azi e ceai de menta, un zambet amar si un drum abrupt spre singuratate.
A trecut ceva timp, nu mult, de cand te privesc, te aud, ma incanti, ma inveti... Te vad in fiecare seara, cand simt ca timpul deschide cai spre confesiune... Te vad chiar daca nu esti, si asta ma face sa cred ca intr-adevar existi.
Nu iti cunosc ochii si totusi le simt licarirea... si praful de pe gene.. M-au purtat nopti de-a randul cuvintele tale si mi-am pierdut drumul spre casa. l-am gasit apoi tot prin tine..
Ti-am vazut mastile si bucuria, ti-am vazut si inima ascunsa si-am scris pe ea simplu: "minciuna"... si iar am regretat.
Exista melancolii pe care nu le-ai da in schimbul niciunei bucurii imense si zgomotoase.. Ei bine, uite-ma, captiva celei mai inaltatoare melancolii.. Si din nou te vad... te vad asa cum imi vad ridurile din suflet.
Te-am vazut razand noapte de noapte, impaturand timpul in inima ta mare si lasandu-te prada momentelor de nebunie... As fi vrut sa te chem, dar nu m-ai fi auzit.. si nu ai fi inteles... Eu m-am imprastiat la rascruce de vanturi, bucati din mine pluteau si-n jurul tau noapte de noapte.. Dar si eu sunt doar o masca a ta.
Am scapat o bucata din inima, in tine.. M-am pierdut acolo, cu greu am invatat sa respir in inima altcuiva...
Si-asa te-am vazut noapte de noapte, clipa de clipa, atunci cand nu striveai timpul in pumn.. Si-ai simtit ca-s parte din tine si totusi nu sunt... E doar un ciob de inima speriata, care te vede... Priveste-ma si tu, si-asculta... Si nu iubi... Mai bine lasa-ma sa-ti scot ciobul din inima.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
disguised
i admit it, i like being a mess. it's who i am. trapped in a maze of emotions, choked with the dust of the past and the sand of tomorrow, i am a mess. and i dont belong to myself. it's like there's a mad hoerder who saves everything he finds: worthless pieces, wonderful things, shiny or monochrome stuff that might come his way... he saves them all, in the worst and best place ever: inside of me. i'm a mess with pretty hair. and i wont run away from it. yesterday i remembered a particular part of my mess... that's the Goodbye part, all the goodbyes i said along the way..
Five years ago, my friend brings his girlfriend to a worship meeting. I see her, i'm amazed of her natural blond hair, and i know i already know a part of her soul. she knows too, because we stare at eachother for a minute... After the concert, we go to the cemetary, my favorite place to mend broken pieces of my heart. He stays in front of a grave stone, lost in his own little world; she... turns her back to us and floates to a black, shiny stone. her shoulders are shaking, i can tell she's crying. i feel her pain so deep, that my eyes fill with tears too. why do i have to feel so intense?) i steal a white flower, a carnation, from an abandoned grave on which the wind had carried flowers (nobody is forgotten..), i pat the blond girl on the shoulder and i hand her the flower.. she starts to cry so hard, that i hold her in my arms... (There's music in the air, a sad rock song coming from my friend's ipod.. ) we stay there for a while, we bond, we connect, we feel, we love... When we part, we exchange addresses, and they go home, to the pretty town with the pretty castle... The next day, we start writing to eachother.. she comes to visit once, i wait for her in the train station and she brings a smile and a knitted bag for me, just for me, made by her own blond hands... We listen to music, we share secrets, we visit eachother a lot, we bond even more when we find we have the same deepest obsession that we never shared with anyone... we have sleepovers, we cook together, we love eachother... I dont share like that with anyone, and she lets me in her darkest part of life.. I'm there, holding her hand; she's holding mine.. When i visit her in the pretty town with the pretty castle, i see she has kept the flower.. it's now dry, but perfect... it looks even better when it's dry, it looks like the colour of her hair that holds my heart beats... After a while, she moves farther away, and we still write to eachother. But i'm afraid she might love me more that i can offer her.. i'm afraid the mess inside me will catch her along and mess her up as well, even more that she already is.. I need her so much, but i run away from her, just as i did with all the wonderful people in my life.. I don't wanna let her down.. i know how it feels, i had my heart broken a thousand times by the same girl, and i wouldnt want to hurt other people the way i was hurt. so i wont hurt my blond friend. she's just a chapter in my novel, she's just a face in my painting.. So i leave, and she doesnt object, she knows... She knows how much my heart bleeded so many times before, that what i feel it's not pain anymore, but nostalgia. so she is brave, i am brave. we say goodbye because we're afraid of friendship....
I hear she's well now, she's happy and loved the way she deserves to be... And she still keeps my dry flower next to her bed, so she wont forget that someone had the power to love her from the first minute...
Five years ago, my friend brings his girlfriend to a worship meeting. I see her, i'm amazed of her natural blond hair, and i know i already know a part of her soul. she knows too, because we stare at eachother for a minute... After the concert, we go to the cemetary, my favorite place to mend broken pieces of my heart. He stays in front of a grave stone, lost in his own little world; she... turns her back to us and floates to a black, shiny stone. her shoulders are shaking, i can tell she's crying. i feel her pain so deep, that my eyes fill with tears too. why do i have to feel so intense?) i steal a white flower, a carnation, from an abandoned grave on which the wind had carried flowers (nobody is forgotten..), i pat the blond girl on the shoulder and i hand her the flower.. she starts to cry so hard, that i hold her in my arms... (There's music in the air, a sad rock song coming from my friend's ipod.. ) we stay there for a while, we bond, we connect, we feel, we love... When we part, we exchange addresses, and they go home, to the pretty town with the pretty castle... The next day, we start writing to eachother.. she comes to visit once, i wait for her in the train station and she brings a smile and a knitted bag for me, just for me, made by her own blond hands... We listen to music, we share secrets, we visit eachother a lot, we bond even more when we find we have the same deepest obsession that we never shared with anyone... we have sleepovers, we cook together, we love eachother... I dont share like that with anyone, and she lets me in her darkest part of life.. I'm there, holding her hand; she's holding mine.. When i visit her in the pretty town with the pretty castle, i see she has kept the flower.. it's now dry, but perfect... it looks even better when it's dry, it looks like the colour of her hair that holds my heart beats... After a while, she moves farther away, and we still write to eachother. But i'm afraid she might love me more that i can offer her.. i'm afraid the mess inside me will catch her along and mess her up as well, even more that she already is.. I need her so much, but i run away from her, just as i did with all the wonderful people in my life.. I don't wanna let her down.. i know how it feels, i had my heart broken a thousand times by the same girl, and i wouldnt want to hurt other people the way i was hurt. so i wont hurt my blond friend. she's just a chapter in my novel, she's just a face in my painting.. So i leave, and she doesnt object, she knows... She knows how much my heart bleeded so many times before, that what i feel it's not pain anymore, but nostalgia. so she is brave, i am brave. we say goodbye because we're afraid of friendship....
I hear she's well now, she's happy and loved the way she deserves to be... And she still keeps my dry flower next to her bed, so she wont forget that someone had the power to love her from the first minute...
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