Azi nu!

Trag cu sete din tigara pe care de maine nu o voi mai fuma si ma gandesc la nimicuri. Intotdeauna nimicuri. De ce a fost ziua asta atat de seaca, de ce am mancat portia aia de cartofi prajiti, de ce am pierdut timpul in fata unui serial care nu ma ajuta. Atatia "de ce" imi invadeaza creierul ca ceata lasata de fumul de tigara nu face decat sa atenueze sentimentul de mister. Mister si neputinta. 

Ieri munceam cu spor si dedicare, pana cand am realizat ca m-a cuprins un dor. Un dor de a-mi lua rucsacul in spate si a ma indrepta spre nicaieri. Sau spre tot. As vrea as inchid ochii si cu o harta in fata sa pun degetul pe locuri la care nici nu am visat. Sa plec. Unde am pus degetul acolo sa ma duc. La norocul meu cred ca tot Romania as prinde. Poate chiar acelasi oras si acelasi loc de munca. 

Citeam mai devreme un articol despre fluturi/molii in stomac. Ai naibii fluturi vin cand nu trebuie, ajung la picioare, dau la ligamente si apoi se duc in creier si fac ravagii. Sa ai fluturi la cap e mai grav decat atunci cand ii ai in stomac. O iei razna. Zbori de la un gand la altul de parca ai calatori cu un supersonic la munca. Cateva secunde te duc de la agonie la extaz. Pacat ca agonia e mai lunga. Si mai grea. Piticii sunt mai agreabili. Aia mai si glumesc.

Mi-e dor de copilarie. Ore multiple de facut nimic. Si in acel nimic faceam atat de multe. Acum nimicul asta urla. Ca intunericul. Sau linistea. Urasc linistea! Sau calmul. Prea mult calm prevesteste o furtuna. Si niciodata nu iesi intreg din furtuni. Iesi ud. De lacrimi, de vise, de asteptari. Intra toate la apa si se micsoreaza.
Ma duc sa imi iau rucsacul. Sa vad daca gasesc copilaria pe undeva!

What now?

Your lips are slowly whispering words near my face, but all I can see are the curves of the sweet machine that takes me through the night. I turn around and let you embrace me. It's such a overwhelming feeling. I never expected to be wormed by someone's arms. You touch my elbow and shivers pass through my entire body.

I close my eyes and for the first time I can picture a house near the sea. A white fence, a small garden filled with colored flowers. They're lucky to have you as the one that takes care of them... I would kill them without wanting too. I see rainbow like windows without curtains. A big wooden living room and a small kitchen messed up because of the terrible cooking habits we both have.  Instead of making dinner we would start food fighting and end up making love on the cold floor surrounded by vegetables. No one would be surprised of my weight lose, because you would be enough for me. 

A set of stairs would take us to the first floor. Three bedrooms, each telling a story. The main bedroom would be ours. Painted in two opposite colors, each representing one of us, meeting at half. A big bed with autumn sheets and my "sweet corner of sun" filled with small objects that bring warm memories. I always told you I need my sweet corner to enlighten my day as soon as I wake up. Even tough I don't like it, a big TV is staring at us each night. We had to adapt to one another. You accepted my cheesy sweet corner... I accepted your TV. It's not that of a big deal. I have my books, you have your shows.

The second bedroom is smaller than ours, but it's very cozy. A guitar (I always wanted to have one) is laying on a big chair and is waiting for someone to touch it. Next to the chair is a light brown coffee table and on it is the Chi tea pot and two cups. My ebook completes my knowledge corner of the room. A big desk holds up all the papers and two laptops. It's our work zone... warmed by a the presence of my library. Filled with books. I read them all, but they look so good.
A light kiss on my hair wakes me from my reverie.  We are again in our small room with a big bed. It's morning and it looks like a bright day outside. The image of a house near the sea fades as I live trough now. The messed up small kitchen vanishes. The guitar won't be played. The truth is we only have today. Now... You're not mine. I'm not yours. And who knows if we'll ever be.
Until then I turn around to stare at your lips. That sweet curves that bring smiles to my face.

