You Suddenly Complete Me

Dijon, May 2010

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And in the meantime drown in a cigarette smoke in the middle of half-packed memories within four empty walls.

How I wish you were here...

Heartbeat

When your heart starts to race, when your eyes shine, when your soul ignites, and you just forget about the rest of the world, forget about your fears, your troubles, your distress... It's all in the past now. It's all in the past to stay.

You hear someone's voice. You see someone's name. You only dare whisper, not to scare in away.

You think it's an illusion, a beautiful illusion, and you pray it stays. And never ever ends.

You're in love.

It's Happened Before And It Will Happen Again

Paris, February 2010

Moving. Again. The sight of suitcases all over the place always makes me feel excited, yet a bit melancholic. I'm not scared of new places, strangers, foreign languages, I've kind of become immune to all of it by now. Leaving friends and family behind - even that doesn't bring me down anymore. It's happened before, and not only to me, and I know it will happen again.

The word "moving" itself doesn't even freak me out anymore. I moved places so many times that another exhausting journey to a new country, loaded with suitcases and boxes, cursing every traffic jam, staircase or broken elevator, seems to be completely normal, and rather entertaining.

I remember a couple of months ago I was staying at my friend's place in Paris. She moved places as much as I did, if not more. We were listening to Radiohead, I was reading Astrid Lindgren (yes, I adore her), she was making some hot wine for us to have before going out for our usual midnight walk around the city. Then I can't really recall what came first, but suddenly I decided to ask her if she's got home. Because I personally consider not having any home at all - I never stayed enough time in any place to become too attached to it. But she said yes. She said something I will remember forever, no matter how simple it seems to be : "My home is wherever I end up. Currently this tiny apartment in Paris is my home. Afterwards, who knows ?". Thus, I assumed my home was Dijon... She said no.

"You're at my place right now, you sleep here, you live here. Yes, for a few days. Nevertheless, right now - you belong to Paris".

Chemistry

Auguste Rodin, "The Kiss"

Paris, February 2010

The Ocean Takes Me Into Watch You Shaking
Watch You Weigh Your Powers
Tempt With Hours Of Pleasure
Take Me One More Time
Take Me One More Wave
Take Me For One Last Ride
I’m Out Of My Head

Tonight

Begin Again

Some days are just there to remember. Not only because you physically recover, but also because you suddenly notice the world around you after being numb for quite a long time. New description, new poems, same old trust. Same old friends.

Just medications won't help you recover from physical pain. Laughing will. Music will. Friends' calls will.

I remember once I was told "that's how the student becomes the master". That was about the song, actually. The song my father once sent me. Called Begin Again.

Perhaps, after all, I do deserve а second chance.

Parking

Ernest Hemingway used to be my only hero before I discovered Remarque. He still remains the only author I admire for his pure and unbiased view of life. He said it best : "Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it - don't cheat on it".

Oddly enough the moment when I thought I was just about to follow the person I never hurt even once happened when I stood in the way of what used to be his source of revenue.

Caution : German On Board.

Never Alone

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night (June 1889)

The Museum of Modern Art, New York

Classes, books, the usual ridiculously large quantity of homework...

White dress, light tan, friends, conversations, stealing fruit salad, sharing holiday stories, laughing, dance rehearsing...

Just an ordinary Monday.

And then, like a plane crash, it happens.

Often words don't heal. Empty streets at night do. But when you realize you're looking for something you will never find, you start feeling like a child lost in the crowd, a child that needs someone's hand, that needs to be taken back home...

You're lucky if you can find that hand.

You're lucky if you are the part of someone's life.

You're My Heroin

In The Brightest Hour

Of My Darkest Day
I Realized
What Is Wrong With Me
Can't Get Over You
Can't Get Through To You

It's Been A Helter-Skelter Romance From The Start
Take These Memories
That Are Haunting Me
Of A paper Man Cut Into Shreds
By His Own Pair Of Scissors

He'll Never Forgive Her

He'll Never Forgive Her

One Last Kiss

Before You Go

Dry My Tears

It Is Time To Let Me Go

One Last Kiss

Picture : the one to blame/thank for the creation of this blog. Dubai, February 2009.

Insomnia

Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare (1782)

The Detroit Institute of Fine Arts

A nightmare is a dream that can cause a strong negative emotional response from the sleeper, typically fear and/or horror. The dream may contain situation(s) of danger, discomfort, or psychological or physical distress. Sufferers are usually woken in a state of distress, and might be unable to go back to sleep for a prolonged period. [...]

Occasional nightmares are commonplace, but recurrent nightmares can interfere with sleeping patterns and cause insomnia, and may require medical help. A recently proposed treatment consists of imagery rehearsal.^[2] This approach appears to reduce the effects of nightmares and other symptoms in acute stress disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder.^[3]

^{Source : Our usual one, Wikipedia.}

It Feels Like Forever

Barcelona, April 2010

One of my biggest weaknesses is balconies. I could probably live in a tiny cock loft with a ceiling weighing on the back of my head, but I would still need to have some sort of a terrace. I really cannot understand that people might be afraid of heights. Skies give freedom. Then the sun takes its toll, blinding, blinding you, making you forget everything you left behind, making you strip down, expose your naked soul, expose your fears and your flaws, expose them shamelessly, face them, burn them down. And then time stops.

My little balcony somewhere next to Mediterranean seashore had had a lot of various experiences with me. Smoke of cigars, a bit of hysteria, and spleen, when I came to realize I actually had my hands tied. And somehow, there, on my balcony, it didn't scare me. Not yet.

I think that's where I left a tiny piece of my soul.