doing anything else at all would be a waste of time and a lie. because every time i see him, my heart jumps up a little bit as if trying to get out through my throat, and the air in my lungs becomes as heavy as lead. and every time he walks by, my skin is set on fire. and when his coffee brown eyes pierce me, i drown, i am happy.
one would assume it’s quite physical; but physical is the last thing that this is. leastwise terrifying and confusing. although mostly merely confusing, but that is always the case anyway. even though he is as simple as a glass of iced water. and yet, sometimes he is the milky way to me.
i like to secretly watch him while he’s counting to infinity and building spaceships. i do indeed believe i could be lifted up into constellations; by this feeling. and sometimes, i swear, it seems as though that is all that i need in life, just to know that he exists. he’ll go his way and i’ll go mine, but as long as i can catch a glimpse of his shadow, i feel a windstorm inside of me. i feel invisible fingertips touching my face, as long as i’m allowed to remember him.
appreciation is what it is.
it is exceptionally easy to delude a child. and might it be that it was exactly for this reason that she thought she was unhappy. she felt lonely — or was it ‘alone’. nevertheless, she loved life, perhaps even more than now. she would lie in a hammock and read all kinds of breathtaking books, and dream of living one someday. little did she know that one mustn’t be so careless with their dreams for they might come true. and it did; she is a very incoherent book now, hence the openness. she no longer knows her place, not even a vague perception of it all crosses her mind. and she no longer has that harmony within; that which allowed her to enjoy little things that only belonged to her and no one else. and she also understands, now she does, that it is now the time of loneliness, but alas there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to be done about it.
and all that world of wonders is lost, now that she has seen the real one; the one she was expected to live in, even though she does not belong anywhere near it. they call it reality; she calls it sadness.
we are just like them. it almost frightens me to think that i probably already know what is it going to look like in the end, like i can see the future. yet, it is hard to understand you. you are difficult, very difficult in all your aspects. you are so distant and unknown to me, you are like the farthest star. still, a star. you are hurt. i am hurt a little bit more. there is a cold space filled with silence between us. although i still am the only one who can look into your mind, just like a bowl of soup.
we are just like them. you do not need me and i do not need you. but somehow we keep clinging to each other in our dreams and in solitude. and somehow your words always remain ringing in my ears like music would. if i listen closely enough, i can hear you say that you will forsake me. but you do not know that, you do not hear it. you listen to yourself more carefully than you listen to anyone else, but you cannot tell apart the sounds. you will forsake me and i will forsake you.
we are just like them. it does not matter what or when we do, our fate is already written in the mesmerizing ripples of the oceans. there is too much electric and eclectic magic in the air. it is hard to breathe. or think, for that matter. although thinking was never an option we would choose. we are merely too used to nonsense, there would be no use in trying to change that.
we are just like them. we do not understand anything, not a single tiny little thing. we allow ourselves to drown in mornings of each other’s eyes, until an apple tree drops the last fruit, which ironically does not depend on the season.
we are just like them, but afterwards, please do remember, it was good knowing you.
people always talk about how important it is to make sure that your loved ones know how you feel about them. they keep flinging about with phrases like ‘you never know when it is going to be too late’ or ‘you have to take your chances’; but what they do not tell you is how incredibly fateful that moment is. the first time you tell someone you love them. and i do not just mean anything as simple as the three words - i love you - themselves. i mean when you tell someone that you love them, or that you are in love with them, and when you really really mean it. when you feel it, physically feel it, and the other person feels it to, sees it coming out of you. because they know. oh, they know. their brains might not be able to tell apart real love from shallow words, but their hearts and souls, and hair, and skin… they always know.
and telling someone that you love them is possibly the only thing that is as fatal as death. you can always apologize people when your words hurt them, and you can change the way you think about things, and you can get to know someone, and later forget them completely. but you can never ever unlove someone, or erase the moment you did fall in love with them, and mute those words that you spoke. everything - everything - changes when you share this description of your feelings with another person. both of your minds have to delete your images of each other and paint them again, in red rosy tones. even if you do not want that; you will not see the person the same as before, because now you know that they know, and that means that whether they reflect the feeling of love or not, they will start judging you concentrating on that one single aspect of your entire being, and they will no longer see you the same as before.
