11/7 - 2

Abre los ojos. He woke up as I whispered in his ear. Messy hair, sleepy face.. so beautiful. As he was getting ready to leave, I wandered in his bed, feeling the sheets I was so jealous of. I followed him down the stairs and out the door, as he grabbed a pretzel (because he usually oversleeps and has no time to eat in the morning). I think he remembers how I always tell him Don't forget to eat, love, you're going to end up all skinny and sick. Then he runs, and runs (not to me, sadly), he meets his friends and a smile appears on his face. Oh, that smile! They talk and his soft voice caresses my ears. There he goes, inside a big building, sitting in uncomfortable chairs and listening to some intelligent woman teaching him about our bodies. I admire him, he is so dedicated. I can't believe how attentive he listens and writes. It is for him like art is for me. Hours pass and I cannot tell what happens, as I only have eyes for him. I study his face, his hands, the way he answers, the way he speaks. I wish I could hold him in my arms, take him away from this madness and go wander the streets together, laugh and eat and drink red, wild wine...
He gets up again, goes around, books in hand, sparkles in his eyes.. He talks, and talks, and smiles and laughs. Everybody seems to love him. Well, they don't love him like I do, because I know him. But they respect him, they want him near them.  There comes the jealousy once more. His actions and the way he speaks are so attractive, they scream "tact" in such a peaceful manner. He charms.
But then I follow him, as he gets away from all those people and I find him once again, as I did at the very beginning. The introvert, the shy one, the quiet one. I cannot help but admire the way he mingles his two parts. He is a combination of unmatching figures, but he fits them so perfectly. He is weird, but I, myself, am something of an oddity. We fit.
He goes in the library and there, he reads and learns, he prepares to become someone to heal the others. And hours pass again, and he laughs with his friends and then he reads again in what seems for me like endless times. I am still near him, watching him, admiring.. And the day goes on.
At the end of the day though, he sits down and thinks about me. And he smiles, and he feels like crying, because I am the cause of his pain, but I am the cause of his love. I am the thing he can't forget. And he is my all. Now I see him running in his head, running nowhere but to me, as I sing in his ears with a rather unpleasant voice, the song of our hearts.
I love you, madly, deeply, truly, endlessly.
Happy anniversary, love. Cheers to us *cling*.

Anecdota despre iubire

A fost odata ca niciodata o fata care hoinarea printr-un taram pustiu, incetosat, cu care de altfel se acomodase. Incepea sa distinga prin griul ce o inconjura, parca prin unele parti apareau culori. Dar voia sa plece, isi dorea din tot sufletul sa vada alt taram, o alta lume. Voia sa descopere..

          Marea problema a fetei noastre era ca nu stia cum arata o usa, asa ca nu stia cum sa plece. Oamenii intrau in lumea ei, dar niciunul nu se deranja sa ii explice cum arata o usa, toti credeau ca ea stie deja. Dar ea nu recunostea faptul ca nu stie. Asa ca oamenii plecau la fel de repede pe cat veneau.

          La un moment dat insa, in taramul fetei patrunse o umbra. Fata incerca sa isi obisnuiasca ochii cu imaginea ei, caci era ceva straniu ce fata simtise, dar nu isi dadea seama ce.

          (Ne dam seama de aici ca pe langa faptul ca taramul fetei era unul al incertitudinii, pana si dorinta ei de cunoastere era umbrita de nesiguranta)

          Umbra a continuat sa umble prin taramul fetei, inspectand locul si cercetandu-l. Fata se obisnuise cu prezenta ei si nu dupa mult timp incepu sa vada un contur al umbrei, incepu sa vada o mica stralucire in pieptul ei. Umbra lasa fata sa priveasca inauntrul ei, iar fata facea acelasi lucru.

          Umbra a luat-o de mana si a inceput sa umble cu ea, a purtat-o prin tot taramul cu care fata credea ca s-a obisnuit, iar oriunde mergeau amandoi ceata parea ca dispare.

