Fall in love with me.

Like rain falling down on a river. The drops would get lost in the madness of the small flowing waves, now belonging to something bigger than themselves. Look into my eyes and see past their colour and my pretty smile, look within myself and grab the tiny fragments of my heart I still have left, maybe they still work.

Do you want to feel me every morning? Would you like to smell my hair on your navy sheet coloured pillows, get lost in the gap between my shoulder and my neck and giggle as I stretch out my arms to cuddle you, sleepy, like I’m still in a dream? Like I’m still in a dream and I pulled your face in it with me, so we could both wonder at what my mind can come up to now.

Would you want my heart as much as you want my body? Would you have me naked within, feel the pain in my gut and gently touch it with your fingertips, before it burns you too? If you could feel my heart, or at least if I’d let you, you’d look up cowardly at me not being able to understand or bear the struggle that I carry with me every day. You don’t have to. Just know it belongs with me, and if you choose me, you’ll also choose to sometimes suffer with me.

You’d be happy. I am great at having fun and, more importantly, making other people have fun. I’d tell you funny stories and steal your attention with naughty looks from different sides of the room, tempt you to touch me knowing other people might hear us. I’d excite you and tease you, I’d tell you things you’ve only read about but never believe actually exist, I’d reach inside you and pet the devil you hide, like it was mine all along, you’d never have enough without me.

Are you worried? Don’t be. You’ll be my fantasy, I’ll build you a shrine covered in lights and candles, pretty so I could look at it all the time. I’ll always be pretty for you and gentle with your thoughts, when the world thinks you can still take the roughness of it. I’ll be strong for you when your ego falls and you need cover to take a breath. I know you are expected to behave every time you are not just with yourself. You don’t have to do that with me.

You have to promise me you’ll stay. It’s a big condition and I’m not sure I am the one for you, so pardon my audacity for asking. But if you’ve had me in your bed the same as in your mind, you owe me the next touch and everything that comes with it, everything that hides behind your palms and your weary blue eyes, you must promise me you’ll stay.

Fall in love with me, choose me every day like you choose to keep the same shirt in your wardrobe for years, because someone you love gave it to you.

Fall in love with me and choose me every time, so I can fall in love with you.

Scars

I saw you again today, after a whole year of almost forgetting how you look like.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to be happier, what to do not to end up in a bad place like so many times before, been following positive mantras, been saying I’m „powerful”, „strong”, „capable”. Covered my walls in pretty prints, been taking care of myself and how I look like, which used to show clear signs of vanity and arrogance to me in the past. I’ve become a version of myself I never thought I’d be able to achieve while I was still burdened with the mind I had then and still have now.

Who am I?

Should have I stopped and said „hello!”? Should I have made small talk and ask how have you been…I know how you have been. You’ve been in love. With someone else, and somehow, after knowing that for so long, it still hurts to acknowledge. I know you’ve been travelling, connecting with old friends and made new ones as you were always so friendly and easy to talk to. Funny, because you’re the person I find it hardest to talk to nowadays.

The past lingers onto me like the sadness in my gut, that I’ve carried with me my whole life. I can have this life I am proud of, these friends that remind me the things I should be thankful for, these parents and this love around me that makes me feel worth it. But it may be the childishness in me, the selfish younger sibling in me that feels like they deserve all the attention, that still feels upset that you don’t love me, like everyone else does. Why couldn’t you?

„Cry me a river” they say in my head, because I’m complaining about the same thing all over again. My own mind is tired of me being upset over you again, like a ball of yarn unfolding and unfolding forever, when will it end? When will I end?

Will I end knowing this love inside me that I have, along with this sadness, will never be shared? What will be the last thing I will say to myself? Will I even remember you before I die?

I guess I’m scared to feel whatever I feel for you, you make me angry. Emotions come through me and stay like a migraine, I always remember them and can’t ignore it when they happen. It’s a knot in my throat before I speak, I’m afraid of what I might say to you, because I can’t make small talk with you. My mind says I should be nice, but my mouth bites through my words, holding back tears, pulling myself together. What do you think I should say to you? Good for you? I’m scared to admit that you could be happy and I’m not, still, after so long. Am I not embarrassed?

Life goes through me like a shiver you get at night when the windows aren’t open and it’s a calm summer night. Like that feeling you get when you’re alone in a big house and you know no one’s coming to get you anytime soon. I live alone within myself, surrounded by other sides of me, making loud noises and begging for attention. Maybe I should be sad now, maybe happy, maybe I should just die or maybe I should get a bit drunk to forget all about you. If I stopped to say „hello”, what would’ve I actually said? Because „I hate you” is what I really wanted to say, if I could.

I hate you for reminding me how unlovable I really am. That since I was a child, being who I am is only temporary and magical to new people. I am fun and interesting for what seems like 20 minutes, before reality sets in and I become ordinary. You remind me of the days I used to crave my parent’s attention, so I would participate in sports or dances, plays I didn’t like or competitions, just so they would come to look at me for once. Before they remembered what a burden I was, before I remembered how much I didn’t want to be alive.

