Still.

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Face it. That you cannot go on without me. Toss that pride aside and let it out. Put an end to the torment of never knowing which way the wind is blowing.

I still remember…the crazy ways of starting an argument and never settle until the truth had sweated out of our bodies. I still reminisce the endless walks down our own happiness spree, ignoring everyone else, because everything else, it simply didn’t matter. I  can still feel the dance after all the music had stopped and the passionately maddening sound of your voice. I carry on to still remember us. Do you?

I still crave for that love and I am convinced that no greater one could ever exist. I am not afraid or ashamed to acknowledge it, life is too short and too cruel having put this distance between us. Make it vanish, take it away or fill it with more memories of us. I cannot picture what the future holds without your warm presence in it. Can you?

I still want to remember how your swift and firm hand seized mine.Sometimes, it all seems to be exhaustingly  difficult to remember these. I think time no longer needs time and we may write our own story. Don’t you?

I don’t know how overwhelming or deprived of importance this must feel to you now. Will you tell me?

20 seconds to … myself

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just begins
to live that day.

~  Emily Dickinson

‘So, you are a writer?’

[…]

‘Uhmm… I believe I am.’

Those twenty seconds that followed the question had thrown me in a sudden ambiguity continuum and before I could come up with an answer, I knew I had to be honest to myself. I found myself released from that vortex of self-contradiction and desire to find the truth for myself only when the next Christmas tune broke the silence. In the uni coffee shop, while friendly chatting over a nice cup of Starbucks’ latest caffeinated drink conquest. It took me a while to come up with an honest answer because somehow, my friend’s innocent question had succeeded to unleash a tacit torment.

For the first time, someone other than myself acknowledged my calling. I couldn’t help but wonder if there is something about it that just shouts out to everyone ‘hey, I am a writer’ or if some of us posses an extra ability to read people.

It was my chance to be honest to myself and publicly acknowledge who I am.

Of course, the highest story of all is yet to be accomplished because I can feel it grow. Slowly, step by step and drop by drop it builds its way out. Very soon it will be complete, but then will I gather the courage to share with the world? I always end up going back to the great names which went down in writing history and while I do not have any unrealistic expectations of ever becoming one of them, I desire a flicker of their courage. After all, we are being judged every single day of our life, most of time not even knowingly. Yet, we find the strength to carry on, because we are not alone and we have a story to tell.  And not only once, but always, the greatest books ever written were the mere product of a lifetime translated into hope and purpose. Because no matter how harsh this reality is, if we are able to pass on our story we are vainquers. And perhaps, one day, someone’s hero.

2015

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fear Factor.”

Of never getting my story across.

My only fear is that it will always remain unfinished.

The rushy words inside my head are now throbbing inside my stomach and they pinch my feet. They’re not just Saussurean representation of sounds and images, they’ve already connected and formed a tiny terracotta army. Sometimes, I can hear them. Their slow march grows inside my ears before I go to sleep and sometimes even when I am dreaming.   When I awake, I try to grab them by their tail and ‘pull the story back trough me’. For the past months it managed to get away from me. Hiding behind everyday’s tumult I have rapidly created the perfect comfort zone with sharp edges. Sometimes, I would hit myself against them and the sweet pain of writing again emerges…for a while. But there are times when I bleed, continuously and I do not die, instead, I feel free like floating on top of the world. Vertige, you might say? Perhaps. Yet, I am enjoying it.

This is my promise to myself: from now on, not a day shall pass without continuing my story. It is my destiny, or less fatalist, it is who I am. And I owe it not only to myself but to the One who has put this in me.

We are all here for a purpose. The others are awaiting to see our light. Sit under the tree of inspiration and make room for your story to flow. Freely.

Make this year the best story of your life!

Free to Love

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“Love liberates. It doesn’t just hold—that’s ego. Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go.” ~  Maya Angelou

I just want to close my eyes and see you … remember you with each fiber of my body, every cell of my skin to be filled with your warmth. It is impossible to forget you, as my body remembers yours all the time: the sweet, calm emotion of your arms embracing me, I can still feel it. It’s been almost a year and more days to pass until we will be together again, yet we’d never felt this close. At the slightest inflection of your voice, my heart starts racing, telling me you’re here and that the empty side of my bed is but an illusion. You can make the time stop: nothing’s changed and everything’s alright at your only reassurance. We do not fear distance, we own it. We let distance pull us together and confess rather raw and unfinished, honest thoughts that make us unbreakable. No judgement finds its place in our life, because we can see ourselves mirrored in each other thus, knowing what to adjust and how to be free to be us even when or not together.

‘What is on your mind?’

The type of question that no longer seems to be needed; because you and me, we both know. It is the look in your eyes, the mere reflection of my own image and tears that gather in the corner of your eyes that speak. Words are redundant when the souls connect; we are so different, yet so inseparably the same. You once said we were twins and perhaps that in an ancient time our souls truly were, and now they had re-found each other. It might be the reason why we know one another inside-out and why we find comfort in simply being in a duet. Not two voices that sound like one, but voices that beautifully harmonize and make the singing birds feel jealousy.

There is no part of my existence that has not been incommensurably touched by you. My coffee? It always reminds me of the early mornings when before leaving for work, I would make two cups of coffee, gently placing one by the night stand next to you, only to find it later in the evening, almost untouched and in the same place. It did not bother me, on the contrary, it was one of the sweetest ways to start the day although you didn’t need to wake up and neither did you really enjoy the bitter-sweet taste of it, you wanted to be part of my morning routine and it never felt more lovely. Or your hugs when waking up beside you, that only made want to abandon all worldliness and just slip back into dreams.

Your arms bear magic, the kind of magic that sweeps all the sorrows and make me believe all is possible.

