About a man

Old, gray man, about five feet tall walking through my neighborhood. It's been four years now. Why does he constantly seeks for my look? Hello? 

You would say he's maybe lonely, sad, small in his own world. But no. He has such blue deep eyes, kind of scary filled with anger, misery. The funniest thing  is that he knows my grandpa. I think they've been working together. I just turn my look left, right up, or down pretending that I didn't saw him. I know it's awkward, but I can't help myself letting him to look at me. There's something Nazi in him.  I don' t like the way he's talking with his grandson, I don' t like his wife ,who is everything but woman, I don't like his son' s wife, who's maybe the loudest mother in our neighborhood. I saw him this morning again. He was crossing the street. Fortunately, I was driving in a cab (this couldn't stop me staring at him once again through the window), but when the cab was approaching to him, I lower my head down. 

Just in case.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions.

It is cool. It was warm, though. For couple of days. I was cool. Now, I'm warm. I don't have reason neither an explanation for it. It's just the Scandinavian coolness and breeze warmed me up. It warmed up my feelings again. Yesterday, while I was walking through the Kronborg castle, I saw the famous quote in one one the museum shops: ' To be or not to be.' I stood there for a while wondering and thinking about the sentence that made such an impact on a whole literature world. Then I tried to applied it to my current state of being. What if I'm to be and someone else not.  Am I by myself in my own state of being? Or its just a fiction? That is the question. 

I couldn't find the answer. I didn't want to. I like my own state of being, I thought. It keeps me warm. I flew like a bird which spent some time captured in a cage. I had an excuse. It made me feel free now.

What if they catch me again? Am I gonna find my way back?

What if...?

Repentance. That's all I can feel now. What stopped me? What I was thinking? Did forces of Universe stopped me of becoming  an object of compassion? 

I act like a Parisian instead- I didn't let you outsmart me. I felt regret deep beneath after that.

He asked me when the playground was built. I answered listless. Then, he asked for my address number. I was happy he remembered just a part of it, but then I start remembering of all time he'd dial that address. He knew it back then. Why did he erased it from his memory? It's just a stupid address. You will not make your RAM memory full. 

I didn't want him to call cab. I stopped him going for a little bit-I had to bought bread. I got a slightly touch across my shoulders in turn. In fact, I wanted something more. Something real, something touchable - warm. I got imitation of an intimate hug and a Good night  instead.

A little too early

I'm having  nightmares last couple of days. I'm driving a car without a brakes, roaming through the wood road, screaming for someone to appears.  I googled dream interpretation  'drive' and  it says-unpleasant experience.  It happened last night again. 

It must have been connected with his appearance in my life. Again.

I guess.

He came so unexpected, bringing me some very  new dimension of himself. Or maybe I took a new dimension. I tried not to fall under his influence, appearance, smell, look. I tried to resist  - not letting him to drag me. I listened him speaking, waving his hand with ciggarette in it trying to explain me something (which I maybe didn't listened, beacause I was in some other movie-trying to take off his clothes along with his dubiety). I wish I could be a ciggarette you smoke, I thought. I wish you to suck me with every single smoke you inhale.

I was trying to reach him over that chain but I couldn't - law of physics didn't let me. I would fall. It would be funny. So close, but yet so far. The only thing I could do is just feel his smell. It wasn't enough. Being beside someone you can not touch or feel drives me crazy. Especially when that someone walked so quickly through your life leaving everything you desire. I 'm feeling like Hansel and Gretel collecting his crumbs, but I'm not sure where it will lead  me. Is it going to bring me somewhere? Or maybe I'm gonna wonder around like I did in my dream last night ending up in some kind of a dark hole in misty woods. 

I felt proud. I didn't answer on his hidden intentions. Maybe they were not hidden - maybe I just wanted them to be. Stupid female! 

We'll go no more a roving

I try to fall asleep without your presence, without you in my thoughts last night. I tried, I really did.

Oh, Gods know I tried.

I sought for you the moment I put my head on the pillow and tuck myself into the warm and soft sheets. It didn't took long for my heart to take control over my mind. Seconds.

