Arhive etichete: love

Hate/Love

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And I hate everybody
That made me feel
There’s something wrong about my body
Or about the way I kneel
In front of souls and depths and hollow wishes.
Don’t you just wish you had three more wishes?
And I hate everyone
That made me feel
There’s something wrong about my feeling
Of the feeling that keeps filling me.
Oh, I know they’re just playing the part
Of being cool, without a heart.

And I hate myself
Because I feel,
Because they taught me not to feel.
They taught me to lie,
To cheat and steal,
To smile and nod instead,
To look so dead,
Inside,
Outside.
But now I cannot hide.
I want to show,
Express
And love
The world beneath,
The sky above.
This way, I’m sure,
Like waters run to shore,
I won’t be hating anymore.
Instead, I’ll love you more and more.

Love

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Hearts are cold, and hands are looking for each other. In this world of lies and deceit, nothing is real, and nothing hurts, when everything fails to have a heartbeat. All I can think of is your hands down my back; all I can think of is my hands around your neck. This addiction runs through me, without hesitation, without remorse, without restrain.

I miss your lips, and I miss your eyes. I miss the way you tell me lies.

I miss how good you are at reading all the signs. And how you turn off all the lights around the city, inside me, inside God…

You left darkness, you left cold, you left me… You left the beat, the heart, the non sense and the mystery; all the while you were trying to survive the crisis of love.

Nothing inside you was love, and nothing inside me was true. We were the children of mischief, and we were bad – so very bad to each other that no one dared to lift the dreams, to lift the veils from our eyes.

We never had it all. We always had nothing.

I am not sure what I’m trying to tell you, maybe that I miss you. Your beginning, and your ending. Your smile. Your power. Your tears are tearing me up.

We never had it all, and now it may be too late.

We forgot how to be addicted to ourselves, and now we’re addicted to each other. We’re addicted to the pain, the numbness, the unhappiness.

The fire is gone, but the coal is still there. All numb, but hot. All fiery, but calm. And it will burn you like nobody else. It will burn, and it will pain you. Your bones will be crushed, and my soul will be destroyed. And it will be too late, or maybe it will be too soon. I still love the sound of you.

The Final Push

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You know those words too well. Or at least, this is how I fool myself at night, because at night it’s the only time when I can fool myself. The complete lack of light is not confusing, but inducing. It helps me induce a proper state of being mocked and fooled, and that’s so familiar, I just can’t hate that feeling.

It was two years ago, the first time I met you. Yes, I am well aware that you did not acknowledged me in any way, but I took notice, and I indulged myself in that sweet eye candy that was way too dangerous.

For a few weeks, I just stood there whenever you walked in the office, with that smile that could light up – literally! – one thousand rooms. The sound of your voice was calm, and it sent chills down my spine, without meaning something in particular.

I heard you once talking about this blues singer, and even though I was a stranger to this kind of music, I looked it up and fantasized about sharing those notes with you.

In short time, I started wearing different clothes, I started using makeup and you started to notice me too.

It was that absurdly warm May afternoon, when you met me at the coffee machine. The automat refused me service, but when you arrived, with your shirt sleeves were up to your elbows and your big grin that prophesied absolutely nothing good, the machine started working all of a sudden. I can still remember what you said to me, straight and very up close and also very personal.

„Your dress is amazing. I bet its collar matches your good girl attitude”.

I was wearing one of those scalloped dresses, with a white collar. That white, resting on the rest of the bubbly blue dress, was hinting at a very childish personality, and at that point, I felt very childish myself. I really did not know how to react to you, so I said nothing, while smiling embarassed at my own lack of wit. But you took my coffee away and you were even more verbal than before.

„I want to taste you”.

And you sipped my coffee slowly, and I started to burn from the inside.

After a few dates, I started to lose patience and control. You felt so solid, yet so distant and cold, and I wondered what I did wrong. You always talked about how you want to taste me, but that only happened when we were at work. When we went out, you were the perfect gentleman, ever so sober, ever so calm, never wanting to kiss more than my lips. Maybe my neck, if I was a good girl, but that rarely happened…

The nights were difficult, but then, in the bitter mornings, my bed was still empty, still cold. Only one shadow could be guessed, and that shadow was mine, and my shadow was longing for something more real.