Tu... sau nu neaparat tu...

Ai vrea sa fi tu cel care imi lumineaza gandurile si zilele, in general? Au trecut multi ani de cand raza de soare a sperantei a trecut pe'aceste meleaguri. Pustiita de sentimente si lipsita de mangaierile unui nou inceput, imi doresc sa fi tu acela.

Cafeaua rece sta pe scaunul de langa pat. Stiu, imi trebuie o masa, insa nu astazi va fi ziua in care o voi cumpara. Peretii albi si goi nu imi mai inspira nimic, si eu tot astept. Era o vreme cand ma uitam in jur si vedeam povesti nescrise. Sticla goala de parfum ma duce cu gandul la viata. In stanga mea, cartile prafuite asteapta cuminti un semn. Melodia de pe fundal nu le ajuta. 

Ce zici sa apari cu un buchet de flori? Nu imi plac, dar reusesc sa ma incalzeasca. O floare iti aduce un fior si un sentiment de bine. Ba imi plac florile! Nu imi place ideea ca ofilesc. Ofilirea in rutina de a sta in acelasi vas cu apa. Am doua flori in ghiveci. Imi dau toata silinta sa le mentin in viata. E greu uneori, deoarece nu imi spun ce le doare. Nu urla ca vor apa. Nu urla ca vor pamant. Sunt ca mine, nu urlu. Ba urlu! Dar nu neaparat din cele mai intemeiate motive.

Mi-ar trebui un dans in ploaie. Sa simt niste brate calde printre picaturile reci. Nu neaparat ale tale. Putem dansa mai multi. Dar tu sa ma duci acasa! Sa bem o ciocolata calda si sa lasam scaunele ude, doar pentru a ne aseza pe canapea. Nu canapeaua mea, ca e mica. Sau merge si canapeaua mea, deoarece ar trebui sa stam apropiati, ca sa incapem. Sa ne uitam la un film. Un film pentru femei, care sa nu iti placa, dar pe care sa il vezi doar pentru ca vrei sa imi faci pe plac. Mda... sa-mi faci pe plac... 

Ai vrea sa fi tu acela care ma tine de mana cand nu vreau sa fiu tinuta de mana? Ti-am mai zis, am o problema cu asta. Dar sa ma tii de mana pentru ca vrei sa ma obisnuiesc cu atingerea ta. Ma irita ideea. Nu imi displace, doar ma irita.

Ai vrea sa fi tu?  Sau nu neaparat tu...

The story of one's love...

I feel like a puppet who's strings got caught up in a painful circle wire from which I can't get freed.

I saw him today. The same self absorbed individual who rather spends his time alone then being with me. Who would have thought I will wait for him. I still hope that he will change. I think of how we met and how I saw a sparkle in his eyes. I named it love, but as I think of it now, I know it was something else. A flickering light playing somewhere in his heart. It must be lost know. Not for me, the hope of seeing it again keeps me steady. Waiting for my story to happen. 

I lived my life being thought about love. My family's love, unlimited. Feeling the warmth of a hug, the sweetness of a kiss, the joy of a laugh. Instead of settling with a realistic sensation of wholeness, I search for breathtaking moments, butterflies in the stomach and unreachable sentiments. The first kiss, the first touch, the firs smile... I can't turn back the time and write the perfect stories. I have to read the ones I have and hope they won't stop at this point.
Who wouldn't have loved to have a warm summer night, with the moon lighting up the trees, a river crossing the soft ground, his hand touching her cheek, his big blue eyes staring in hers and his lips whispering love words. A perfect night of serenity.
The sound of the piano awakes me from my revery. I am still in the same empty room, surrounded by the books through which I live my story, the things that bring smiles to my sorrowed face. Love. Such a big word and yet such a hard feeling to embrace.
Somehow I think of him again. I need a change, but instead of embracing the unknown I continue to look at the damned strings. This is the last time I will be weak. Tomorrow I will stop looking at the phone, praying for it to ring. I will stop seeing his face in everyone and feeling his scent on my pillow.
My bruised wrists bring me back to reality. I am hopeful and weak...