Night - it always gets me somewhere I want to be, especially when he is laying next to me in his  20th century old apartment with gobelins, old books about mechanics and records. I look around, absorbing every single detail of it. The colors, carpenter shades and tiny threads and that blanket with huge rhomboid I always got my leg stuck into.  I get closer to you so you could hear me breathing, feel my warmness, my cold feet. You used to warmed them up. I tried to explain you that they're always cold.  Coldness. 

So, I was thinking there, trying to fall asleep, but it didn't work out. I was looking at your face trying to think, imagine - do anything but without you in it.  How could anyone just stare at somebody without thinking? I could look him for hours.  Observing.

Sometimes you would ignore my hand strolling around your body. You would turn around, just kissed me or start touching my hair.

"Are we going to sleep?", you asked me. I turned to the other side of the bed and fell asleep with my eyes open.

Wear it like a shell

I was sitting the other day and thinking about people's search for happiness. Is there any scientific evidence that man can  actually find it?

 Happiness.

 It’s sounds like a guide to the galaxy or something.  Once you find it, you are fullfilled, satisfied, nothing can spoil it. You become a carrier of the same. But, there is one thing I more into: how strong can be the will of the one to start all over again once he/she looses it? I was always fascinated by human power and will for resistance, for taking one step forward, or, in my case- back.

Past.

We are all, somehow connected to it. It persecute us when we’re not even aware.  Sometimes you find it in a face, song , fallen leaves , Autumn, November, placard in a city centre which hasn’t been still detached. It’s so hard to forget past, but it’s even harder to  resist to it (especially when past was sweeter than present).

“You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking how you'll escape one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.” John Green, Looking for Alaska

I am...

"Now and then you realize that all of them are constantly making a fool of you. But, you get used to it after a while." 

I paraphrased old friend of mine. She got married at her best age - the age you could conquer the whole world; got pregnant twice and now, her husband is cheating on her. She's OK with that. She told me few things 'every woman should know'. ( sounds like a headline from those chick magazines where they thought you how to behave in your unhappily marriage, what to wear or drink in front of your future husband, whether fart or not!)

"They are all the same. And, I can tell you 90 per cent of women are also the same. Every one of us was standing in front of the mirror and slapping herself in the face."

 I used to slap myself on the face now and then. It doesn't help. It doesn't even help when someone else does it. I turn Billie Holiday instead and feel sorry for myself.

We all did that right? I'll never forget what professor of mine told us girls once in high school:" You are perfect. He doesn't need to know you aren't. You will always have a smile on your face and behind the first corner cry as much as you can. In their eyes you will always be happy, beautiful, satisfied, successful. A lady." She is divorced.

Sounds like a Marilyn Monroe advice, but is this true? Can we show a little bit(much) of our emotions to men? I showed a little too much.

Lady.

Chakra

This morning, on my way to work I was passing by the old hotel in my town and noticed a middle age woman with her golden retriever waiting at the stoplight. Since I'm a fast walker, I slowly started approaching them. Woman  looked at the dog, lower her hand and told him:" Sit down!"  The dog looked at her so obediently,with such respect . He sat and  turned his back to the main street. I start searching for his innocence look. Then he put his tongue out of his mouth and look at me.

"I feel calm now", I thought.

 He looked like a small innocent child sitting down there. His golden fur was gleaming on a cold morning Sun. I gave him one more look before crossing the street. Those hairy creatures always elicits smile on my face and brighten up my day.

I left smiling, leaving the hairy one wagging his tale. 

Ballerina.

When I was younger I never knew what I wanted to be when I grow up. Actually, I think I was telling people that I want to be a doctor.  Nah! Maybe because I spend so much time in hospital when I was kid (the moment I walked through  the front door, I would show the nurse my back). In order to be good, I used to get those plastic injections.  I’m wondering why people don’t ask us now what we want to be when we grow up. I’m not a grown up yet. I don’t want to be.

When someone would ask me now what would be my future profession I would say:  a ballet dancer.  A ballerina who plays piano.   I’ve always been skinny and my fingers are long-you need that, right?  During the day I would attend my classes at some Russian ballet school with all those masculine men holding you and tossing you here and there. Of course, I would not be prima ballerina-I would be standing somewhere behind her in case she fell. (I’ve always been clumsy, maybe that’s the way I attend folklore instead). After the long day I would enjoy my piano lessons. Chopin and Tchaikovsky were always my favorite. Wagner, too. Oh, I would play Tristan and Isolde and made choreography for the same. Ballerina would dance and dance possessed with passion  dying to find out that that their love is immortal.