I guess I’m complaining about validation, really. When I saw you again, I remembered how it felt like to have my heart belong to someone. How do I explain it… you know when you walk back home from a night out, on your own, and you know that someone would like to know you got home safe. That, if you would call or text at that time, you know they wouldn’t get annoyed, but rather happy they know you had a good night and want to hear all about it. Or it would be as if your heart is wrapped around this warmth that only when love starts to fall apart, so does this apparent veil, and you start to feel cold and emotional. Hungry, starving, welled up over something you know is missing but can’t explain.

The only thing I feel now when I look at you is a feeling of loss, your eyes are cold and your words are meaningless. But my heart screams in its anger, I feel it push out of my body through tears I push down with cigarettes. Don’t feel it, don’t do it, it won’t happen again. You have the audacity to smile at your friends as I walk by, and I am too much of a coward to smile with you. With the same friends we both had.

I’m sorry I kept walking and didn’t turn around to look you in the eyes. For me, we are more than a „hello”, and what we had will always be more than small talk. Maybe it is dramatic and for you, blown out of proportion. Maybe I should grow up and accept that time moved everything along. But somehow, it seems like time has skipped me now and I’m looking at you the same I used to when I loved you. It’s okay that you don’t love me anymore, I’m just not okay with the fact that I still do.

What would I have told you?

I would’ve collapsed to my knees because of the weight my heart felt, I would not have said a thing because your eyes have stolen all my words, you wouldn’t have helped me up, you would’ve reminded me of how alone I am.

I am glad I kept walking.

What I thought we had

You have now been removed from my memories, you’ve been replaced by a feeling of dread and emptiness. Your presence has now become so distant, it gets cold when I think of your arms around me like when you get a shiver out of nowhere and wonder what happened. That’s what you feel like now, confusion and fright; but you didn’t use to be.

Because we live in the same small city, I tend to be weary when I walk down the busy streets just in case my eyes will meet yours again. I’m scared to see your back pointed at me, to recognize the soft curls in your hair and barely see the frame of your glasses and not know what to do. It seems like the more time passes, you become a stranger. And just like any stranger, I need to be careful and politely avoid you, because I don’t know you. How funny that is, I don’t know you… I used to know you like I knew myself; I used to look at you and already knew what you were going to say.

We spoke through our eyes and through our laughs. We used to walk through streets we’ve never seen before and create stories about people we saw, then laugh at the misfortunes we would create for them; you used to drive us to the beach and we would sit next to giant rocks, kissing in the sun, our favourite band singing loudly through the speaker. I used to cook us dinner every night and we watched shows, very loosely said watch as we would often get lost in conversation and even earlier than that, we would find reasons to touch each other, we were ready to lose the meal so we could stare into each other’s eyes. You used to look at me and casually say I’m a model, thank your days for meeting me, made me feel like I was finally enough for someone. You’ve made me the happiest I ever was and because of you, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like that again. Because you took your light away and I had to crawl back to my empty self yet another time, I selfishly wanted you to stay so I could avoid being with myself. But, what good is it to keep something that’s bad for you?

There are times where I want to see you, in foolish hopes you’ll see me again through the eyes you once used to, realize what we’ve done and come running back to me. There are times when I want to come to your house and ask you to talk to me in hopes my voice will ring back again in your heart and you’ll hug me so tight, like I could never leave again.

But now, in your bed, there lies another girl who I never thought would be able to replace me. As time went by and you still shared your new life with everyone and with her by your side, I sort of realised that you are now probably in love again. I used to lay in bed next to you, look up at you while you held me and think that could never happen. We used to have conversations saying if we ever broke up, as we could talk about it so easily because it was not ever going to happen, we would not get into other relationships for years after. Now here you are, less than a year after our break and you are already committed to someone else. Like I meant nothing…

My friends are sick and tired of me saying to them how much I miss you, and how confused I am. Why did you stop loving me? I want to know. It’s a question that I want answered so badly; What happened? – It started so simple, I recall you stopped kissing me so often. There was a week where I tried not to initiate the physical contact first and not one day out of the whole 7 day week did you come to me for a kiss or just a hug. At the time you said you had a lot on your mind and was not feeling well, but it continued well into our 3rd year. The long conversations and jokes we used to have turned into a light chat about our days, like talking to a friend you barely know or a server at a bar. You didn’t care about how my day went anymore either, and I was too tired to drag words out of you. The happy in love energy from our flat turned into tension, I felt like you were scared to talk to me in case we’d have an argument, which in the end we had many of.

I thought maybe if I believe this love is worth it, if you are worth it, I will keep taking this shameful walk back into your heart somehow. But as days went by, you kept going out more, we’d keep fighting and slowly you started losing the glimmer you had in your eyes when you looked at me. I kept going to sleep and waking up alone, in our bed, waiting for you to come home. I thought if I let you go and distance yourself from me, you’d miss me somehow and come back under the blankets with me.