Talking about weird!

Inspiratie si umor. Desi nu duc lipsa de aceste doua calitati in viata de zi cu zi, pe blog se pare ca am atins acel punct in care as vrea sa spun multe, insa nu imi gasesc cuvintele. Sau poate nu mi se mai par potrivite situatiile cu mesajul pe care as vrea sa il transmit. Rutina isi pune amprenta pe viata mea si amuzamentul cu care tratez intamplarile neprevazute nu imi mai pare original sau demn de luat in seama. Asta pana cand incep sa frecventez iar cluburile. 

Clubul este un izvor nesecat de povesti. Mai bune, mai proaste, invaluite in ceata de fum de tigara si amestecate cu aburul alcoolului consumat. Din ce in ce mai multa lume frecventeaza micutul loc pe care il iubeam in urma cu cativa ani. Acum, intr-o incapere 4x4 se ingramadesc vreo 30 de insi in picioare, inca vreo 20 la mese si 15 impreujurul lor, sleiti de perete, lipiti de bar si/sau asteptand pe scari cuminti, pentru ca cine stie, poate mai apuca sa dea din fund si sa bea o bere. Sau poate una din gagicile care fac "show" sunt dispuse sa mearga acasa, caz in care ar marca in stil mare seara. Intr-una din serile in care faceam parte din persoanele sleite pe langa bar (practic dadeam din maini si picioare intr-o incercare esuata de a elibera spatiul in jurul meu, ca sa ma numar printre "gagicile care fac show"!!) a aparut un el. Nu observasem ca purta o conversatie cu prietenii mei si m-am postat langa bar, fix in fata lui. Chiar daca muzica urla in urechile mele, am simtit momentul de liniste pe care l-am cauzat. Ca sa imi cer scuze am vrut sa ma asez in dreapta lui si am reusit sa ma sui pe picioarele respectivului, care la randu-i voia sa iasa din conul de umbra in care l-am impins fara sa vreau. M-am rasucit pe calcaie si m-am postat in fata lui. M-am uitat in ochii lui si cu un zambet jucaus i-am facut semn ca poate sa isi ia locul ocupat fraudulos. Apoi m-am asezat cuminte in dreapta lui. Mi-am ridicat privirea spre el si vazand ca a inceput sa se miste un pic, am facut un pas minuscul spre dreapta si i-am spus "Observ ca te misti atat de bine, incat meriti mai mult loc". Ca raspuns la actiunea mea a ridicat mainile si a mimat un dans nebun. 

Pe masura ce se evapora berea din sticla, si locul parea ca se goleste. Nu exclud posibilitatea ca datul din maini si din picioare sa isi fi facut efectul. Desi imi este al naibii de dor de R&B-ul din cluburile norvegiene, the eighty's music nu este chiar asa rea. Cum necum, intr-un final mai fericit, am ajuns in bratele tipului si usor dar sigur am inceput sa ne unduim pe sunetele lente ale unei piese vechi. Exceptand faptul ca s-a prezentat de vreo 2 ori, si in loc sa retin ca il cheama"Ion" l-am tot numit "Gheorghe", exceptand ca am dansat mai mult pe picioarele lui, decat pe langa el, am ajuns sa ne sarutam.
Ce sa mai, suna a poveste de dragoste sau cel putin al unui one night stand minunat, insa... nu avem parte intotdeauna de ce ne asteptam. Sa ne intoarcem la relatare ... ca si cum s-ar intampla acum.
Ne sarutam noi cu patos, cu foc, cand deodata "Ion" ma opreste si imi spune resemnat "E prea mult pentru mine". Ma impinge usor si de indreapta spre celalalt colt al barului. Sincer, nici daca exploda ceva langa noi, nu cred ca as fi putut sa raman mai socata. Probabil ca un calator in timp, care ar ajunge din anii 40 in 2013 nu ar fi atat de socat de ce se intampla in jurul lui. Ma intorc catre prietenii mei si pentru prima oara in cei 27 de ani ai mei sunt muta de uimire. De-a dreptul fara cuvinte. "Ion" apare iar in peisaj dupa vreo 10 minute, ma ia in brate si ma saruta cald pe frunte. Isi ia geaca si pleaca. Cred ca m-am holbat la usa pe care a iesit vreo juma de ora.
Cine poate sa imi explice ce s-a intamplat? Libidoul meu isi linge ranile si sta ascuns intr-un coltisor asteptand o explicatie valabila!!!

