shimmer.

as a kid i used to tink of sunsets as beautiful deaths. as one big ceremony for all the people that died that day. and the sunrises as the arisal of their souls. each and every shade of orange and purple represented a different soul, coming to an end.

growing up, i realised very few deaths are beautiful. the people dying suffer too much, too many hearts are broken along with death, like plates used to break on our balcony, in small, insignificant little pieces.

i remember that day he died. i remember how empty i felt, like no emotions could ever run through me anymore. i wanted to cry, i wanted to remember everything, i wanted to forget, i wanted to be happy his suffering came to an end, but i was blank. numb. nothing. as if it was forbidden to continue any emotion i've ever felt before.

ramble thoughts.

delete edit
ramble thoughts
you had freckles across your cheeks, i had cracked veins down mine. 
remember our traffic teddy bear? we ripped his left ear so long ago i can’t remember the year. but it was 
spring and we both wanted to play with it. back then, we didn’t get along so we played army. the territory 
we both wanted was the teddy bear. it lost a bit of West. we started hiding most precious things where he’s 
tangled intestines would’ve been. then we grew up. we started hiding packs of cigarettes and lighters, 
passing him from onea nother. then you started hiding more. you had won that territory unfair and kept it 
for yourself. it killed you. 
remember playing battleships on the train? the way people were eating and smoking and we’d just 
play. and you’d cheat and i couldn’t’ve cared less because i had you. it was all i needed back than. then i 
started needing trust and you needed cigarettes. i needed love you needed treatment.i wanted hope you 
wanted death. i never got what i wanted but you, you of all men got death. and it wasn’t even your fault. 
remember playing cards in the bathtub?
remember actually fitting in it?
remember the thousands of flowers we must’ve murdered? you said that when you’d die, you wouldn’t 
want people murdering flowers for you. unaware of your wish, people stopped murdering flowers short after 
you passed away. 
remember that night with the cleArest sky? how we’d count shooting stars and satellites and how we 
saw that meteorite crossing the sky. how you said it was that woman’s soul, the lady in the house across 
the field, who was shot minutes before thAt meteorite flew. maybe you were right. 
somehow, the night you died, i saw a shooting star. a small sparkle of hope up there. for some 
reason, it never finished that arch they make across the dark sky. 
for some reason, i want it to finish it. 
so get out of my kitchen and go greet the angels, they’re dying to meet you and i’m dying to miss 
you.
i love you, until the universe falls apart.

 

.

anyone is beautiful in the before-sunset light.

suc de portocale.

simt nevoia sa scriu. in mod normal acest sentiment ar fi inlocuit de cel de a spune cuiva tot. uneori, dupa ce trecem peste faza aparent trecatoare de indiferenta,ne amintim cum era cand ne pasa. cand aveam oameni care tineau la noi si invers. si poate da, erau putini, dar nu conta.
si-o data cu nevoia de-a scrie despre nevoia de a vorbi. vreau sa vorbesc cu cineva. acum doi ani, in timpul unei certi, am auzit o explicatie prea sincera sa nu o citez: 'mindria de om prost'; de cele mai multe ori luam decizii cretine, din cauza mindriei, spre exemplu cea de a fi indiferenti, sau de a nu aborda o persoana pentru ca nu a facut-o el/ea inainte.
voi incerca sa-mi pese. e primavara, ce naiba, primavara e pentru schimbari. (:

about lurrrrve.

our love couldn't have ended because it never really started.

perfecțiunea imperfecțiunii.

încă de când eram copil,exista o variantă perfectă a oricărui lucru,oricât de neînsemnat era; lopata perfectă, păpușa perfectă, cabina de la toaleta perfectă. si-apoi erau acele lucruri si mai neinsemnate,la care nu s-ar fi gandit decat o mica parte; camera murdara perfecta,furnica perfecta, placinta de nisip perfecta.
mi-am amintit toate acestea datorita unei poze ce surprinde momentul unic,plin de fericire,atunci cand ridicam galetusa,la iveala iesind castelul aproape perfect,din nisip umed,"mai de la fund". castelele atingeau vag perfectiunea atunci cand reuseai sa iei nisipul alb "de sub arcuri, care era mai fin decat cel alb pe care calcam.
aceasta actiune atat de inutila ne umplea inima de fericire,copii fiind.
cafenelele de acum erau bordura aceea in forma de cerc pe care numai noi stim cu cate feluri de lichide am udat-o,de care ne vom aminti ca locul in care daca te loveai, aveai,fara niciun dubiu,capul spart,chiar daca tu cazusesi pe mana.
si-nchei aici,pana nu moare bateria odata cu interesul celuia care citeste.

you and me, and a bottle of wine.

it's that awesome feeling you get walking back home, when you could smile ear-to-ear, but you're afraid the pervs are gonna get you.