In love with the teddy bear

Brown bushes, brown umbrella, brown fur and brown glass eyes... In the same corner of that wicked heart, behind the thirsty clouds of November, she's trying to reach the fuzzy teddy bear. She always avoided to watch it in the eyes, she knew it was dangerous and didn't want to start it all over again. She's just finished the first story and... and... NO! This can't be happening! The childhood is over and there's no way she's going back. Not at this cost...

"I'm sorry, little bear, my precious little toy... I will always love you and will always wish to be with you. I will always blush when I see you and talk to you, I will always dream of you... But... at the same time I will keep hiding from you and try to kill my feelings... I will avoid you as much as I can because I don't want to love you anymore... Even if this makes my heart bleed and turns my waterfalls into icebergs..."

Childish obsession

 

Just this!...

If only...

If only I were a flower in a garden embraced by angels,

If only I were a kiss on your dry lips,

If only I were the sun after a summer storm,

If only I were a clumsy waltz step,

If only I were that angelic smile on your face,

If only I were dead and alive at the same time,

If only I gave my soul in exchange for a day in Heaven,

If only I sang under water and all the fish got deaf,

If only throwing stones at someone would hurt more than heartaches,

If only this night inside would go away with Vanish,

If only wishes, and not curses, came true,

If only God walked on Earth again and heal us with a word,

If only my heart was always right...

If only feelings were like dust... I'd brush them off and they'd disappear...

She raised, wasted, from the mud of her tiny soul... She was so sorry, didn't mean to hurt anyone. She had the most beautiful red rose in the world. It was all hers, with wild thorns and blinding sparkles, with its grey eyes and heavenly fragrance... But she was not happy anymore... So she took the chance to dream about something else, a pure, white, incredibly sacred lily... It was so far that she couldn't even see it and still she didn't care about the distance or time. She had enough patience, was going to wait a little more until she could get it, to have it safe in her full of love garden. 

But eventually, her dreams crushed, just like that! How stupid she was to believe so much that her greatest wish would come true! The lily was taken by someone special, like itself. She didn't see that coming, of course. She was to busy with her foolish daydreaming and took no action. How on earth was she going to make it if she didn't move a finger for what she wanted?! 

The rose is still there, in a forgotten corner, full of dust, hatred and lonely... She really screwed it this time...

Lessons

They say the best thing to do is to follow your heart, but I've learnt that this can cause more damage than if I don't. 

It's a fact! I followed my heart step by step, in the strangest places, and accepted the deepest feelings I could ever have got to know... And guess what happened? I've got smashed, broken and full of nothingness... 

Never felt so dark before, never felt so un-winged in my life...

Scratches, bruises and lots of poison, these are the leftovers from my soul... I've finally learnt what happens when I dare dreaming too high, aiming so much... So many unreal wishes, so many tears I never left falling, so many struggles, so many white nights... I think we all have one of this moments, when all we want and need is to go in the farthest corner of the earth and cry, and cry, and cry, and cry... until we dry inside and care about nothing more...

But even so, I'm not strong enough to let them loose, I don't have enough reasons to give up fighting... Even if my dreams will NEVER come true! Why??? Is there a damn good reason for this?... I'm sure I'll never find out... The only thing left to do is to get up from this whole and rebuilt it all again, piece by piece, breath by breath... Even if it takes a million years more!

Will I be able to do it?...

Playing with my camera

Light

Cum rămâne cu... el?

Îl ştim cu toţii, fiecare are un exemplar prin preajmă. Este mama, prietenul cel mai bun, o soră mai mare, un coleg de la muncă etc. Să-l numim “doctor”.
El, “doctorul”, are întotdeauna disponibilă trusa de prim ajutor, aparent inepuizabilă, plină cu produse valabile la infinit. Suferi de depresie, ai un necaz, eşti trist, indispus sau pur şi simplu plictisit? El va şti întotdeauna ce să-ţi administreze, cum să te înveselească, prin toate mijloacele posibile: vitamine ghiduşe, având în compoziţie umor şi voie bună, glume aparte, cuvinte potrivite presărate pe sufletul tău rănit încât şi ultima fărâmă de deznădejde dispare ca prin minune. Prafurile magice folosite adesea şi  mânuite ca de un expert pe care nici un nor nu-l poate atinge sunt, ei bine, utile doar altora. Nu şi lui...
Dar câţi oare observă acest aspect? Te laşi vindecat de “doctor” , îi mulţumeşti, îi eşti recunoscător şi îţi continui viaţa alături de el neimaginându-ţi nici măcar pentru o clipă că poate şi el are nevoie de un doctor,  la rândul lui. Pare absurd, nu? Dar totuşi acest tip de vindecător poate fi, şi este de cele mai multe ori, un pacient. Un pacient al nimănui, probabil, pentru că în general el îşi dedică atât de mult timpul şi sufletul celor dragi încât nu mai are sau chiar nu mai vrea să găsească răgaz şi pentru el, pentru a-şi trata propriile răni şi greţuri spirituale.
În astfel de cazuri nu ar fi o idee rea să identificăm “doctorul” de lângă noi, să-i luăm pulsul, să-i punem un diagnostic şi să încropim câteva medicamente ce ştim că i-ar fi utile. Doar îl cunoaştem destul de bine încât să-i citim radiografia corect, nu-i aşa?

Şi poate la fel de important este să ne lăsăm vindecaţi în situaţia în care suntem noi înşine... “doctori”.

Două cuvinte… şi jumătate

... Într-o zi mi-am dat seama că îmi lipseşte o jumătate din suflet. Acel caiet cu poezii schiţate încă din copilărie. Unde? Cum? Sau... cine? N-am aflat. Însă am supravieţuit,  înjumătăţită, aproape oarbă, şchiopătând şi mâzgălită pe margini cu creioane ascuţite.

 Cum inspiraţia nu a încetat să curgă şi resursele fiind inepuizabile, am creat blogul, metoda perfectă să  reconstruiesc ce am pierdut. Piesele din puzzle-ul descompus sunt evident altele, dar fundaţia este aceeaşi.

Şi pentru că sunt momente în care imaginaţia evadează nebună din rutina zilnică, am decis să o pun la grea încercare. Am împrietenit-o pe rând cu mâinile, croşeta, gândurile, cuvintele, cerneala, creioanele colorate şi foile albe ce aşteaptă nerăbdatoare să-şi facă treaba…