          In cele din urma umbra ii puse mainile la ochi fetei, nelasand-o sa vada nimic. Simtind pentru prima oara notiunea de timp, fata parea sa se destepte. Un minut a stat cu ochii inchisi, apoi a privit in jur. Taramul ei avea contur, ceata disparuse iar umbra stralucea din ce in ce mai tare. Lumina dinauntrul ei a dat nastere unei imagini, imaginea unui baiat, cu un zambet minunat ce te incalzeste.

          S-au luat din nou de mana si au inceput sa se plimbe. Baiatul a inteles ca fata cauta o usa, asa ca i-a aratat ce este, i-a explicat. Fata a inteles, dar acum nu mai voia usa. Voia sa-si descopere taramul, caci era minunat. Iar baiatul voia sa stea cu ea, voia sa o vada descoperind. Si a ramas.

          Pana la urma, usile nu dispareau, iar acum puteau pleca oricand. Au mers si pe taramul lui si au ridicat ceata si din colturile inca nedescoperite. Si inca de cand s-au vazut prima data ei tot descopera. Si inca mai au.

          Cel mai frumos lucru e ca taramurile lor nu se sfarsesc niciodata, mereu zaresti ceva nou, un coltisor ce nu-l cunosti. E minunat cand ai cu cine sa-l descoperi.

          Si nu si-au mai dat drumul la mana niciodata.

          Uneori parti din taramul ei il inspaimantau pe el, iar parti din taramul lui o faceau sa planga. Dar atunci se luau in brate, se strangeau tare si isi aminteau ca ei au facut totul sa straluceasca. Pana si colturile cele mai urate pareau minunate pentru ei. Cele mai distruse parti ale taramului ii faceau pe ei speciali, iar ei iubeau asta. Si-au dat seama ca nu vor compania celuilalt si atat. Au nevoie unul de celalalt pentru ca sunt singurii care pot sa straluceasca... Si aveau sa descopere multe taramuri impreuna.

Somehow

Aici si pentru totdeauna

-Esti tacuta..
-Ma gandesc.
-La ce te gandesti?
-La tot ce pot. Ma gandesc la ceea ce vad si la ceea ce as putea vedea. Ma gandesc la ceea ce as putea spune, la ceea ce as putea scrie.. Ma gandesc la tine.
-Cum te gandesti la mine?
-Mi-e dor de tine.
-Dar sunt aici cu tine.
-Da, dar cumva te simt departe.
-Scriai, nu voiam sa te deranjez.
-Cand scriu ma izolez eu, nu tu fugi.. Nu pot sa scriu daca iti simt prezenta, iti dai seama cat mi-e de greu daca absenta ta ma apasa.
-Vrei sa plec de tot?
-Nu, vreau sa stai si vreau sa te simt aici. Dar nu iese mereu cum vrem noi, nu-i asa?
-Ce e cu tine?
-Nimic. Doar ca nu pot sa ma izolez.
-Atunci plec.
-Gandul meu pleaca cu tine, ar fi inutil..
-Atunci nu te mai izola. Haide sa fim acum impreuna. Vei scrie mai tarziu. Hai sa profitam de noapte, de luna si de stele. Hai sa fim romantici.
-Ai putea fi poet, dragul meu.
-M-ai iubi mai mult atunci?
-Te-as iubi la fel, poate ti-as fi muza.
-Imi esti deja.
-Nu, nu. Eu sunt motivatia ta. Si mi-e mult mai bine decat sa iti fiu muza. Daca as fi asta, m-ai putea inlocui usor cu un peisaj frumos, cu un gand interesant sau cu un vis. Asa, sunt doar eu. Si vreau sa fiu egoista cu tine, vreau sa fii doar al meu.
-Sunt al tau, aici si pentru totdeauna.


