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Old friend.

I stopped writing because it felt wrong.

Because I wanted the sadness to stop. But the world wasn’t much help. You can’t stop the hurting, if you’re bleeding inside. You can’t feel alive, if you really don’t want to.

I always wake up before the Sun does. Which is wrong to say. Because I don’t really go to sleep at night. I just fall into stillness because parts of me are tired.

Behind my eyelids, flashes of last night go on and on. The taste of liquor and shame lingers on my tongue and my palms get sweaty underneath the blanket. There’s so much sadness in me; sometimes I imaging it swallowing me entirely. But it doesn’t.

I tell myself that last night wasn’t much big of a deal. It was a moment of weakness. One of many. Around you that is.

A bird’s chirp distracts me.

It’s past 11 p.m. On the kitchen floor, knees hugged, I rock back and forward. My head it’s pounding, my thoughts shift. There’s not a single one that will pull me back. I would like to cry. But I just stare at the melted chocolate chip on the floor. I can’t see much past it.

If I could , I’d crack my skull wide open. I’d want to know if there’s any colour left in there.

Nah…

Feelings tumble inside me like a flock of disoriented birds. I catch my breath before my anxiety kicks in. Jealousy. Anger. Frustration. Disaster. I feel all at once. And my thoughts slam hard against their cage looking for release.

There are half moon painted across my sweaty palms. There’s a rusty taste inside my mouth. I’ve chewed my bottom lop too hard in attempt to hold back.

I shiver.

Because my heart just shattered.

There’s so much I wanna say, but… Nah.

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I have spent most of my days in bed. Wrapped in cozy blankets, in the warmness of the apartment. Here, almost trapped between these four walls, my mind gets so loud, that the urge to pour it out on paper is almost suffocating. But I don’t.

So I stare at the ceiling. And think. And think. And think.

It never ends. These delusions of mine.

The thoughts of you.

We talk for hours. But mostly me.

My voice gets shaky sometimes.

When I close my eyes, you move your fingers across my hips, my panties following them hypnotized as you brush with kisses the void you leave in the awakening of my skin. You’re too gentle, and I’m not one to be caressed with so much care. I’ve been hungry for so long that your games make me wanna slap you. Hard !

The heat, the wilderness in my veins makes it almost unbearable. 5 4 3 2 1 … frustration. My eyes are wide open. Wet fingers, wrinkled sheets and the absence of you.

The shivers are no longer from pleasure. There’s so much emptiness in these four walls of mine.

Stripped from the idea of you, my mind turns inward. It stumbles in the dark and gets confused cause you where here 5 seconds ago. But I don’t. I just stare. And stare. And stare. Until my eyes get tired and I go back to you.      

?Delete

Cuvinte,

atât de multe cuvinte

mi se încâlcesc în minte.

Nevoie,

nevoie sa le așez pe coala albă

Frică,

frică c-am uitat cum să le aranjez

în pagină,

nu fac sens.

Cuvinte,

atât de multe cuvinte,

mi se opresc pe buze.

Frică,

și frustrare – a trecut atât de mult timp.

?

Am vrut să scriu

Durere,

am uitat cum.

Nu fac sens cuvintele.

Delete.

 

“I couldn’t write a word about it, although I died in my head.”

— Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath

You just can’t go around blaming people for the things you feel.

My chest was griping too hard to my “sanity”. That alone, made the idea of breathing hurt. I wished for a split of a second that my throat would sting less, and I’ll be able to swallow the anger pilling in the back of my palms. Cuz they were closed shut, nails eating trough flesh, leaving moon like scars behind.

The light was too bright for my eyes, and they were desperately fighting to wash away the pain filled with the stubbornness to not lose focus on the blurry letters in front of me.

Blame me! screamed Hope.

So I did.

I spit up the excitement and the sparks that were seeding slowly in me for days. I whipped my lips with the back of my hand, like I’ve been wearing the wrong shade of lipstick. The one, that didn’t fit me at all, but somehow I managed to pull it off just to make my smile look real.

I sit across from you. You smile softly. There’s that warm sensation that feeds my blood and gets my heart pumping faster. Have I ever told you how much I enjoy seeing you smile? That, so beautiful, yet so rare smile of yours. Million times before.

You’re grabbing my hands, cupping them between yours, and that, simple action, makes me go fuzzy inside. You whisper something into my ear. I can’t hear you, but I nod and lean over to kiss your cheek. It feels so soft under my lips, that goose bumps start rising on my skin. I can’t take my eyes away from yours. They’re a soft brown. The one that takes you places and make you feel like home. I shift my hands and move them over to brush your hair. I always wanted to do that, to tease it, you. I move closer. I dreamed about kissing your neck and how your skin would feel under my lips. I take in your smell and I remember a song. That makes me giggle. Can’t keep my hands to myself.

You watch me curious, and I wonder how long it will take for the elevator to stop and for me to wake up, and step away.

I sit across from you. But inside, you pull me closer. I shiver.