if you were food, then I

Let's imagine I'm lost somewhere on a deserted island.
At some point I will get pretty hungry. So hungry in fact that I might start eating tree bark. I don't think I would normally eat tree bark.
I feel watched. A cannibal is trying to make friends, but I have this feeling he just wants to eat me whole. I don't want to be anybody's meal.
I'm hungry. I have a cookbook with me. I've been carrying it around for a while. I can't eat paper and I'm starving. Tree bark makes cinnamon, doesn't it?

dear pieces of void,

You come to me and put yourself in the center of my attention. I wish you came to me and put myself in the center of your attention. But at least you come to me every now and again.

You say I am awesome and amazing. You say it's not me, it's you. No, it's not me, it's her.

I say you're gone and lost me. Maybe I just forgot how to make myself interesting enough for you to want to keep me.

You say you need to go there and make a life for yourself. My life misses you here.

You say I was unfair to you. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. I say I forget to be fair to me.

I would be me, except I forgot who you wanted that to be.

dear you,

You are loved. You are not perfect, except perhaps in your idiosyncrasies and faults.
You are loved. You do not deserve it, nor should you earn it.
You are loved. Without expectations, but against your wishes.
You are loved. Not from afar and despite the magnifying glass.
You are loved. It is not a choice. Neither yours, nor mine.

You are loved. It is not a weapon, or a weight. It is not a promise, or an excuse. It is not an explanation, or a question. It is not a prize, or a punishment.

You are loved. I implode whenever I try to say what I feel.

Love,
me, not only myself, and not I

the me game

If I were me, I'd like to look into someone's eyes and see who they are. If I could look into someone's eyes and see who they are, I'd like to see what they could be. If I could see what a person could be, I'd like to be able to tell them what I see. If I could tell people what I see in them, I'd like them to listen. If anyone would listen to me telling them who they could be, I'd like them to start being that. If people could start being who they can be, I would be me.

But I'm not me today. I'd like a mirror today.

of need and want and me

I will need to fight, work, sweat, beg, scream for everything that I want and get. I do not need solutions handed to me on a silver platter. I do not want you to solve my problems; I want you to stand by me and help me if I need it, support me if I ask it, and remind me should I forget. I need you to hold my hand, not guide it towards the answer.
I do not need you to answer every question and fulfill my every wish. For I am nothing but a fool and I will wish for things I do not need, and I will wish for things that are not good for me.
I do not need you to admire me, I do not need you to criticize me. I need you to like me and I need you to help me be better. I do not need you to bring out of me that beautiful person I cannot see and may not be there. And I do not need you to constantly remind me of my inner demons and skeletons in my closet.
I do not need you to ignore me or neglect me. I do not need you to cut my wings and smother me. I do not want to be your world, your drug, your princess, your god, your completion. I want to be yours. I want to be mine and me.
I need you to understand me and explain myself to me. I need you to let me pick your brain and get under your skin and see through you. I do not want you to read my mind. I do not want to know all your secrets. I need you to find me and let me look for you.

And most importantly, I do not need you to accept me; that is not your role, not your duty. I do not need you to do everything in your power to change me. I need you to fight me every step of the way, while holding my hand and welcoming me at the finish line.

hope is yellow

Ever wandered how hope looks like? What color it has?
I'll tell you: hope is yellow. Hope is as yellow as light at sunset. Hope looks like a bunch of tall tall trees, standing straight on an empty street. All stripped of leaves, waiting for next season. An empty street, with yellow leaves, waiting for snow. A chair in the middle, not supposed to be there, not belonging, like a dandelion through concrete. And a girl. Back turned. Away from the sun, the trees, the leaves, the long endless road. Sitting. Waiting. Unaware that hope is in fact yellow. And that yellow is all around.
Where it's not supposed to be. Where you don't see it. But I'll give you a hint. Hope is yellow, you just have to turn and look at it.

to be or not to become of stone

Ignoring it might just make it go away... and that's the worst of it. One day she decided enough was enough, she decided enough with the world. No more would she let it creep in her tiny little box with no corners, seed the seeds of doubt and fear. No more would she let the whims of a big red elephant jumping around her rule her world. No more painting herself with other people's colors.
So one day she went to a far away place, distant and deserted, sat down and curled herself so she'd be as small as possible. She covered her eyes, her ears, her mouth, her nose: let it come, she thought. Eyes covered, she would not see the bad. Ears covered, she would not hear the bad. Mouth covered, she would not taste the bad. Nose covered, she would not smell the bad. Made of stone, numb to all.
But. Eyes covered, she could not speak. Ears covered, she could not dream. Mouth covered, she could not kiss the morning. Nose covered, she could not remember. Made of stone, alone with herself.
Ignoring it might just make it go away... and that's the worst of it.