What I thought we had was more than any other relationship I’ve ever had or seen in anyone else. What I thought we had was the kind of love that cannot be tampered with because, at our core, we were best friends. That’s what hurts the most for me…when I lost you, I lost my best friend.

What I thought we had was more than this.

Again

I wanted to talk about self-reflection for a bit today.

I thought maybe life would get easier as I grew up, because I understood more about who I am, how things work, how to create connections with people and how to move on past breaking them. I thought maybe it will be easy for me to find my soulmate, to completely let go and fall in love and to get it back. I was wrong, many times and it’s wearing me out.

Since I last wrote I have had a beautiful, blossoming relationship with someone I was excited to see growing old with, having little versions of us; more witty, more charming, more playful than we were. For a good three years life was beautiful and I had someone to share it with that was not like the others. We would see the world in our own way, through rose tinted glasses, we felt weightless, floating in our delusion of love. The cracks that were showing we gave no mind to, we believed in us and so did everyone else. We gaslighted ourselves in believing this was it, we didn’t have to look anywhere else anymore, because what we had was enough.

I was wrong, again.

I took some time to process my past and my trauma on my own. I haven’t been on my own, truly, in years. As a younger girl, it was very hard for me to understand my emotions and I felt them hard. I remember one time I was sat in my garden, it was nigh-time in December, I was freezing cold and I have been crying for hours. While I was trembling, sitting on a plastic broken chair that was shaking with me, I was hoping maybe I’d get pneumonia and I could just slip away in the cold and my thoughts would freeze. I would have some time to stop feeling like I was feeling. That feeling of hoping to die somehow has never went away.

Being alone has had its ups and downs for me, being that I am enjoying my own company but a bit too much now. I am tired of letting myself go for someone who wants me because of the fantasy they have of me, not because of me. Truly, I cannot blame the men in my life for believing what I show them, but as I slowly lose the magic and become myself, the glimmer in their eyes seems to dull, the grip on their hand becomes looser and I mean less.

I am tired of wanting to mean something for someone. Longing for someone to look at me and see the future in their eyes, wanting to be touched at every hour of the day just because they want to, begging to be chosen each and every time. These are the hopes of a little girl who’s watched Disney for the first time, dreams that I told myself I would have when I was crying next to the man that I thought loved me.

Been spending most of my days thinking about myself now, more than I ever had, trying to make sense if it’s still worth it. Am I still worth it? Does everyone else see something in me that I don’t? Because I have been starring into my own eyes lately and I don’t understand what I see. My eyes have become heavier, my smile is duller and I can see my own sadness in the creases of my eyebrows. I can see the hands that caressed my cheeks and wiped my tears and feel the forehead kisses I once thought were love. I can see the lies that I believed in my own eyes.

People around me seem to have chosen a path now, most of my high-school friends have gotten married with kids, my close friends have well paid jobs, planning to buy their first houses next to the beach, planning for their future, but the future seems so far away from me. I feel like I’m sitting in an empty room and as time goes by the room gets larger and I turn smaller, my hands are getting cold and it’s harder to move. I wish time would stop for a bit so I could choose, I wish I would know what I want to choose and if it’s the right choice.

No matter how much time passes it seems like my mind cannot make sense of what we’re supposed to do. I stupidly make choices out of impulse because if I fall to my thoughts I would never move anywhere, the room would keep getting bigger and I’d be lost in time.

What should I do?

Bottled up.

Hello, it’s been a while again…

About a year ago I’ve started self-medicating. Obviously, that could mean a lot of things… but thanks to that, I’ve stopped hurting myself. Mostly. I’ve been better, if you’ve wondered, or at least I would like to think I did. There were days where I couldn’t stop crying, because I was so confused and so lonely, although I was never truly alone. That happened for months in a row, a whole year it took me to finally stop having nightmares and panic attacks. All my friends were ready, at any point, to find me not breathing anymore, they’ve all even thought of things of what to tell my family if anything did happen. Thankfully, I got better… have I not?

I’ve surrounded myself with people that get me too distracted to stop and think about myself. I was so busy with their life, I put mine on hold and helped them instead, like a good friend would. They truly do love me, but sometimes I get the feeling they don’t actually like me? Maybe those are just my personal insecurities talking, but I can’t stop doubting myself. I feel like a waste of space, even though no one thinks that about me. I still feel lost and most of the time I talk to myself about it instead of my friends or my partner. I don’t want to burden them with my unfounded and dumb thoughts, so I have conversations with myself instead.