At work, some people took guesses, but most of them already knew about us. There were the inevitable glances, the meetings at the water fountain and the „projects”. The leaving together and the long searches in the morning, until you arrive. So everybody guessed, but no one dared to ask. Neither did I.

Three months of squirms. Three months of insecurities. Three months of cold sweat whenever you kissed me in front of my door, wanting to invite you in, but then you rapidly left the building…

Three months until my sheets met you with the same warmth they greeted me with. Three months until you asked to borrow my toothbrush, and until I laughed at your sleepy face in the morning. Three mornings until you found out I also drink coffee at home, and that my coffee making skills are terrible. You still make fun of me because of that, but now it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.

I know you cheated on me. I know how and when and I know the person who willingly put herself in your bed. In our bed. I noticed the same initial treatment, I noticed the same peacock dance in front of her, the dance you danced for me not so long ago. I noticed how you started saying „I love you”s more and more, trying to cover up your mischief, trying to soften the blow.

I pretend to be blind, and I try to calm the fuck down. I know how bitter is the lie, and I take it with a sugary spoon and wide smile that echoes your own. I pretend that your lie does not hurt me, and I pretend to be happy, because you chose to lie in order to cover up something that shouldn’t need cover. I pretend to smile for the man that isn’t a man anymore, but a child chosing to use words to comfort his own lack of courage.

I am just waiting to see when you’ll have the balls to confess your wrong doings. I know this is not wise, or helpful from my part, but I just can’t quit now. I want to hear you say it, I don’t want to force it out of you. This is already dying, and I just want you to be the one to give it the final push.

Can You Handle Me?!

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Sometimes I feel like I am feeling too much, sometimes I feel like I am thinking too much. There’s never enough of one kind in me, and there’s always something that’s missing deep down inside. I’m not sure if all these feelings and all these thoughts are what I am supposed to live right now, but they are the only thing I have for myself, so I try to get by.

I try to get by past the indifference and past the heartache, past the people that hurt me, past the people that weren’t honest. Past all of those who didn’t have the balls to say things to my face, and past those who had the balls to say something mean and gratuitous, without a real base.

I try to get by past the people who take „please, forgive me” for granted, as they take me for granted. Past the people who think that, if I ever felt something towards them, that feeling will still be here forever and they can play that card anytime they wish.

I try to feel, without feeling too much, and I try to think, without overthinking. But this is all I am good at – overzealous feeling coupled with a big paranoid brain that never sleeps. And I can handle that, but can you handle me?!

Home

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I remember touches, here and there, as if those skins that were near me at one point were made of some kind of fabric only the universe knows.
I remember sounds that light up the room, even if all the drapes are down, and the smell of those sounds scare me more than death itself.
I remember how sweet is the color orange… No, the color red combined with orange, in the pale light of the sunset. That color used to sing me lullabies until I fell asleep, and at one beautiful, lonely point in my life, it was more than enough.

I do not wish to remember all kisses I gave for nothing, all the embraces I lost to some people. All those moments of pure friendship spent on people who thought I steal, I do evil, I am fat, or ugly, or nothing. All those moments when I wasn’t the number one choice I wish them forgotten, and buried, and burnt, and lost.

I remember being lighter. I remember being love. And now I want to come back to that point, because it was the only point I felt like home.

Please

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I am here to own this part,
Because there’s no more room
Inside this awful heart
For memories, and for regrets,
And for all your forgotten secrets.
I am here to be myself,
To get out of my shell.
I am here to be your best,
Please forget about the rest
Of my life, of my fears, of my desires.
Please, help me burn this fire.

Internet Affair

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Thank God that this is only an internet affair.
She thought while typing furiously about kisses.
virtual kisses for a virtual man,
While her real man was in bed,
Asleep,
Unaware,
Sincere,
And loving.
Thank God he doesn’t know I know the Wi-Fi password.
She thought as she was imagining all the ways
She should have been kissed,
Or held,
Or loved,
Or whatever.

Thank God she doesn’t know I know.
He thought while reading the words she typed about kisses.
Those virtual kisses for a virtual man,
While he was real
And he was in her bed.
He read all that stuff about sleeping,
And loving,
And caring,
While thinking no one cares,
And no one loves,
And no one sleeps with somebody now.
So why is he sad?
Why is he hurt?
It’s only an internet affair
And she knows the Wi-Fi password.