Little Tageselixier

Smell.

The only sense probably working properly in my entire body system. As much as I hate it, sometimes, it takes me back to something or somebody I forgot. Sometimes, I even made up new smells which could connect me with some events or people. It is even worse when some smells you adored back then, constantly persecutes you. Like that, night (or is it day..never mind) skin cream I bought last year. I bought it intentionally. It was packed in those small boxes you take for a short trip.

I took a short trip. Not because of the cream, but because of the person that skin cream is going to remind me of. I still keep it above my bed on a shelf. It's been empty for a while. It was empty the day I came back home. Sometimes I open it too. I think the smell  it's not fading at all.

Something in between

                                                                          

I've always been a good kid. Very good,but not always excellent grades, obedient,responsible,respectful. My parents never had a problem with me. Then I started partially living something people called: teenage years, crazy years. Kind of. Not fully. I guess I could blame my distorted perception of the world, my twisted universe ideas: what could have happened, what if I do that, this, and those kind of things. I've never gave in to a life completely. Then, something happened at the age of 20. I started living a life fully (according to my standards). Obviously, my parents couldn't cope with that. So they started here and there complaining about my behavior and style of life.  

On the other hand, I couldn’t understand them. I’ve never done something wrong in my life. Especially not something they could be ashamed of. Maybe they are the one to blame.

Last night I walked into a kitchen directly  from work. I took my clothes off, opened the fridge and  took a beer. As I started drinking it my father started yelling and screaming: "What's wrong with you?! Are you insane?! You're a totally drunkard, you didn't even ate! I didn't even have an answer on his criticism, and then I just answered: "I've already ate, dad!"

Then my mum appeared and just said:” Don’t pay attention, its full Moon tonight!”

Happily never after

Once upon a time there was a girl who fell in love with a boy. He was no ordinary boy. He was handsome. He smelled good. She liked that smell. Whenever she thought of him, the smell appeared.

He had a nice smile too. It was seducing. Maybe she fell on that.

He had small thick fingers. Not masculine one. Although, she liked it. When he wasn't around she would imagine all the things he could do with his fingers: touching her hair, backs, lips. Touch has a memory. A memory she could not erase from her inner senses.

Sometimes she would go to a local cosmetic shop searching for perfume he might have use. She never find out which one it was. She would presumed.

He still smells.

He's still smiling.

He does have same hands.

He's not there anymore.

Good morning, heartache

She looked at him one more time and could not believe how unconsciously he was seducing her. Her hands started diving into his.She wanted the touch, his fingers touching her breasts, hips. Nothing.

He fell asleep. As usual.

She started waking him up by kissing his chin, face, eyes,nose, ears, forehead, his scar on a forehead. Then again, all over. Like a girl who can't get enough of a non sugar candy.

He would still lying.

She kept staring at his big pink face. He had such a lovely clear,pink face with a beard (no, he used to had it back then), his eyelashes. Why, I can't have eyelashes like those, she would ask herself.

-"I don't feel nothing anymore", he said.

-"How's that?", she asked.

-"I just don't feel I need it."

Here we go again, she thought. Just like a vicious circle,same story started again.

She felt so alone,exploited, insecure,unloved. She felt loved during the night but unloved in the morning. Like, everything would disappear during that 5 to 6 a.m.period when Sun would rise.

Sometimes, she used to cry over him. In her thoughts,of course.

The Sun was rising. She fell asleep somewhere between his chin and shoulder.

He was still sleeping. Sometimes she could hear snoring.

Year pass,day never.

North,I love you!

I hate warm August nights. I'm feeling like a sea fish lying and burning on the beach. I hate summer at all.

I hate that Brazilian song playing on the radio. It's so summertime feel like. I used to like that song. It reminds me on Brazilian soap operas I used to watch  when I was a teenager. It's not even original. It is stupid cover.

Female vocalist is still calling Brazil.

She must have been summer girl.

I've always imagined myself living in northern countries. Maybe Scandinavia. I've never been there. There is something interesting I found in those blonde Scandinavian boys. Sophisticated. Irresistible.

Girl is calling Brazil.

I want my leather jacket on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxVRhcLXftg