Intamplarile din viata noastra sunt doar un spectru care descrie intamplarile care urmeaza. Orice switch de mood ne schimba perspectiva. Cand citesc ce ti-am scris, ma intreb ce intelegi. Pentru ca e trist, si chiar si acum, tristetea de saptamana trecuta e palpabila, umple spatiul dintre cuvinte. Dar ea mai e doar aici, pe o foaie virtuala, si acolo, pe o alta straduta, intre paginile unei carti bune. Vezi, lucrurile se schimba. Noi ne schimbam. Acum o saptamana nu vedeam mai departe de un 'niciodata'. Astazi pot vedea orice, oricand. 

Pentru ca unele zile sunt happy. Bune. 

Unele zile nu sunt.

Si exact astea sunt zilele pe care nu reusesc sa mi le amintesc. Nu mai stiu ce s a spus si ce s a intamplat. Stiu doar eticheta pe care i-am pus-o. Nu mai stiu ce am simtit, pot doar sa imi inchipui. 

Tristetea e o limitare, un 'imposibil' care refuza sa iasa din orizontul tau. E o straduta cu sens unic, cu asfalt prost. Nu stii exact de ce ai luat-o pe acolo, cum sa faci sa iesi de acolo safe, nu stii ce te asteapta inainte, insa nu poti da inapoi, esti obligat sa o tii tot asa. 

Azi visez. Sa fac, sa fiu, sa devin. Creez. Cred. Si totul pare altfel.

ganduri de 5 de fapt 6 a.m.

Dorm prost. 

Nu pentru ca sunt singura, ci pentru ca ma am prea multe ganduri in mine. Si cand adorm, aceleasi ganduri imi agita visele. Se strecoara in sufletul meu si mi arata imagini care se decoloreaza si se dematerializeaza ca intr un tablou de Dali. Te visez pe tine, de parca ai fi imprimat, in piele, pe interiorul pleoapelor mele. Sau undeva pe retina - ochii mei te proiecteaza continuu, cu o incapatanare minunata, pe care nu reusesc sa o infrang. Dar incerc. Te visez si seara trecuta nu a fost cu nimic speciala. De indata ce am inchis ochii, ai fost acolo, prezent, viu. Asa ca dupa o ora am tresarit, si m a trezit de tot lumina. Soarele. Nu era inca rasarit, dar era spre zi, se pregatea o zi. Mi am amintit de nopti pierdute razand in fata unui calculator, de nopti langa tine, cu o voce care imi canta 'the door is open and the room feels different'. Umarul meu rece, sarutat, pielea mea calda, mangaiata. Linistea si apoi rasul tau. Aceeasi ora, acum nu-stiu-cate-saptamani, eu alergand dupa un taxi care sa ma aduca la tine, prima data, pentru ca simteam ca nu trebuie sa fiu nicaieri altundeva decat acolo.

Mi am amintit cum ma intrebai daca as renunta la cea mai fericita zi din viata mea pentru a scapa de cea mai urata... Si cum atunci as fi spus da, poate pentru ca aveam incredere in mine, ca pot face happiness din orice, poate pentru ca imi era frica de ziua aia si nu vroiam sa sufar. Poate pentru ca eram fericita langa tine, si nu vroiam sa pierd fericirea asta, oricat de mica era ea. Dar cu ce e mai buna fericirea mediocra?

Si m-am gandit, in zori, ca vreau o zi, DOAR o zi, in care sa ma simt fericita, cea mai fericita. Pentru ca mai apoi, cand vor veni zile triste si urate, amintirea fericirii si a unui zambet sa faca tristetea sa para un copil, un lucru mic care nu poate ajunge pana la mine nicicum.

Si am stat privind pe geam ore-n sir, un decor care nu doar parea facut din carton, dar imi era strain intru totul. 

Intrebandu-ma ce visezi, daca ti-e dor si ce vom fi noi... 

Cand? Niciodata.

the black alice

Today...uh, it s already yesterday. My head spins. It s been like this the whole day. I rewrote something that everyone knows. A story, one that has been told one to many times for sure. I did not put it again on paper, i made it real. I wrote/lived a different story of Alice, only it was the non blonde nor blue eyed version. It was a darker tone, like my soul. As i went to bed last night, i never imagined i would wake up in a different world. One that functions by rules that are no the same (if there are any). 