It worked for a while, but here I am again. None of them are actually going to see this so I don’t mind sharing, but even here I feel like I’m asking for attention. I don’t like opening up, I don’t even want to, most of the things I have been through a lot of other people have aswell. I recently had a conversation with a friend that shared my experience of similar abuse, but it felt rather forced and unpleasant. I wanted so much to finally share with someone what I’ve been through, but when I did it was met with silence and a slight nod of the head. Hardly the response I wanted, assuming I’d receive some sort of consolation and I felt bad for even saying anything. My expectations were too high and so, it put me even further down a never-ending rabbit hole of self-doubt. Was I saying too much? Were they not ready to hear my story? Am I longing for something I will never receive?

I thought opening up about my trauma and abuse will feel liberating, that I, like so many others who have opened up, will finally find some sense of peace. However, I felt dirty, I got goosebumps and I was choking up but couldn’t cry. I was feeling abused all over again, his fingers on my chest again like they were reaching inside my skin, grabbing onto my heart to stop it from beating. I couldn’t breathe and it triggered memories in me of other times when some other kind souls were willing to listen, and yet I ran away from them. I refused to take someone’s full attention, for another who didn’t care much to even have a conversation in the first place. Why didn’t I tell them and not this friend who wasn’t ready to listen or rather didn’t even care? It was treated like a passing conversation, almost like I was telling someone else’s story.

I wish I didn’t sound like I’m asking for attention, but that conversation made me feel like I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Now, I’m scared again and I don’t think I will ever repeat it. Don’t think this is the fault of this particular friend of mine, I’ve tried opening up before, and yet again it felt like I wasn’t truly listened. It felt like I’ve just cut my soul in half for someone to look inside it and was met with a slight nod of the head, a sigh, a deafening silence. Sometimes I look at people with such a desperation I want them to ask, to sit me down and let me cry it out. But most of the time I just cry by myself and talk to the air or to the people on TV, hoping they will hear me.

It sounds like i’m in constant pain, but I’ve been better. I hardly find myself unhappy anymore, I constantly search for things to do, trying to lead this hard-working, fast life so I don’t fall again. Yet I’ve fallen so many times, but I don’t make a scene out of it anymore. I don’t tell anyone, not even my partner. I’ve realised in my past relationships that none of the others knew how to deal with my pain, shouldn’t even have asked, but I was a child and I want to apologise to them for that.

Maybe I’ll write again soon, but for now this is an update to you and myself, I want to let you know I’m okay, but it’s getting hard again and I don’t know how to deal with it anymore.

The way I miss you…

I stopped smoking. Well, almost. I try my best not to feel the urge of wanting to damage myself in some way, I’ve done it for so long I think of it as a habit rather than a way to have fun. Getting drunk and crying haven’t been on my plate for quite a while. To be specific, since January of this year; I don’t prioritise being drunk over being happy anymore… and some of you who know me understand that a sober moment for me is quite the challenge.

I’ve changed tremenduosly since I’ve first started writing, I’m not the same and somehow I resonate with the same desperation to feel something as I did at first. I feel like I’ve grown as the woman I am today, but still have the same hopelessness and desire to not be an outcast as I did when I was younger. I know I’m not much older than I was when I wrote my first article, however I’ve been shown that circumstances and people, as brief of a period they’ve been in your life, have a bigger impact in a month than solitude in a year could. Maybe it doesn’t make much sense to you as you don’t know me, but I know myself and all I’m trying to say is things and people change around you and, without knowing, you change around them.

Hopeless romantic, switching between reality and feelings, I’ve found yet another soul to pour mine in. Someone to hopefully call forever, has showed up to me in such a trivial way, an elecronic connection which tangled our intrests and went beyond the physical. I’m talking about a boy or, rather, a man with so much emotion, who touched me in more ways that I could’ve even fathomed to feel has made a leap for my heart, knowing the canyon that stands between me and love and still went to clutch me in his arms. It bothers me that he’s seen me at my worst, because the image I painted him as being myself is so perfect and yet so far from the truth. He likes me being happy, he loves the dimple that forms in the crevices of my left cheek, he giggles everytime I sneeze and thinks I’m pretty when I’m crying. I wish I could lie and say I can go on by myself, but I see him sitting on the edge of my bed and my only instinct is to embrace his head in betweeen my arms, him relaxing on my chest and me looking down at him wanting for the time to stop. I feel stronger about him than I do about myself and that makes me happy.

He gives me a purpose, he gives me a scene to play on with rather limited rules and instructions. His aim is to get me to break out of character, but you know me, I’m a great actress. I can fake the smile and the laugh, but the scene he desires is at the end of the play when the curtains drop before me and I, submissively, drop on my knees before him. I wish he could see himself through my eyes and be amazed as I am looking through his eyes, around the halo above his head. I connect with him in such way that I could be comfortable calling him either my husband, my lover or my friend. It’s easy…I wish you as a reader could feel how easy it is to love, there’s nothing bad about being in love. But it’s so scary, I understand, I was scared once.

