie ca nu-si doresc, fie ca dispar, fie ca se schimba. Ori, un centru ar trebui sa fie unic si stabil.

A dat soarele, probabil ca natura incepe usor sa isi iasa din amorteala. A trebuit sa se faca dupa-amiaza sa-l observ. O sa ma rup de tot ceea ce nu ma tine captiva si sa ma fortez sa admir privelistea, sa traiesc momentul, sa tac si sa uit.

Revin maine, cu aceleasi ineptii, scrise intr-o alta forma, mai mult sau mai putin patetica.

***

I made a commitment to myself, first of all (I'm trying to climb back to the top of my priority list, it's a bit hard, after all the dust that has settled over the years) to write something every day. Therapy, let's call it, or a primal need to feel somehow useful.

Today I have nothing to write, and the lines I said I'd quote are far too transparent for what I'd have to say, so I'll gnaw on my thoughts in silence and wait for them to subside and give me peace, or, if not, at least to settle into a more transparent order that I can analyze and put into practice.

The world is spinning without me. Well, not that I didn't know it, but it was nice that feeling that I was, at least for some, the center of the universe. Well, I'm not, and in case anyone else is under such illusions, I'm sounding a wake-up call: none of us are the centre of any universe! Nor are those we choose as the centre of our universe at all, either unwilling, disappearing or changing. Or, a centre should be unique and stable.

The sun rises, nature is probably slowly starting to break out of its numbness. I had to make it afternoon to notice it. I'm going to break away from everything that doesn't hold me captive and force myself to admire the view, live in the moment, shut up and forget.

I'll be back tomorrow, with the same nonsense, written in a different, more or less pathetic form.

Oboseala / Tiresome

Am spus de o mie de ori ca sunt obosita, ma plang de ani de zile si nu ma crede nimeni. “Esti tanara”, mi se zice, “ce o sa faci mai incolo?”. Tu, strainule cititor care ai picat din greseala pe pagina mea, esti plistisit deja sa mai auzi cat de obosita sunt, si nici tu nu intelegi de ce. Si eu m-am plictisit pe mine.

Mi-am dat seama aseara, in mijlocul unui hohot de plans, de ce sunt asa de obosita, de ce la 28 de ani ma simt de parca as fi carat in spate povara intregii lumi fara drept de pauza sau de racorire cu o gura de apa proaspata, din cand in cand. Mi-am dat seama ca niciuna dintre realizarile mele de pana acum, mari, mici, asa cum sunt ele, nu a fost usor de atins, ca pentru fiecare nimic pe care l-am facut in viata a trebuit sa dau muntii la o parte si apoi sa-i pun la loc, sa-mi rup ghearele si dintii luptand cu lumea, cu viata, cu soarta, cu prieteni si inamici, cu familie si falsi prieteni.

Si acum imi cereti sa fiu fresh?

Am sufletul ferferitit de atatea zbateri, am mintea zdrelita de planuri si incercari de a face totul perfect, da la carte. Poate ca unele lucruri nu trebuie sa fie facute ca la carte, poate ca ar fi mai sanatos sa le abordez altfel. Sau poate ar trebui sa ma odihnesc, sa iau o gura de aer in piept, sa pun punct si sa o iau de la capat, cautand cu disperare forte proaspete.

Casc si mai dau o pagina, cautand cu mana cealalta cana de cafea. Sunt atat de obosita…

***

I've said a thousand times that I'm tired, I've been complaining for years and nobody believes me. "You're young," they say, "what will you do later?". You, stranger reader who accidentally stumbled upon my page, are already crying to hear how tired I am, and you don't understand why either. And I'm bored with myself.

I realized last night, in the midst of a sobbing sob, why I'm so tired, why at 28 I feel like I've been carrying the burden of the whole world on my back without the right to take a break or refresh myself with a drink of fresh water now and then. I realized that none of my accomplishments so far, big, small as they are, have been easy to achieve, that for every little thing I've done in life I've had to push mountains aside and then put them back, break my claws and teeth fighting the world, life, fate, friends and enemies, family and false friends.

And now you're asking me to be fresh?

My soul is sore from so much struggle, my mind is racked with plans and attempts to make everything perfect, by the book. Maybe some things don't have to be done by the book, maybe it would be healthier to approach them differently. Or maybe I should rest, take a deep breath, put my foot down and start again, desperately looking for fresh strength.

I yawn and turn another page, reaching for the other coffee mug. I'm so tired...