As i am tired enough not to be able to put here all the story, as it was recorded in my head, i will give you a fragment. Take it as it is. A sad metaphorical version of the real life, my real life. Or what used to be my real life, since I obviously lost a part of this..life. 

The mad hatter made me a hat that didn't fit me. No mather how much i shrank or grew, the hat kept outgrowing me. At times my soul did felt big, but it was always to small for that hat. One day, the hat oversized me entirely, and there i was - left in the dark. 

Where do we go from here? i asked my hat. 

But there were no more ansers left, and there was no going back.

NO going back.

The hat was too big, but i never wanted one. It came to me by other circumstances. And now, i am stuck with the feeling of impossible.

Not every story comes with an ending. Imagine it yourself, cause i m done dreaming. 

I only wanted you. 

You will be missed. Too much, too long.

Alice

perfect saturday

This city runs fast, no one has time to sit with themselves,no time to look into our pain
or see the same despair in everyone else
its here, its there, its everywhere tears soak each card the dealers dealt
But time taught me how to see every second as heaven even though they're perfectly disguised as hell
And I refuse to let past bruises cover the light
it ain't all good, but its all good enough,
so I know I'm alright
agony is truth its our connection to the living I accept it as perfection and keep on existing in the now

I can only build if I tear the walls down
even if it breaks me I wont let it make me frown
I'm falling but no matter how hard I hit the ground
I'll still smile



- eyedea (one idea that you gave me, ironic, isn t it?) -

Perfect clothing

I'll never be the woman with the perfect hair, who wears white without spilling on it.

i guess that says it all.

and although i have so many thoughts dancing in my head, i cannot pick a single one to write it down.

I'm not perfect, and neither are you. Together we get close to perfection, but as all things, 'we' has flaws too.

I could write it. But i cannot find the will to do so. I do not want to spill over my white dress.

The best clothes are those hidden in the closet, cause they can never be touched by time nor reality. 

But how could i keep my heart in a bottle?

about her.

I used to know this girl. She was a woman and a girl all in one, at the same time. Loved her for what she was, and for the fact that others didn t quite understood her as i did. Every night she lit up a cigarette and wrote. About...everything. The thougths that couldn t quite make it out of her lips, though they scarred her brain and repeat themselves over and over and over. Keeping them was terror to her nights, her days. So she put them down on paper, while smoking, in the middle of the night. I-love-you's, sadness, madness. Everything that her head produced hit the papers like a storm. Things that eventually got out, late (too late) or things that never did see reality (the spoken one). See words are traps. They are never the same to each one of us. As time passed, she realised it. Truth is the same, but the form it takes is different.

...

Smiles all the way

I believe i can mend a broken heart...

In the years that have passed, i became used to not being happy. I m talking about real happiness, the kind that makes you smile all the way, but has no reason. The one that makes every rainy day full of sunlight, every cold winter s day a warm summer.

Yes, i sometimes had some piece of the happy cake, bits, here and there. And as years came and went, i stopped expecting real happiness... i got into the unhappy game and got stuck there. As if there was never going to be a change, and my heart got sick, my mind got sick. Then i started to change my behaviour. I met all the wrong people, who broke my spirit. And so on. I was left heartbroken and unhappy for so long, that i actually perceived the whole situation as a normal one. As in it was normal for me to be misstreated by a boyfriend, cause this kind of shit happens; it was normal for me to be sad, cause life is not a combination of beautiful events and people...

When did i get you?

I cannot trace the exact moment. I believe it took us a lot to be here.

You saw ME. I had my eyes wide shut, but now i see YOU.

I wanna laugh all the time, as if my face muscles are in some kind of motion distress. I wanna tell people i know and people i don t know that i have been given something special, SOMEONE special.  In so many ways, you brought me back. Back to happiness.

Thank you, mister man-friend.

* i ve never written anything so silly. Not since i grew up.

I should be locked away for feeling too much pink&sugar in my life.