Scared and damaged...

Women are complicated creatures!

Everybody knows that!

Let's face it, we all come with packages from our past, packages that makes us who we are. But we, we tend to become our packages. If somebody screwed us in the past, we start to see a threat in everyone that comes in the future. Since I can't generalize this to every women in the world, let me personalize the thread.

Like most of you, I had my share of drama, but somehow I tend to look for/find/end up surrounded by the same drama. Don't get me wrong, when it comes to life, I live as much as I can, but when it comes to relationships, men-women relationships, I have a thing for dead ends.  As soon as I see a jerk, my inside lids and I literally start drooling like a dog at the thought of something more.

What does this means? Simple. I don't know how to behave when it comes to dating. I am a mess. I stare at the damn phone all day long with the hope that it rings and he's the one that misses me. I know the rule that says that men have to make the first step, but I am not that kind of girl. The waiting part kills me slowly. I stare at the phone all day... until I pick it up, dial the unwanted number and act stupid (probably my dating age is around 10 years old, although these days I think even a 10 year old acts more responsible). My stupid act involves silly laughter, idiotic lines and a slight ironic conversation. And that's how it all starts. A bad start, of course! 

My longest relationship had 5 months, one good and 4 others like hell. I was afraid that it was my stability phobia, now I think it's only my damaged personality. What else could it be? 

A few days ago I read a post on FB where it said that we accept the love we think we deserve. And it's true. But having a poisoned love is better than having nothing. Knowing that once in a while someone needs the warmth of your body is enough to live in a fantasy world. And not having an actual story is better than having a story. When you lose something that wasn't yours in the first place doesn't hurt as much as loosing something that you care about with all your heart... no?

Besides the "not figuring out when its love and when its NOT love" I have another problem... damaged problem... I have no idea when to get involved. I mean, when do you know its time to hold hands? When is it time to walk home alone? When is it right to call at a dreadful hour in the night, without any reason whatsoever? When is it right to go out with him and your friends? When is it time to talk about your fears and hopes? When is it time to get involved???

If you have any answers, please feel free to enlighten me!!!!

What do you want?

What do you want? A question that surrounds your entire world. A question at which you are supposed to have an answer. When it comes to simple things, like chocolate or a bucket of ice cream to take you trough the day, you always know what you want, but when it comes to bigger things, it gets complicated.
As time passes by, the pressure of growing up leans on your shoulder and what you want affects everything. Kids, married life, should become a part of what you want, but what happens if you don't know or if you don't have the pleasure to afford this kind of "wanting".
I know I want to have it easy. I want to be able to drink a glass of wine or eat an entire box of chocolates. I want to drink my coffee in the morning and to have a smile on my face when i go to sleep. I want to be able to grow flowers and have a dog which throws his tail in every side when he sees me. But that isn't enough to be a part of a community.
"Do you want to get married?", "Do you want to have kids?", "Do you want to have a house?"... Questions at which I don't have an answer. I don't want to have those things just because I am supposed to have them. I want to see a mini me running around and making disasters, I want to wake up in the morning and see a smiling face watching me, I want to have a big house and a medium dog making graves into the garden.
Talking about stereotypes. I want what the entire globe wants. To be happy. But I have no freaking idea how to get there. So if by any chance you have a book on how to stop screwing up ur life, I'm buying it!!!