The One With The Cold Bitch

Things. Situations. People. Will settle.

My life will start making sense again.

I feel a childish love creeping in.

I’m not in love. I’m infatuated.

If only I could describe.

I’ve grown older. Distant.

The version of me I used to know is gone.

Go Quiet

I wake up every day knowing I won’t find happiness. 

I keep and open mind and my mouth shut.

I feel as if I’m about to go to prison.

I wish time could stop.

I wish I actually had time to get used to everything.

I wish I could live my life in cafés, sipping on the bitter liquid, postponing a drag and talking to people. If life inside a university taught me anything, it certainly taught me sharing my opinions and thoughts on different aspects of art. I told a friend I should become a life counselor – I hand out good advice, I’m a mess when it comes to my own existence.

The feelings, the experiences, the images, people, they will all become, with time - once they become part of the past - censored material, pretty memories. Life becomes a projection, within its temporal boundaries.

I hate to go back in time and admit I was once wrong. This is why, with every event in my life, I try to imagine it was probably for the best, imagine the good action it could bring.  If everything changes at some point, at least I know I once had depth.

I used to be in love – now I’m cynical.

Exit the wise, enter the wild. Or viceversa. 

                                                                            photo credit: Cristina Matei

Call It Quits

ALT + F4 real life until I can get back to Bucharest. Over here, I’m protected by my room and the nice smell of fresh coffee. I’ve always seen this room as my own paradise, where I was always buried in books and movies and surrounded by pictures and music and, why not, love.

So about this, this year I’m diving deep into the Valentine’s Day cliché, because I’ve just realized I’ve never done it. It seems appropriate since I’m single and happy for the first time in my life. I’m making plans. I’m going to spend the entire day in my room, with coffee and tea, ‘The Time Traveler’s Wife’ (I’m going to tell you more about this, don’t worry) and the Oscar nominated movies. Probably some Led Zeppelin and Billie Holiday to mix it up. The heart-shaped box of chocolates is never going to happen, sadly.

I never liked Valentine’s Day [before]. But somehow I’ve never been able to make myself actually believe it. Just like everyone else, I don’t think there should be a special day to share your love. But, since there is, why not do it? Maybe it’s age making me wiser and less of a h8ter, but I actually think people should find reasons to celebrate certain days. My brain just needs to acknowledge the fact that certain days are better than others, or that they are just somehow special to me.

So, I’m celebrating Valentine’s tomorrow. Even if it’s just for the sake of my brain and the fear of Alzheimer. I’ll dedicate this day to love (I’ll just turn it into a guilty hedonism) and to the people who have found love.

Prescilla Etienne and Erwann Chopin, à la votre!

Epiphanies @ 2 AM

The Scars We Don't Show

For those of you who spent hours in the bathtub, the shower hitting you with every drop, having visions of it being rain, for you who hours seemed like days and days turned into terrible decisions, for all of you - I have the answer: do I really?

There's no kindness in any type of words. Promises turn into smoke as soon they're pronounced. For those of you who still seek the right path, I respect your belief.
 

I wish I could still see clearly.
And tell right from wrong.

The Story of Waiting

There’s this numb silence sitting all over the place. I thought you’d hear it when you went outside this morning. The stillness hasn’t changed – it never does. Even when the wind blows, you can tell only by the movement of trees and by the circling of the little iron bird on top of the building. I feel like I’m watching this great landscape – it doesn’t even change throughout the seasons.

Outside, the bench is cold and the grass is dewy. The air is clean – it’s an exact opposite of what we share. I sit alone, legs crossed, listening to the sounds of the street. My heart pounds with every car I head, every footstep gives me anxiety.

Even from the inside, I make all noises disappear. I can almost see the exterior with my ears. You lack from this picture.

It would’ve been so much nicer with you in it