this is what people don’t tell you. declarations of love are capable of destroying greatest friendships and maddening the most rational humans. this is what love does. it often hurts. other times it is blissful and heavenly. but here is the thing - it is overwhelming. even if you don’t realise it at the time - though most often you do - it will hit you sooner or later. that one little memory of telling someone you love them will always be hidden behind your heart, and therefore it will always feel slightly more real than everything else. even after years and years of not seeing the person you entangled into this mess, you will remember the love you felt and the way they responded to it, because you never forget the way people feel about you, because it is the least sensible thing about any kind of relationship between two people. you will most likely not remember their words and there is very little chance that you will recall what colour socks they were wearing when you told them you love them for the first time; but you will forever retrace the way it made them feel.
whatever happens after those determinative words escape your mouth, nothing will ever be the same. you can take your chances and you can make sure that people know how you feel about them before it is too late, but you ought to know that there is a great deal of responsibility landing on your shoulders.
and that is why you should not throw around confessions like that when you do not feel the love seeping out through your eyes and nose and skin pores, when you do not feel it like you feel pain in your feet after walking great distances or the way you feel an ice cube melting in your palm. and sometimes even when you do feel the love this intensely, you still have to refrain from speaking any kind of love related words, because you have to think about the other person, and, more importantly, you have to realise that there are cases when death of any kind of relationship with that person is inevitable after certain words are made audible. because sometimes people cannot accept what you are offering. even if you think it is only to make sure that they know this simple fact, that you love them, it is never just that; and sometimes they merely cannot accept it. this having been said, no one wants to lose a friend over some stupid phrase expressing some stupid feeling. and so sometimes you have to say it like you do not mean it. the little dragon inside of your heart will roar and spit fire, and try to do bad things to you for not telling the truth as it is, and for not letting it out, but it is something you have to do. to keep the harmony in life. to not extinguish the tension. to let that person use your heart instead of a pillow and without the risk of having it broken, perchance there would be too much love or no love at all, not even a little bit.
inhale, exhale. (sometimes you have to) love in silence. inhale, exhale, inhale… it will pass. keep breathing. share a pot of tea and look them into the eyes, for that is as close as you are bound to get, and it is perfectly enough.
this painting, this window-like mirror, framed in an old silver frame. it breathes back at me, and i pray; ’forgive me,’ i pray, ‘child.’ but she hardly shows any affection or sympathy, she hardly looks at me. i bring her rosy waterlilies, and i pray more; more hastily. the answer is chilly silence penetrating my ears and my eyes. ‘why, why do you do this to me?’ i cry out. she sits down on the floor, and looks at me; her gaze pierces through me and it’s cold. i stretch my arms and reach for her, i want to shake her, i want to make her feel pain, i want her to feel bitter, and i want her to react; anything, but this silence. but she seems to be indulging in this torture. she wishes not to answer, because she knows - i know - i deserve this. i just do not understand, why did they leave me to make all these mistakes, and to become this shallow grey figure standing before a window-like mirror. i wish they had held my hand and guided me through sharp seashore rocks. it makes me mad, to think that they would let me fail so many times; that they would let me fall. it makes me furious and sad, and i do not wish to talk. i am full of grudge, so there, i sit down in silence, and stay forever locked inside myself.
music reminds me of you. you remind me of music. you will never ever be forgotten; not the way you make me feel. and the dreams you inject under my skin while i am sleeping; i will not forget them. i will not forget the words i wanted to speak out loud, and the feeling of tears freezing in my throat. you are unforgettable, my dear. every little tiny part of you. even the emptiness you leave is stronger than a thousand of cold wild winds; the emptiness could make my house collapse. and your thoughts, your thoughts are my thoughts; and your smiles are my smiles, and you are mine, forever. although forever is not enough to love you.
so please, forgive and forget me. just as one would forget last year’s snow. because i am on fire, my dear. my hands are on fire. and my heart is in your pocket; take care of it. put it in a vase with lilacs on your writing desk or next to your morning cup of tea.
many hands, strong and seemingly warm hands, reached for her from the darkest corners of the universe. but these hands were not evil, they carried inner light; the kind of light that could not be seen. only felt. but sometimes these hands would get cold, for they did not have any mittens, and they would start letting go, even for a brief moment, even just for as long as it takes for a tear to drop from one’s eye. then she would fall, and feel cold cold ice beneath her feet. but even in moments like that she always remembered to look up, to meet the stars. because that is one thing that never changes - she could be torn by storms, she could be drowning or burning, she could be merely standing in the middle of an autumn field, but when she lifted her eyes, the stars were always there. sometimes stars get cold too. then they shield themselves with clouds. but she still knew the stars are there, it’s just that they couldn’t be seen. only felt. but there were times when she would get lonely. the hands were cold and the stars were freezing. and at times like that, it would take more than one teardrop to roll down her face, then her neck, until it would reach her collar bones, and then disappear under her sweater. but sometimes the whole world was holding onto her. it’s just that… she would always smile. always.
