Sometimes one of the biggest mistakes I make is choosing to cool down a bit before writing my overall opinion. It’s bad, because I cannot reflect against it as well as I’d be able to when the wound is still fresh.

People have problems assessing the concept of “letting it be” when all you need is empathic silence. I find myself driven recklessly through the path of uncertainty, with nothing to blame but my constant need of finding balance. I place myself in a trance of thoughts and ideas, trying to reach for something I can hold on to.

“You take a wishful look back
This is a predetermined path”

I’m gripping on to things I cannot consider apart from me, and still, I know, the chance of losing is as fair as life gets. I paid their prices: silence, peace, happiness, sleep, but most of them keep haunting me. Trying to find yourself in others’ eyes sometimes reveals things you wanted to stay unknown.

I’m still wondering what was the exact moment when everything went so badly down the hill, and what made me hopelessly lose my grip on everything. For this, I cannot blame anyone more than myself. I just wish I knew what it is exactly to hold  against me.

“Give me some time
To cure my regret
And please let me learn
To find faith in trust ”

Good guys are labelled as less interesting. So what? My sanity isn’t worth losing over anyone’s amusement.

I thought I had forgotten this feeling, hidden it somewhere in a dark corner. But now it woke up from its’ long slumber; ready to haunt, like any nightmare. Gritting its’ sharp and long teeth at me. It didn’t need too much time to reach me, just a matter of blinking my eyes at the wrong moment.

Cuvintele devin goale, sentimentele nule si straduinta zadarnica.

Sunt lucruri care iti aluneca atat de usor printre degete, incat nici nu realizezi intr-o clipa tarzie ca intre pumnii tinuti strans nu a mai ramas decat aer.

Este inutil sa trag o linie si sa evaluez ce e in urma. Multe lucruri in viata cer, mai presus de orice, timp.

Ploaie.
Nu pot sa descriu o anume stare sau senzatie pe care o am atunci cand ploua. Sentimentele sunt, pe cat de variate, pe atat de contrastante. Si picaturile dese, pierdute printre oameni.

Umezeala, frig.
Nu imi place frigul. Anul acesta am dezvoltat cu atat mai mult o apatie deosebita pentru temperaturile scazute, dupa varii episoade in care am simtit, practic, ca nu ma pot misca din cauza frisoanelor care ma cuprindeau. Inainte parca nu eram chiar atat de friguroasa.

Tremur.
Reactie pe care nu o pot controla. Frig, emotie, nervi sau prea multa cafea, tremurul ma urmareste, parca. Si gustul amar al amintirilor, alunecandu-mi in minte, sufocand orice speranta de intoarcere. Senzatia unui fior de gheata pe sira spinarii, cu gandul la neputinta.

Innec.
Incercarile nenumarate de a inneca acele urme de amar, de a le otravi, nu au facut decat sa ma darame, odata cu ele. Somnul adanc in care am cazut rapusa nu mi-a adus decat alte cosmaruri, zgariind, tragand si rupand bucati din ceea ce am cladit odata.

Trecut.
Trecutul este o parte din mine. Ceva ce nu voi putea niciodata nega, ascunde sau uita. Impacarea cu el este imposibila. Nu pot decat sa il tin in spatele unei usi, cu speranta ca nu va navali peste mine, deschizand rani ascunse.

Pierduta.
Imaginea pierduta a unei strazi de periferie, prost pietruita si plina de noroi, sunetul tocurilor infundandu-se adanc in mintea mea, in aburii meniti sa stearga raul. Mirosul de pamant umed si lemn putrezit, oprindu-mi parca respiratia. Gustul de fier si rugina.

Confuzie.
Si, totusi, unde au trecut atatia ani, atatea ploi?

I keep staring at the faint blushes on my hands, like stained porcelain. Thoughts, tinted in ruby red, dripping like poison through my heart. A blade, twisting round and round, untill everything is gone.

And somehow, I can’t help but think about that feeling of freedom, when the sea will cover every inch of my ashes.

Complicatii, prea multe complicatii care ma doboara. Uitandu-ma in jur, aria mea de optiuni s-a ingustat, brusc, intr-o gura de palnie mult prea stricta, avand in vedere ceea ce imi doream eu de la viata. Am un gol insuportabil in mine, urland de fiecare data cand gandul meu se abate de la rutina zilnica. Si o senzatie de pustietate care ar starni invidia oricarui desert.

Nu mai pot scrie, nu mai pot gandi, nu mai pot urla si apoi fugi intr-un loc in care sa ma linistesc, singura.

Totul a luat o intorsatura atat de toxica, in atat de putin timp.

Your own home, devoured by shadows. Locked between four walls, suffocating slowly, knowing you’re stuck in a dream, unable to wake up. Realizing your real body is somewhere else.
Darkness devouring everything, icy chills running up and down your spine, as you desperately try to escape your mind’s own prison. You try to end your dream, but all you can do is wake up in another one. The same one, but worse.

You cannot escape the dark-light switches never work when you’re dreaming. Nor do telephones, so you can search for the comfort of a known voice. It’s just you and the shadows. Demons, set on eating up your sanity.

Is this cold world the Land of the Dead?
Not Heaven, nor Hell, but an empty, dark room, the broken mirror of where you once lived. A hollow echo of your former life.
The place where light never goes back on.

Am I lost, forever?

Was it an eternity of madness, or just and hour of sleep? Either way, you wake up, jump from your bed, desperately reaching for the nearest bit of sanity around.

“The past is a puzzle, like a broken mirror. As you peice it together, your image keeps shifting. And you change with it. It could destroy you, drive you mad. It could set you free. “

Asta pana cand MP 3 nu o sa distruga de tot imaginea febletei mele noir.

Nu pot preciza in mod cert momentul in care mana a inceput sa imi tremure, tinand telefonul, sau cand intunericul de afara a navalit peste lumina din camera. Am resimtit gustul amar, ca de fiere, apoi senzatia de ameteala, si un scenariu mult prea vechi mi se repeta in minte.

Respira adanc..

Sunt lucruri de care ma tem, mai mult sau mai putin. Singuratatea este undeva la mijloc. Nu stiu, in ce masura, as ajunge la disperare in momentele in care ma simt singura- probabil ca anii intregi de experienta si-au spus cuvantul. Mult timp mi-a fost frica de intuneric, uneori inca imi mai este. De acel vid care inghite orice si naste demoni, care pandesc intotdeauna momentul cand esti mai vulnerabil, mai singur, mai expus caderii.

Insa cel mai mult ma tem de nebunie. Deoarece stiu ca, odata cu imbratisarea ei, ceea ce a ramas din mine va muri in cele mai groaznice chinuri.