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

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.

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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...

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.

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.

Femeia care umbla cu un cutit infipt in spate / The woman who walked with a knife in her back

O vedeau trecand pe strada, mai mult o umbra, cu parul acoperindu-i fata plina de secrete, cu mainile infundate adanc in buzunare, cu capul plecat in pamant. Nu purta accesorii, se imbraca mereu intr-o haina lunga, neagra, asortata cu vremea de afara, sfasiata in spate de un cutit mare, cu manerul de os. Umbla cu el in spate pe strazile pietruite, refuzand sa dea detalii despre cum a ajuns cutitul acolo, cine e mana criminala, daca are dureri, de ce nu sangereaza si, cel mai important, de ce nu scoate cutitul din rana, sa mearga mai departe.

Pe la colturi se vorbea ca ar fi fost indragostita candva de un frumos cu ochi patrunzatori si sub povara vinei isi infipsese singura pumnalul in spate, pentru a impiedica aripile sa creasca. Dar mai mult nu se stia: fusesera vreodata impreuna? Iubirea fusese impartasita? El cine era si unde disparuse?

Se tara in fiecare zi cate un pic, in privirile intrebatoare ale celorlalti. Dupa o vreme, munciti totusi de nelinisti, oamenii s-au potolit, au incetat sa se mai minuneze de ciudata aparitie. Era un loc comun in peisaj, nu mai cerea nimic, nici macar eticheta, tot timpul ala pierdut inutil, in care se lovisera de lipsa ei de reactie, ii convinsese ca nu are niciun sens sa se mai strofoace pentru ea.

Au gasit-o intr-o dimineata ploioasa, zacand sub un pod, invelita in haina ei neagra si lunga, cu parul depletit, intins dezordonat pe pietre, cu un zambet trist inghetat pe figura impietrita. La cativa metri de trupul parasit de suflare lucea trufas cutitul cu manerul de os, usor patat de sange.

Investigatiile efectuate de politie au descoperit imediat cauza mortii: femeia misterioasa fusese ucisa, cineva ii scosese cutitul din spate.

***

They saw her walking down the street, more of a shadow, her hair covering her secret face, her hands deep in her pockets, her head bowed to the ground. She wore no accessories, always dressed in a long, black coat, matching the weather outside, torn at the back by a large, bone-handled knife. She walked the cobblestone streets with it on her back, refusing to give details about how the knife got there, who the killer hand is, if she's in pain, why she's not bleeding and, most importantly, why she won't take the knife out of the wound to move on.

There was talk in the corners that she had once been in love with a beautiful man with piercing eyes, and under the burden of guilt she had stuck her dagger into her own back, to prevent the wings from growing. But more was not known: had they ever been together? Had the love been shared? Who was he and where had he disappeared to?

She dragged herself a little every day, in the questioning eyes of the others. After a while, still troubled by anxiety, people calmed down, stopped marvelling at the strange apparition. She was a commonplace in the landscape, she no longer asked for anything, not even etiquette, all that time wasted uselessly, in which they were struck by her lack of reaction, had convinced them that there was no point in struggling for her.

They found her one rainy morning, lying under a bridge, wrapped in her long black coat, her hair disheveled, lying messily on the stones, a sad smile frozen on her frozen face. A few feet from the breathless body gleamed the bone-handled knife, slightly stained with blood.

Police investigations immediately discovered the cause of death: the mysterious woman had been murdered, someone had pulled the knife out of her back.