two people fell into the ocean. of smiles and shimmering gazes of loving eyes, and eventually - heartbreaks. “you hung a big yellow sun above my head,” he said. she nodded and told him not to think about silly things such as that. but her windswept smile was hiding much more than just simple carelessness.
people say things they do not mean all the time. these are demons of necessity trying to make the world spin to their ridiculous rhythm. these demons spitting fire and always taking the last cube of sugar; they will make sure that two people do not meet. and if that does happen, after all, then the demons will make sure that two people do not catch their relief.
and even though her decision was not to fall in love, she did. and her heart kept fluttering like the little wings of a dancing hummingbird. she did put up a ridiculous fight against herself, and threw that fragile bird into a bucket full of water, and hid it under three thick layers of white snow. but it kept humming.
he did thereabout the same. because, come on!, what else was there to do? the malevolent mrs misery was rubbing her hands as she stood outside the window, shoulder to shoulder with liverish mr incomprehension. and everyone else was astonished by the alleged seeming coldness between two people. little do they know. it is such a shame that demons know not of how much love sickness hurts.
“you are my wild blue sky,” two people thought.
every year there comes a time when leaves turn red and love becomes slightly more difficult and, perchance, morbid. people start feeling some kind of a void opening inside of them, and while waiting for it to be filled, they often take shelter in modest, yet fairly crowded cafes, scattered around the rainy streets of the old part of the town.
people are observers by nature, thus table at the window is always a preference. some do not wish to let on that they are taking a great deal of interest in the show happening outside and keep stealing long pensive glances, while others baldly indulge in longing for something that is lost out there. if people do not get to sit by the window, they merely enjoy the symphony of sounds and smells inside of this little slowly spinning world. the clatter of spoons nestling up against cups and muted chatter whirring around, and the smells of all kinds of different coffees and freshly baked goods; it always gives me a somewhat thrill.
every year there comes a time when i wake up and find myself sitting at a seemingly lonely cafe table, wistfully gazing out the window, mesmerized by the fey dance created by raindrops stomping upon warmth colored leaves. and yet, i would not say i am anything close to sad, but rather full of hopes and childish dreams.
i was drowning in one of these long moments of calmness, feeling relatively happy and protected from my spanish demons, when my gaze inadvertently tripped over a man. he was fairly tall, yet he seemed mysteriously fragile. he swiftly swung one leg back and got off of his black metallic horse. all kinds of songs started pouring through my ears until i could hear one particular melody ringing in my head very clearly and vividly; y aunque la vida me cueste, no dejare de quererte.
a warm stabbing feeling flooded over my head. “and although it costs me my life,” i thought to myself, “i will never stop loving you.” and even tough it was the most naive thought someone has ever had, it filled my void with burning fluttering wings of white doves.
“the dead make no noise,” was another line. and i knew i would remain dead up until the end of cafe working hours. then put up my umbrella and walk home, having no recollection of this man by the time i reach my door.
sometimes people fall in love. people fall in love often. autumn love is more fragrant.
i stop and look around. nothing has changed. not the green grass, not the apple trees leaning over it, offering their fruits as red as blood. not the sleeping cat, curled up by the cracked line of cement. not even the flowers that grow old and die at the end of every summer, and get born again in every spring. and the sky with its traveling horses and mountains of clouds has stayed the same, and kept its blues hanging over my head. and the smells haven’t changed a bit. sweet and fresh, and careless. and the sounds of birds talking about weather, and someone’s rattling plates and spoons sound just the same. and the bells of church declaring that it’s already half past five sound familiar and dear. nothing has changed. the old wooden sheds have shrank ever so slightly, though. but as my mind races back ten or twelve, or even fifteen years, and as i see us climbing on the old grey slating, picking plums and pears; it hits me like a furious train of understanding: i’ve changed. and those boys constantly playing fairylike piano melodies, they have changed too. and my sighing sounds much more serious and heavy. and i find it hard to breathe. as if my lungs are getting smaller, trying to suffocate me from the inside. and the voices of little outlandish children are not ours. time is falling down on me, and i can’t seem to understand a thing. i am not strong enough to forget just yet. i stop and look around. everything has changed. except for two bright butterflies dancing before me, caressing each other with their fragile movements of wings. seemingly, they’re saying, remember, remember.
