A Long Lost Memory

I like you. A lot. For a long time now. I don"t want to say I love you, because we never even held hands. We never even kissed. But...
Anyway, you re all over the place. I mean we both are in a way. We've both seen some of the world in our own terms. It just feels that, somehow, you re always further.

Once I dreamt that the earth was flat and you were on the other side. I couldn't shout loud enough for you to hear me and meet me half way; so I got so fat that the earth started to tip, and you fell all the way from the edge of the world into my arms. Then I lost the weight and we raised together two flawless children.
You see, when you re dreaming, there is always a solution. But this sort of things, they don"t really happen in real life.
In real life you wait, you give up, you give your time to someone else. Because you never really know how much space you occupy in other peoples lives.
SO You make promises, to others, to yourself. Some you keep, others you keep to yourself.
I wish I could explain at least vaguely accurate how much you mean to me. To be able to  move through your present in such a way that would make all past suffering worth it. I would have loved to make you proud of your past, to make you believe that it was the necessary foundation of your happiness.
i would have loved to cook for you, to drink with you. To dance together on our four left feet. To do all with you, all the marvellous things I did with people I didn't care that much about.
But I am human and as much as Id want to I can never be the ocean in which you wash your troubles away. Your morning coffee. Your inner city on a sunny day.
Even though, sometimes, you are all that for me.
I mean, there are days, when I'm sick of it all and I just feel like laying down and never waking up, but in those last seconds before falling asleep, a random memory of ours comes to the back of the head and I can hear you laugh, somewhere in the darkness of my room. Slowly I fall asleep, smiling.

Fever Dream

Life resides in all things.
But most of all, it is our chests that contract and expand under its movement. I remember waking up in a room by the beach, tee-pees growing timidly from the sand. The sun stretched out his hands embracing his lover, the sea. I looked at the bed beside me and her puppy was sleeping unaware of the world outside those sheets.
As I walked to the kitchen, my kitten jumped on my leg. Her tray was full but she just wanted a bit of my time. As I lowered my hand she licked it and pushed her head against it. A simple gesture that shows you have a place in this world, to give and receive affection. I took her out on the balcony and we both watched the sea in silence, each from our own chair.
I knew that after a while, the sun will set, the girl will be gone and the dog along with her. I will wake up in bed by myself. But somehow it could not bother me in that moment.
And I was right, days flew by, autumn came. And i found myself one day starring lividly at the keys of a typewritter. The notes I took all summer were stained with wine, salt and cicarette ash. The letters were scribbled, as if written in a rush, as if I was performing a duty that kept me from living. Kept me from the world outside that I was so eagerly trying to get back to.
I was drunk on whiskey and I could only read some words:
Casino, waves, sand. I looked outside and the cold rain was throwing itself against the glass.
I had another whiskey. It felt warm and as I closed my eyes and in that wave of warmth I began to dream again.

I opened my eyes to the sound of a piano, trapped between walls from which pink and purple flowers gazed back at me, hypnotized by the music. I sat there for a while, alone in that room. Me and the person playing the piano. I got out.

Passing Colour

At the end of the day, all we`ve got left are our tired bodies. With memories tattooed on the inside and outside of our skin, burning for the right touch.


Fata asta e delir. Ca un vis al unui zeu care, in miliarde de ani de viata, a vazut doar frumusete. O tanara manie care lasa urme de neacoperit in vietile celor prin care trece.
Ochii ei sclipesc, uneori albastri, alteori verzi, mereu acoperiti de culorile in care priveste si isi imprima pasiunea. E imposibil sa nu adori, chiar si de la distanta, felul in care refuza sa fie inchisa in ceva usor de descris. Cu parul si hainele ei care isi schimba stilul si culoarea, totul in cel mai placut haos posibil. E genul de furtuna de care te bucuri, pe care o inviti in viata ta. Cu siguranta nici umbra ei nu ii reflecta formele, ci e ceva mai mult tangibil, ca o bucata de catifea in miscare.
Uneori imi inchipui ca miroase a nopti tarzii, a vin rosu, pagini de carte si piele. A sare de mare sub lumina unei Luni de os. Alteori a parfum din alte lumi, a cafea cu  rom si rochii pe care doar ea alege cand le da jos.
Poate e o opera de arta la care lumea se holbeaza fara a intelege prea multe. Dar E haotica. Sigur. Prin felul in care schimba fibra spatiului din jurul ei in obiecte si forme stranii. Si felul in care ridica povesti din nimic, te leaga iremediabil de ea. Poti vedea sute de pesti tropicali, poti sta in mijlocul unui camp de flori salbatice; toate lucrurile astea, iti vor duce inevitabil gandul la ea.
Uneori Imi pare usor distrasa, uitand adesea firul conversatiilor in care e prinsa, nu pentru ca ar avea o memorie indulgenta, ci pentru ca uneori prezenta ei e rapita de oameni care nu-i pot capta atentia.
Dar Trebuie sa fi fost fragila candva. Candva, inainte ca experiente violente sa ii dea stralucirea orbitoare de acum. Probabil sunt lucruri in ea, care au disparut pentru totdeauna, precum fum ce urca intr-un cer de fier.
Cu toate astea, dincolo de distanta asurzitoare, dincolo de orizonturi infinite, dincolo de praf si ecouri, de zilele in care totul amorteste intr-o tigara sub lumina care cade printre stele, ea ramane o enigma. Pentru ca nu are rost sa explici lucruri pentru care nu exista cuvinte.
In lumina rece a diminetii, adorm cu gandul ca noi poate nu suntem chiar asa diferiti.

Nothing 1.0

I lived in room with abandoned manequins.
My lower jaw was rotting from all the

senseless talking.
When I closed my eyes, i dreamed of

myself in my youth. Suit, tie and matching

mask.
When I opened my eyes, I was nothing. I

had no body. Invisible to the world.
So I glared at the world outside in silence.
The way cats must do, after they died their

sixth time.
I'm 26 and I feel a thousand years old. A

caterpillar that ignored each chance it had

to turn into a butterfly.
It is disastruous to live in world of glass

that mirrors your hideous reflection with

each step you take.
There are dusks in which I want to sleep

beneath the snow.
Dawns in which I want to dissolve and flow

with the puddles into the oblivious

darkness beneath the city.
But I fall asleep each morning. And when I

wake up, the sun is gently licking my skin.
And I forget for a while, who I am, what

I`ve done...