I’m still scared, don’t get me wrong, all of this, all of him could be pulled or taken away from me in the blink of an eye, and what’s scarrier it’s that he makes it feel so safe. With this one man I can feel the power and the love of a million men. He loves me in a way that any woman deserves to be loved and I didn’t know that was even a thing. I’m jealous, so, so, jealous, of the women that had him before me, I’m jealous he didn’t know he wanted me then, I’m jealous he wasn’t there when I was embracing the arms of somebody else when it could’ve been him.

I’m working on borrowed time here, I can only write when I feel too much or nothing at all, so understand when I’m saying, I want to spend my life with him, I don’t have the time to lie about him. And I hope with all my heart he’s not another passing sunshine, I hope he’ll stay for this night and a thousand more to come. I pray every night he wants me when I don’t even want myself, I hope he misses me like I miss the rain when the sun has been unforgiving.

I miss him, I miss you. Even if at 10 in the morning you were covering me with the thin summer blanket this morning, I still want you to hold me back together when I’m going to bed tonight. However, you’re not here tonight and I’m forced to hide myself from the dark alone and faintly remember your lips on my forehead the previous night.

The way I miss you is like that short breeze of wind you feel when sitting behind the shadow of a tree on a sunny day. Like a sigh of relief when you’ve finished a work shift or smelling the familiar scent of a person you knew since you were young. The way I miss you feels like a bitter sweet goodbye at the airport or a kiss good morning. It’s such a little thing and yet makes such a big noise.

 

Blunt(s).

I always start by saying I haven’t written in a while, by now it’s just an on-going cliche, I think it needs to stop but it’s more or less the truth. I’ve been incapable to write, to express my feelings or even be bothered to think about them. My head is scrambled, ideas keep running about, not making any sense and when I try to cling onto one feeling it’s always you who snatches it away from me, leaving me empty again.

You probably don’t know who I’m on about and I don’t blame you, I’m guilty of not keeping you in touch with what I’ve been through or how I’ve been feeling. I would love to have a straight answer, to just give it to you so we’ll both understand what these past months have been like, but honestly, the only thing I can say to you right now is that I feel scared, or rather hopeless. I’m not as eager to get out of bed, I wake up constantly tired, consumed by my own anxiety feeding my fears and my irrational thoughts…I was using people just as much as I’ve let them use me, just running around from mouth to mouth without feeling a thing and dropping them like glasses after I was done, they shattered everywhere and some of them actually cut me. I was angry at myself, at you, at everything you’ve done to me, to think I was just another glass for you hurt me more than I thought I could be hurt. I spent months stuffing my bloodshot eyes in my pillow, crying for someone who just simply left.

I fell in love with someone who made me question if I ever knew love at all. It just started as another glass that I filled with hope, passion, late nights and early mornings talking on the phone about nothing in particular or nothing at all. However, „nothing” with him, hearing his silence on the other line and the ocassional giggles I could hear meant more to me than any other conversation I’ve had with you or any other of the boys that came in and out of my arms. I invested myself in him, I broke down in front of him and unlike you, he didn’t try to pick me off the kitchen floor, he laid there next to me, he let me feel something, finally something. To me, he became my reason to stay alive and although the circumstances of this love have changed, he still remains the only glass that I will never try to drop.

If you’re wondering, or you’ve probably guessed by now, I am over you, I picked myself up this time and when I look at the hole you punched in the wall it doesn’t make me blame myself anymore. I feel odd having all this hate towards you as I’ve known you for years, and yet for this boy that doesn’t even know my favourite colour I feel like I need to wear him as a ring around my finger, an invisible wedding band that I know he’ll never give me, but I sometimes look at my hands and imagine he’s holding them.

I was given the chance to be loved again or at least to be taken care of. I was given a man to hold my hand through my nightmares and panic attacks, someone to text when I feel like my world is crumbling apart and I was hoping and wishing with all my heart that he could do that forever. But you know me, I can’t keep something good even if my life depended on it. I woke up with emptiness inside again, with no will to continue feeling like I want to see myself breathing again and I blamed him for it so I severed the ties between us like it meant nothing. I pulled the plug on our love and cried when he said he doesn’t love me anymore. It was if he was making me feel too much and I was missing the nothingness I used to feel. So instead of telling him I wanted to end my life, I ended his. I made myself bleed by punching a hole in a wall and then I remembered the way love felt like.

To me love smells like cranberry juice and sweet lillies, love held me like a blanket when outside was raining, love to me was tea while watching „The notebook” and he was that for me. Love feels like crying at midnight when he’s half asleep next to me and I can sense his breath on my naked shoulders. Love feels like a perfectly rolled joint that I can’t spark anymore because he took my lighter away. Love feels like punching a wall, broken fingers and bleeding wrists in the middle of the day when he says he’s fine without me.

And as much as I want to go back to not feeling anything at all, his image appears in my head as if he’s right next to me and I fall back into that memory when we were making love in a house that wasn’t ours and he held me afterwards when I was crying on a doorstep and I didn’t want to live anymore. Now I just spark blunts and ingest drugs to feel him again and I want it all to stop.

