And all that’s left is to accept that it’s over. My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made…
I have never been so cold, not even when I came home and the train could not advance because of the snow. I had to endure the cold for over nine hours since I had left my warm room in the dorm. After some time, I couldn’t even feel my feet. It was as if they had been replaced by a couple of inert logs. There was no heat and no sound other than that of the train screeching as it advanced sluggishly.
Outside, there was only snow. Much too much snow. It had covered the whole world, making everything even. Pain, tears, joy, memories, there was no meaning left to them. Snow had covered it, thus rendering it insignificant. And there I was, hollow inside, stranded in the middle of that ocean of frozen water, drowning in the cold. All that snow was too heavy, I couldn’t bear it.
In a way, I am still there, out in the middle of nowhere, while snow falls down innocently and covers my screams, my tears, my pain, my courage. My limbs are gradually becoming inorganic, my whole body is steadily turning into an artificial, mineralized shell. Only my heart is stubborn enough to keep beating and bleeding. I know what it is trying to do. It wants to fight till the bitter end, to cling to that small and frail feeling of love that has been born and bear it and cherish it until the blood runs out and it can’t beat anymore.
Who am I to tell it to stop? It won’t listen to reason even if I tried. And maybe I don’t want to talk it out of it. Even though it hurts, even though all I can do is lie in bed and cry, maybe that’s all I want right now. I’m lying in the middle of that while field. Flowers of ice are growing all over me, covering me, silencing my pain. Nobody can hear me, nobody can come and pick me up. At the very least, I want my soul to freeze to death while loving the best way it can. There’s nothing else I can do. There’s just too much snow.
And though I can’t understand why this happened, I know that I will when I look back someday and see how you’ve brought beauty from ashes, and made me as gold purified through these flames.
And I’ve lost who I am and I can’t understand why my heart is so broken rejecting your love…
There I was thinking everything was perfect and then reality ran over me. My feet walked fearfully on the same pavement that had lost their memory from last year. And then my footsteps met yours and everything that I was trying to ignore, everything that I did my best to forget just crushed onto me as if this summer had never happened. I froze.
These last few days I’ve been thinking how to act towards you and I never found the answer. To be cold would be unfair to you and selfish because I would just be trying to protect myself. To be friendly would mean putting my heart on the line again and also selfish because I’ll be blaming you when it gets broken again, even though the fault would be all mine.
Love without, love gone wrong, lifeless words, carry on, but I know all I know is that the end’s beginning…
However, I think I grew up this summer. I think my heart grew up a bit, too, and, along with it, the love it carries. At first, I stupidly tried to toss it all away, to erase you. I even tried to convince myself that I feel better without you. That I don’t miss you. No wonder I ended up in tears when I saw a new picture of you. You were living, you were moving forward. I should have done the same. Instead, I was just stuck in one place, the same place you had left me a couple of months before. I was so pitiful.
But I want to believe I’m better now. That I have a heart worth relying on. I don’t know how to find it, but I’m sure the answer is somewhere in the middle. I’ll stop thinking about it. I’ll allow my heart to lead me to it. I’m sure it’ll will find a better and faster way to get there than my brain.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart, let me go and I will run, I will not be silent…
I took my eyes off the ball. I hid inside myself and tried to create a new me. It was wrong from the very start. Nobody can become “new”. The truth is the past is always there, engraved in my skin, in my heart, in my memories. To discard it would only soil all the small bits that made me who I was, the one who grew to love you unknowingly and who was so scared of it when she realised it that ruined everything.
No more. I will not be ashamed of what happened, I will not contradict myself anymore. I’ll respect everything that I said. I’ll run towards the non-existing finish line not with the purpose of reaching it, but of remembering every single step and fall I took since I left the starting point.
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain, all is lost, hope remains and this war’s not over…
It’s not true that time heals or erases anything. Maybe when you are not confronted with the thing you are trying to forget, but then it’s not time that does it, it’s the absence of it and your denial. And really now, isn’t it irresponsible of us to rely on such an uncontrollable thing as time to solve our problems? The struggle is always there, whether you want to face it or not. Maybe you’ll have to fight your whole life for something and not get it. So what? The goal should be the journey, not the destination.
There’s a light, there’s the sun taking all shattered ones to the place we belong and his love will conquer all…
So, no matter what I say, no matter what I do, no matter what kind of front I try to put up, the truth is that I always find myself loving you even more. I wonder if you ever realise that. In this whole ocean of love that surrounds you, I wonder if you ever feel the taste of my lemony-salted love. It does not matter if you don’t, however. It will always be there, one way or another. After all, I can’t help but believe that you’re the best thing I never knew I needed.
„In Poland, we have a saying –
‘Love is like head wound.’
It make you dizzy,
you think you die…
But you recover…
Şi dacă mă fac bine, ai să vii vreodată să mă îmbolnăveşti la loc?
Ai să mai fii la fel ca prima oară când m-ai contaminat?
Or să fie ochii tăi la fel de molipsitor de dulci?
Îmbrăţişarea ta la fel de contagios de caldă?
Dacă mă vindec, nu o să îţi pară rău? Măcar puţin?
Pentru că acum nu pot să îmi imaginez o lume în care să nu fiu bolnavă de tine.
I decided to stop for the sake of the world. But would the world stop for me? No, it never would. So why should I give up what I love the most for the sake of something that doesn’t even care? If the world hates the words I write, then it shouldn’t read them. After all, if I wanted it to read them, I would have asked it to. It is not I who should stop writing, it is the world who should stop reading if what I say disturbs it. After all, I write because I feel like writing, not because I want the world to read it.
And I’m not ashamed of what I feel. It shouldn’t be shameful, it’s supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to consume me and then bring me back from the ashes so as to consume me again. It’s something I’ll keep on writing about ‘till there’s no flesh left on my fingers and even then I’ll somehow find a way and keep on writing with my bones. Because it’s beautiful and it won’t happen again. So I want to cherish it now, while I’m still here, feeling it. Someday, it may become a fainted memory. And, when that time comes, I don’t want to cry tears of regret over things that I should’ve done but was too afraid to do. If I am going to cry then, at least let me make those tears reflect the joy and warmth of a beautiful instant which will never happen again, but which filled me up for a lifetime.
So this is not about you. It’s all about me. This blog is about me. And it’s precious to me. It’s a tiny music box in which I store my smiles, my tears, my frustrations and my accomplishments. It’s mine. Just like everything that I feel is mine. I won’t let the world take it from me and I won’t throw it away. I love. I love this world, even if it doesn’t care about me. I love the streets, the sun, the birds, the strangers on the street, the old desks in which I sit everyday at the faculty, the long corridors where I can hear the echo of my footsteps, my colleagues, my professors, my parents, my friends, my boyfriend. Each of these kinds of love is special to me. Just because I’ve been focusing on you lately, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything else. I love. And I’m gonna write about love. Period.