Soulmates

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Rarely do we meet people who truly understand the reason behind our actions … even those you ran into a couple of times, seem to read you so much better than the ones that have known for a matter of years.

It’s amazing how reassuring it feels to simply hear a confirmation of what you are doing right now, in this very moment in life, is the right stage for you; then again, why cannot those who claim they know you, offer you the same trust and encouragement?

Are we just prone to judge the people we ‘know’ best? Or are we merely listening with our heads instead of open hearts?

I believe that in a friend’s perspective, it all starts from the premise of how long you’ve know each other as an allowed-judgment-tool that empowers them to question your every move; not that it would be for the wrong intentions, definitely all’s in your best interest. However, too much questioning always makes you wonder and ponder on the perfectly sure about decision: isn’t in fact, but a dream, a house built on sand? They ask safety questions. Nonetheless, if not in appropriate dosage, it can easily break the spirit. A little piece of safety advice from me: don’t let it happen, know when and where to draw the line. If you provide good answers to their questions and yet it’s not enough, then it’s entirely their choice to either be happy for you, support you or to walk away. Good friends will always be there for you, despite of differences of opinions, circumstances … through it all. The ones who hold your hand and walk beside you. The ones who let you be yourself and with whom even words become redundant. The ones you dearly miss when having a coffee and they’re not present. The ones who make you feel like time stands still, every time you meet.

Perhaps that until later in life, one will not realize the impossibility to blindly rely on the carefully well-intended doubts of friends, and that the time will be just right to learn who their soul mates actually are.

The Bus Deal

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Apparently not all the great things in life have to be fattening, expensive or illegal. Sometimes they might come to you as a considerable lunch discount offer on the back of a return ticket.

Weekend days and everyone is rushing somewhere, anywhere but out of their own houses. Of course that for the more privileged ones this would mean a safe, fast drive to their destination, while for the happy few, as Balzac would put it, there’s nothing more satisfying than depending on the bus’ timetable and shoving the heat drops off their foreheads counting the stops left to go till the descent. Not be misunderstood, I do enjoy the convenient bus rides, it’s even more Eco-friendly, and yesterday it had just the right present for me too.

I would normally consider that the back of ticket is for an advertisement for the new blah-blah at the blah-blah store; this time, it surprised me: A MacDo’s deal for their enormous Big Mac with a side of Medium Fries at a very attractive discount. Now, given the fact that I do enjoy sales season more than any other season, it was only normal that I would check it out. For some reason, people’s faces are almost never that happy and smiley-dovey as they are during this time: everyone’s more kind, more patient and you could see behind every single window, women with their arms full of summer line products rushing to the counter. It’s almost like Christmas!

Today was no different than the past two days, that is thunderstorm in the mornings and melting-yourself-down heat in the afternoons. Nonetheless, I decided to spend this whole Saturday out on the town streets. With no great expectations, just an increasingly consuming desire to loiter around. That is how I found out all the pretty little cafés that (tried to) resemble the Parisian ones, all the saloons with the newest hair highlights trends, even the shabby chic pâtisserie with the best cheese cake ever made, at least on my side of England. By the end of the day, it all culminated with the Carnival parade which although it stopped the traffic, it was a worth while thing to enjoy. Who said the best Carnival takes place only in Rio?

So there it goes, I ended up feeling so much more satisfied and pleasantly surprised than almost any other time when I left the house expecting to find … well, the unexpected, I guess. Everything has only become even more clear to me, that with an open mind and keeping our expectations real, life may actually surprise us. Whether it’s a big mac and fries involved or not, we should never stop believing that the best is yet to come.

Naked Secrets

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We walk past each other on the crowded streets.

Sometimes they’re empty, the town’s deserted and our paths would still cross. Sometimes, I wish I knew what was hiding behind those sad, deep eyes.  What are you hiding? The same things that I do? Or, perhaps we’re all keeping the same secrets, safely sealed deep inside.

So many times I wanted to talk to you, grab your hand and steal a few moments of your hurried pace, always marching towards an unseen destination. Sadly, you do not even notice me. We walk the same way, everyday, we trot the same streets, we live in the same building, still, you won’t know my name. Once, you looked at me and I was afraid the look in my eyes would give me away; but you continued your journey. Then, I wished for something I never did before, I wished that I could read your mind and eagerly waited for you the next day. At the same corner, where we always passed by each other, I could see you approaching. My heart was pounding – it was a sort of unreasonable joy, I believe that’s what it was. Now it was going to be different, I knew it. This time, you would raise your head and our eyes will meet. The reciprocal sadness would connect.

I could sense your smell approaching me and there you were. Your thoughts, all those feelings that were rushing through your head pierced me: remorse, regrets, sadness, nostalgia, anger and everything else cut into me so deep, now I was bleeding. Our eyes never met and you were soon but a distant shadow, resting at the street corner, before the lights would change. I called you, on your name, hoping you would turn back and reach out a hand. My being was unable to utter yet another sound and slowly, I painfully managed to drag myself towards you, before the lights would go green, I had to make it. I desperately tried to cling on to the other hurried feet, but neither did they seem to see me, nor to hear my cry.

Finally, I reached you.

But you did not seem to be on the run anymore. Neither it seemed that you still avoided me, because now our eyes met. The knifing pain I was feeling, the desperate cries inside of me, the bleeding wounds … they were all there, imprinted on your face and transfigured body.

‘I give up’ you said. ‘I can no longer escape you.’

‘There’s no need to’, I softly whispered, ‘I am here now’ as I slowly started to fade away.

It was me, your wounded, once passionate heart, you were running away from; the amass of feelings you shut yourself away from. You could no longer do away with me. From now on, I am you.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/full-disclosure/