 

Pe paturi diferite.

Am început de atâtea ori să scriu din nou, cel puțin, în capul meu deja completasem patru articole și tu le citise-i deja, aveai răbdarea să mai aștepți încă unul. Te-am dezamăgit, te-am lăsat cu ochii în soare așa cum m-ai lăsat tu pe mine.

În fiecare noapte par să mă găsesc des cu capul ciufulit sub alte perne, alte așternuturi pe care le-am imprimat cu aroma mea. Dimineața nu știu unde sunt, unde-mi sunt cheile sau telefonul, mă grăbesc doar să ajung la muncă. Mulți mi-au spus că mă pierd atât de des în alte paturi ca semn de răzbunare, să te rănesc cumva făcându-mi asta mie. Doar că a început să îmi fie din ce în ce mai clar că persoana pe care mă răzbun sunt de fapt eu, am nevoie să recuperez timpul pe care ți l-am oferit ție. Anii în care am crezut că mă iubeai și totuși, cu ușurință ai spus aceleași cuvinte unei alteia.

Cu toate că o parte din mine sigur s-a rupt, pentru a doua oară pentru cineva care nu mă făcea fericită și stau în cârje, pretind că sunt din nou îndrăgostită, în fiecare zi, de cineva nou. Și îmi e atât, atât de ușor să îi fac să creadă că mă pot avea, se îndrăgostesc și cad ca muștele când le spun că nu mai am loc de ei. Cu zâmbetul pe buze, am privit trei îndrăgostiți cu speranță în palme, plângând pentru mine. Cumva am obținut un fel de răscumpărare, pentru că eu nu mai pot plânge, dar ei da, și îi trag cu mine ca o sirenă, în durerea mea și fug lăsându-i cumva să mă uite, să plângă pentru mine așa cum am plâns eu pentru tine. Pentru că, în fond, nu mai cred în ideea iubirii așa mult, nu mai arde flacăra pentru nimic, ci respiră greu prinzând puținul oxigen din tot fumul pe care buzele mele îl inspiră.

Joi ți-am spart scrumiera în spatele casei. Când a lovit peretele și am auzit pocnitura aceea, parcă a rămas în aer sunetul și încă mai tânjește când mă pun în pat. Parcă ruptura aceea din suflet pe care sălbatic mi-ai făcut-o s-a mai cusut un pic, dar a durut, căci simțeam acul străpungând bucata aceea de carne sângerândă și nu o puteam oprii. Am vrut să o simți și tu, cumva. Ascund printre gemete cât aș vrea să urlu, fac sex violent cu alte trupuri ale căror nume nu mi le amintesc. Îmi apar detalii în cap despre numele mamei lor, cântecul lor preferat, scrisorile de dragoste pe care rece le arunc pe raft și le las să strângă praf. Toți vor să mă repare, să mă iubească așa cum tu nu ai mai vrut, dar când am spart scrumiera, am încetat să mai simt, am rupt tot ceea ce mă făcea fata pe care o iubeai odată.

Aș vrea să îți arăt imagini cu paturile pe care le-am vizitat, să vezi încrețiturile cearceafurilor între picioarele mele și să plângi și tu așa cum au plâns ei când le-am spus că nu mă mai vor vedea. Ar putea fi un sentiment catastrofic ceea ce le fac eu acestor suflete, dar nu mai simt vină sau păcat, dar nici plăcerea de a vedea ce pot face cu un zâmbet. Sunt total vidă, un gol imens, drogul meu a ajuns să fie sentimentul nicotinei afectându-mi plămânii, ceaiul amestecat cu rom la geamul camerei mele sau doar sunetul scrumierei tale spărgându-se.

În timp ce eu umblu cu pași micuți în alte paturi știu că tu, privind fixat pernele unei alte copile, vei fi în același pat, dorindu-ți din când în când ca acolo să fiu eu. Și sper ca tu să o iubești până la cer și ea să nu te vadă ca nimic mai mult decât un trotuar.

Mi-a scăpat o pată.

Astăzi am uitat de tine un pic. Am ratat să îmi amintesc modul în care dimineața plecai la muncă și nu ieșeai pe ușă până nu mă sărutai, am ratat să îmi amintesc cum veneam acasă și te găseam râzând la birou ca mai apoi să vi în pat, să mă dezbraci și să îmi spui că ți-a fost dor de mine. Astăzi, în schimb, mi-am amintit cum nu voiai să mă auzi vorbind sau cum nu mă ascultai când plângeam. Am regretat momentul când, de pe podeaua din bucătărie m-ai ridicat când lacrimile mă trăgeau pe pământ, aș fi vrut să nu mă ridici atunci, aș fi vrut să te așezi cu mine. Dar n-am știut că, un an mai târziu aș fi ajuns din nou pe podea rugându-mă să te întorci, să mă mai ridici odată.