Source of the photo: .AF648

the words

There are all kinds of words in this world and there are many kinds of ways to tell them apart and categorize them and put them in little boxes.
There are words that you forget to speak, and can only feel and see and touch. Words running before your eyes, impossible to read; whispered in your ears, impossible to hear; held in your hands, impossible to squeeze; tumbling between your teeth, impossible to utter.
There are words that you can eat, words that enter not your ears, but your mouth left open in gaze and shock and disbelief or sometimes just amazement. These words get to your stomach and tingle or pinch or simply turn it upside down or make it burn.
There are words that refuse to be said, words that you swallow when they manage to get to your lips. Words with a curious back and forth movement, never staying put on the inside, never out in the open. Words sometimes looking out into the world through your eyes, screaming at it.
There are words with the specific property to change when reaching the air. Words with one meaning on lips, and a completely different one in ears. Words that start wars and build walls between people.
There are words that are meant for one person, and one person only, words mostly never spoken, which find themselves put in a bubble together with words told by the same person. A bubble that usually threatens to burst just before it finds new ways to further expand and keep everything in. A bubble will never let anything out gently, it will just burst one day and flood and drown everything beyond repair.

closed until further notice

You should know we're closed right now and you should know we've been this way for a while and we will be so for some time now. Can't figure out though when exactly it happened... can't really put our finger on it. There must have been signs, they just weren't seen by the right people at the right time. It was probably a gradual thing... just happened one layer at a time. 'Cause there are layers you know. It's not just eyes closed, mouth closed, ears closed. Noooo... it's more than that. I'm pretty sure the eyes, ears, mouth are actually open somewhere in there, just covered up really good.

The layers... don't know the order exactly... but there are

• bubble wrap layers, the kind you pop when you're bored and are supposed to keep you safe,
• aluminum layers that are supposed to keep you warm, or cold,
• layers with feathers, so it's soft and nothing hurts, and you just don't feel much,
• layers with pockets where you can loose or hide things,
• onion layers, the kind that make you cry if you break or cut them,
• layers with locks so that no one can get in unless they have the key,
• layers with one way looking windows so you can look outside, but can't be seen,
• lead layers so it's hard to move around,
• paper layers, so there's something people leave messages on,
• layers with mirrors where you can go look for yourself in your eyes,
• glass layers so you must be careful not to break,
• dusty layers where things are put to hopefully be forgotten,
• layers with edges and corners so nothing goes smoothly,
• layers with hedgehogs to keep the noisy ones out,
• and there's a nice shiny colorful layer of wrapping paper with a big red bow covering it all up.
  

So we're closed, for whatever reason, and you should stay out and away. You may knock gently, once; you may leave a message for me, myself or I. Don't push, don't go round the windows hoping to catch a glimpse, don't scream an shout and beg trying to get in. If you do that, the second you cross the line, you will find the hedgehogs, and they're a mean bunch of fellows. Don't be fooled by the nice bow on top, go away, don't stand there waiting for something that might never open back.

on my way back to, away from, towards... you

I fight myself every step of the way towards me. I'm so tired of being me and I'm not even sure I know who myself is anymore. Maybe somewhere inside myself there is a me that understands what I'm doing. I wake up talking to me, trying to get myself to find some reason to continue, start, end this. But the me that I am would like to stop myself from doing what I want. I can't let myself take over me.

I'm on my way. I should put me in a box and ship myself back to, away from, towards you.

If I have a million faces, then you should have a million pairs of eyes. If I have a million voices then you should have a million pairs of ears. If I dream a million lives then you should be a million people. And if I know a million yous, then you should love a single me. And I will love the yous that were. And I will love the yous that are. And I will love the yous I only heard of. And I will love the yous that only I know. And I will love the yous that will be. And I will love the you that does not exist. And I will love the you that does not love me.

Semivise

Se intampla cateodata sambata sau duminica dimineata, cand vreau sa mai aman momentul cand sunt fata in fata cu noua zi. Si tocmai m-am trezit in mijlocul unui vis; unul din acele vise in care ai vrea sa traiesti, sau unul din acele vise pe care ai vrea sa le schimbi, sa le repari. Si atunci cand ma trezesc incet incet, aleg sa nu deschid ochii, aleg sa continui visul, sa imi inchipui ca e viata mea, sa il modelez mai departe, toate personajele marionetele mele, destinul meu ca in povestile de cand eram mica. Sau continui visul pentru a repara greselile care ma urmaresc pana si noaptea, sa nu ma trezesc cu gustul acela amar in gura, cu senzatia ca din nou nu a fost cum trebuie.

Si se mai intampla cateodata in mijloc de noapte nedormita, cu somn intrerupt si parca inexistent. Doar ca totusi e acolo. E si el somnul acolo, sub forma de vise fragmentate, bucatele de cosmar sau amintiri sau poate vechi si noi dorinte. Si dorind atat de mult sa dorm, stau cu ochii stransi si inventez vise, continui vise, termin vise. Trec pe nesimtite din vis in realitate, in timp ce ma intorc de pe o parte pe alta.

Sau atunci cand ziua care s-a incheiat ma urmareste pana adanc in noapte. Se intampla pe vremuri in facultate, in sesiuni, cu cate o materie care nu vroia sa se lipesca de memoria mea, ci doar de noptile mele. Se mai intampla si acum, doar ca de data asta e cate o problema ramasa nerezolvata la munca, care capata dintr-o data proportii gigantice si isi cauta solutia in somnul care parca nu mai vine.

Dar preferatele mele raman acelea in care, fara sa ma trezesc, dar foarte aproape, imi dau seama ca realitate din jurul meu e doar un vis, un vis cu care ma pot juca. Celelate personaje raman controlate de altcineva, de subconstient as zice eu. Dar eu pot sa fac alegeri pe care nu le-as face daca nu as sti ca oricum ma voi trezi, ca oricum nu supara, nu dor, nu dureaza. Si sunt libera. Libera sa fac ce vreau, si mai ales sa spun ce vreau, ce gandesc, ce simt. Da, astea sunt cu siguranta preferatele mele.