(For the lovers)

Something of an oddity

-De ce scrii asa? Lor nu le place cand scrii asa.
-Eu nu scriu ca sa le placa lor. Lor le place sa-si citeasca gandurile, scrise poate cu niste cuvinte frumoase, sau cu o simplitate de care ei nu sunt in stare. Eu nu de asta scriu. Nu o sa le placa niciodata cum scriu, pentru ca nu gandim la fel.
-De ce nu vrei sa scrii pentru ei?
-Dar scriu pentru ei. Scriu pentru noi toti. Cunosti senzatia aia pe care o ai dupa ce termini o carte buna? E acea stare.. simti ca mai vrei, ca nu a fost destul. Cartile bune nu sunt cartile scrise frumos, ci cartile care au un mesaj, care transmit ceva. Te bucuri de o carte pentru ca te-a facut sa gandesti, pentru ca ai vazut in ea, cand ai deschis-o, o parere noua, ceva la care nu te-ai fi asteptat. Si dupa ce o termini, o inchizi ca sa gandesti tu. Asta face o carte buna. Uneori te lasa cu un zambet (dar unul trist, poate de usoara ironie, nu cu unul amuzat), alteori te lasa cu un gust amar, caci te face sa-ti deschizi, macar putin, ochii. Si de asta iti place. Si asa voi scrie eu, nu pentru oameni care cauta frumos, cuvinte dulci, sofisticate si sentimente superficiale. Poate ca eu nu scriu frumos. Poate chiar nu stiu sa scriu.
-Ciudat.. Esti o ciudata.
-Da, dar nu ar fi plictisitor daca am fi toti normali?

Song of the sky

'Can you hear the song of the rain?' she asked.
'Yes' he whispered. His eyes were lost, his mind was somewhere else.
'I love the rain' she continued with a trembling voice. 'It seems like it protects me... us.. from the world. It feels like a warm hug from a friend long lost. Or perhaps like a chance for us to settle down, to stop and to think. It feels like the time slows down.'
She felt like crying.
'It seems like the sky is crying.. But, oh, the sound. How beautiful can the sky cry..'
And she started humming an unknown song, probably the song of her heart. It was a calm, sad, yet beautiful sound, somehow like a piano. She had no spectacular voice, actually kind of unpleasant. But it made you feel something. Her whole self made you feel something. She was like a piece of art..

Incertitudine

Nu poti stii niciodata ce este cu adevarat inauntrul tau, si daca ai cea mai mica impresie ca stii, te vei surprinde singur. Daca nu ai mai simtit niste lucruri inainte, cum poti sa stii ce sunt? Ai momente in care te intrebi daca ce simti este cu adevarat durere, regret, iubire, ura... Poate ca nu ai vrea sa stii raspunsul la aceste intrebari, dar stii ca te macina, te-au macinat mereu si mereu o vor face. Dar nu poti face nimic ca sa le opresti, poate doar sa crezi orbeste, sa te increzi in judecata, nu in sentiment. Sau poate nu. E o incertitudine care nu te lasa nici sa scrii un sir de cuvinte care sa aiba sens. E ciudat. Dar e ciudatenia ta. Traieste-o, si lasa intrebarile, caci isi vor gasi raspuns de la sine. Rabda, caci timpul va avea mereu raspunsuri pentru cei rabdatori.

Undecided

I can't decide whether I love or hate people. On the one side there are the ones for whom you believe your entire species is helpless, those stupid people who deserve to be called like this. But on the other side, there are the people you fall in love with - you don't love them, but you fall in love with them. There are those people who make irresistable conversations, the ones with whom you can talk about anyhting, and oh.. when you talk. The power of words in underestimated. I love the way people's eyes sparkle when they talk about their passions, the way their entire face shines. It is somehow warming up my heart to discover people like this. And then the magic comes when you discover their flaws. Flaw is what makes people perfect (paradox, huh? gotta love them). "I like people who have a sense of individuality. I love expression and anything awkward and imperfect, because that’s natural and that’s real." But the problem is that I really can't decide. Because there are so many people from the first part, and so little from the second one, but how can quantity matter when obviously quality is more important? After all, the rarest things are the most enjoyable. Yes, I think I love people after all. I am ready to live in a world full of stupid people as long as I'll keep my 'lovable' ones near me.

Torn

Nothing seems to be wrong. She appears as a happy girl, because her smile covers everything. She won't let even the closest ones know her secrets, her fears, her flaws. Because she doesn't know them herself. So what can she say when they ask her 'What is wrong with you?', in the few moments in which her smile is missing. 'Nothing, I was just thinking'.. and the smile would reappear. This is not a lie, it is not a mask, it is just uncertainty. If there's nothing wrong in her life, why do tears come at night?