Încă îmi e greu dimineața să îmi deschid ochii și să aud liniștea care știu că nu se va schimba când eu nu sunt acasă. Dar ce îmi e acasă acum am început să schimb ușor, ți-am aruncat pozele și hainele, am schimbat fața de pernă și am curățat podeaua pe care pașii tăi s-au pierdut de atâtea ori printre gânduri. Am vrut să îți spun asta, când indiferent, m-ai întrebat cum mai sunt, dar nu am vrut să îți mai amintești de mine atunci. Am vrut ca amintirea mea să dispară din tine, să pot dispărea din gândurile tale și să apar în mintea altuia, un alt nebun ce vrea să mă iubească, dar peste un an sau doi să mă lase din nou pe podeaua din bucătărie.

M-am acomodat cu ideea că ușa apartamentului meu nu va mai strânge alte amprente, căci ale tale rămân de fiecare dată când pun mâna pe clanță în palma mea. Și nimeni nu te va cunoaște, nimeni nu va ști cât de ușor ți-a fost să strângi totul și să pleci. Ai lăsat în urmă lucruri mici care pentru tine poate nu însemnau nimic, dar de fiecare dată când eu le văd, rana care abia mai prinde oxigen, se deschide și din nou, doare. Cât aș vrea să nu mai doară, cât aș da să nu mai simt nimic și să nu mai încerc să îți prind fantoma pe pernă.

Cineva a stat în locul tău azi, azi altcineva a invadat săruturile tale și le-a deranjat locul, poate nu a simțit nimic, dar eu aproape am plâns în brațele lui de teamă că vei dispărea. Nu am simțit nimic pentru el și m-am întristat pentru că nu aș fi vrut să fie trădat de sentimentul ăsta așa de superficial, nu aș fi vrut să se simtă folosit. Aș fi vrut să înțeleagă că nu sunt ignorantă, ci că pur și simplu sunt ruptă în bucăți și nu vreau să fiu pusă înapoi. Vreau să mă vadă și să mă adore de la distanță, să îmi permită să nu fiu cineva pe care-l poate regreta. În același timp, tânjesc pentru fericirea lui, vreau să aibă același lucru pe care eu l-am avut de atâtea ori înainte ca totul să se spargă. Vreau să iubească cu trupul și cu inima, să știe că cineva îi poartă grija în gând, dar nu vreau să fiu eu aceea.

M-am îmbătat pentru că am vrut să trag de sentimentul ăsta euforic, să nu încep să plâng și să îl deprim, nu vreau să mă vadă așa. Vreau să mă știe așa cum mă arăt și să nu dorească mai mult, vreau un prieten, am nevoie de un prieten care câteodată poate vorbi cu mine fără să-mi spună că totul va fi bine, pentru că știu că nu va fi. Vreau să doarmă cu mine când îmi e greu să adorm cu luminile stinse, vreau să nu dorească nimic de la mine și vreau ca eu să nu îi cer nimic. Să fie clar, platonic, sincer și nimic mai mult. Vreau să se uite la mine și să îmi spună că arăt ca un căcat, dar să mă accepte așa.

Știu că nu vei citi și că nu te vei deranja să te mai întrebi odată cum mai sunt, așa că îmi permit să sper că de data asta, îți voi spune ceva ce vei asculta. Când făceam curat, am văzut pe perete o pată adâncă, pe care am încercat să o îndepărtez violent, dar apoi am realizat ca acolo a fost locul în care ai lovit peretele și mi-ai întors spatele, că atunci a fost prima oară când m-am temut de tine. Nu m-am obosit să acopăr lovitura  pentru că numai eu o pot vedea, dar de fiecare dată când văd acea pată, simt cum pumnul tău mai lovește odată peretele și mă simt la fel de dărâmată ca el.

Am ratat o pată și nu m-am mai obosit să o acopăr, e o metaforă perfectă ce-mi amintește de tine.

 

Dacă m-ar săruta cineva acum.

Ți-am spus că îți voi scrie în noaptea în care ai plecat, poate că ai vrut să vezi o altă față pe care o căutai în spatele lacrimilor, poate ai vrut să știi cum mă simțeam când îți făceai bagajele să dispari imediat pe ușă. O să încerc să îmi fac ordine în gânduri și să îți scriu o explicație pentru comportamentul meu așa de confuz și pierdut.

Pentru că, într-adevăr m-am pierdut și la fel ai făcut și tu, m-ai pierdut. Am încercat să mă consolez cu ideea că te-ai pus primul și că ești mai fericit așa, însă îmi e greu să înțeleg acea fericire când singurul lucru pe care mi l-ai făcut tu mie a fost să îmi arunci cu nonșalanță toate amintirile, să spargi tot viitorul pe care mi-l închipuisem de atâtea ori în pat cu tine, să distrugi efectiv ființa care a încercat să devină o altă parte a ta. Nu ai ezitat să îndepărtezi tot ceea ce mă făcea pe mine întreagă, căci pur și simplu ai scăpat totul printre degete și nu te-ai obosit nici măcar o secundă să îți ceri scuze. Am acceptat faptul că niciodată nu vom fi o dragoste ideală, dar am încercat și nu am eșuat nici măcar odată. Am rămas aprinși, permanent, ne-am iubit în fiecare zi, oricât de grea ar fi fost realitatea în momentul ăla. Indiferent, ai luat totul din plin, ai adorat prezența mea și ai cerut-o când ți-a fost greu, dar trist, nu a fost niciodată reciproc. Ai lăsat ușa deschisă, a trebuit să o închid eu, cu ochii roșii, cu o durere în piept și una în cap. În fața mea mi-a căzut cerul și tu ai plecat cu el, absolut tot ceea ce reparasem în timp ai reușit să spargi și să pleci.

Apartamentul e e jumătate gol și îi simt tristețea cum și el o simte pe a mea, suntem amândoi două entități goale ce își caută mobila pe sub ultimii pași ai tăi aici. Dar sunt permanent dezamăgită când deschid ușa și apartamentul e rece, gol, părăsit. Sunt aici doar o umbră ce umblă în pașii tăi, mă feresc de locurile în care nu ai călcat și sper să te mai simt odată în cele în care ai pășit. Totuși, mereu, nu simt nimic, oricât am încercat să îți strâng perna în brațe, să te miros în tricourile pe care le-ai lăsat, nimic nu mă ține în brațe, nimic nu mă sărută înapoi.

Simt că trebuie să fiu permanent beată. Să dispară sentimentul acela gol, să încerc să opresc sângerarea sufletului meu cu vin. E deprimant, trist, cine ar vrea să se simtă așa? Mai ales eu, când în fiecare zi fac oameni fericiți cu zâmbetul meu, dar în schimb, eu vreau să văd un singur zâmbet și nu vine niciodată. Mă gândesc acum, cine ar vrea să trăiască alături de această povară, cine poate iubi din nou brațele astea care caută pe altcineva, cine m-ar săruta când buzele îmi sunt violate de gustul țigărilor și al vinului? Focul acela pe care speram să nu îl oprești, a rezistat furtuni, certuri, a rezistat nopților pline de sex când îți spuneam că te iubesc printre gemete și acum…parcă l-ai stins când m-ai sărutat ultima oară. Mă deranjează că am încercat de atâtea ori să îți fiu de ajuns și de fiecare dată când simțeam că am ajuns aproape de tine, mai puneai un zid, te mai supărai odată și vorbeai cu oricine altcineva în afară de mine.

Atât de egoist ai plecat, cu frica în dinți simțind că eu o să fiu bine, doar pentru binele tău. Odată nu ai ezitat, dar sunt un pic ipocrită, m-am bucurat când ai plâns pentru mine. Dar cred că și acolo m-am înșelat, ai plâns pentru tine, ți-e frică să iei viața în brațe, ți-e frică de confruntare, ai prefera mai degrabă să fugi decât să te mai uiți în ochii mei odată.

Mi-am făcut și eu curaj să îți scriu acum, chiar dacă știu că nu vei citi, să îți spun că sunt total beată și total distrusă, sunt goală, mă înțelegi? Sunt în lacrimi, moartă, aruncată ca pe o cârpă murdară după ce te-ai șters pe mâini cu ea, sunt total vidă și aș vrea să îți spun că am băut un vin, dulce și mi s-au pătat buzele și aș vrea să mă sărute cineva. Aș vrea în noaptea asta să adoarmă cineva cu mine, să facem sex, pur, nu dragoste, pentru că nu știu când voi fi capabilă să o mai simt odată. Vreau să mă sărute și să simtă ultimul sărut al tău. Dacă m-ar săruta cineva acum, ar trebui să mă omoare după, căci pentru prima oară vreau ca buzele să-mi rămâne neatinse, să se crape, și să le vezi, să regreți.

Dar știu că tu nu regreți, tu ai făcut-o pentru fericirea ta și sunt de acord, însă te rog nu mă pune să îți promit că o să fiu bine, când știi foarte clar că în ecuația asta, fericirea mea nu încape în favoarea ta. Dacă m-ar săruta cineva acum, ar simți ura pe care ți-o port și totuși iubirea pe care nu o pot stinge, pentru că e dură și încăpățânată, la fel cum erai tu.

Dacă m-ar săruta cineva acum, ți-aș spune că a făcut-o pentru fericirea mea, că a înțeles că în spatele dulceții vinului sunt lacrimi și sentimente puse de-o parte pentru tine, sunt secrete stupide ascunse să te țin pe tine în picioare. Dacă m-ar săruta cineva acum i-aș mulțumi și l-aș săruta de încă o mie de ori.