in and out

I’ve had many. All at different times, but many. And I’m 26.

You can figure it out for yourself that it takes some practice to learn how to get into a relationship, quickly sneak out of it and then plunge into a new one all over again. And I am one of those people who fall in love…and when I say fall, I don’t really mean fall – I mean dive. So deep that if you were a professional diver, it would take you at least five minutes to reach the surface. No oxygen bottle provided. Learn this and forget all your worries.

Look at me.

Give me a relationship and I’ll be on top of the world while in it, completely oblivious to the world around me, but when time comes to put an end to it, I’ll have no problems getting out. Unharmed.

They’ll try to pull me down, convince me that they’ve broken heart – in so many pieces that it is virtually impossible to put them back together again. They’ll try. And they’ll lose. My heart’s unbreakable and my soul undaunted. Me? I’m undefeatable. Don’t even waste your time trying – ask me, and I’ll tell you.

I'm only 26 and I've managed to build a wall around my heart. It’s easy to get through it. In both directions. But it never lets you leave a permanent mark.

And yet, I still consider myself deep. Emotional. Happy? I do not.

get a life

I ended up hanging out with a cruel gang. That I-am-so-much-cooler-than-you type. The type that would smile at you, but turn around and trip you the moment you have shown them your back. The kind of people who would spit in your face because they have realized it’s too much of an effort to turn their head to the side and spit on the ground. The ones who would tape you to the toilet, snap a picture of you and post it on the school website…

Just because it’s fun.

And when that happens, what options do you have. Fight back? Yes…if you’re an idiot. But you’re not, so you quickly do the math.

You’re all alone.

You can’t run to mommy because then you’d be a crybaby. You can’t tell your best friend because (oh right!) you don’t have one. You can’t even complain to the ice-cream scooper because he’d rather slam the door in your face than risk being seen near a wuss.

There’s just no point. And you secretly know it, even though you can’t get over how unfair life is. You can only hope that the everything-comes-back-around-and-kicks-you-in-the-ass saying will do you some good in the future. But you never know.

For now, you can only keep your eyes on the ground and let the big boys roll. And when they tell you you suck, you suck; when they show you the “No Dogs Allowed” sign in the park, you get off your butt and leave, and when they try to spit in your face again, you first show them the finger...and run.

the traces of love

It’s a story as old as one could remember. About a man who to many was only a stranger, to many others – a wanderer, to third – a lunatic; some had never even him seen him. But truth is, everyone had heard of him, or at least of his song.

This was not a song as one would recognize today – it had no melody and no rhyme, but its words…were magic.

…

It was at the time when the village was devastated by the plague. There was almost no one on the streets anymore; people had lost all hope for happiness. Their lives had ended.

Only one man was still out there. Nobody knew exactly who he was or if they did, they pretended he didn’t exist. No one was ever fond of outcasts. But he didn’t care. He loved people; all of them. He wouldn’t mind if they cast him away or simply ignored him; he wouldn’t mind if they cursed him and ran away as if he were the devil. No. He’d actually walk by with a smile and look for a way to make those people believe that they should be happy.

…

He was out in the woods one day as an idea came to his mind. He kneeled next to a pine-tree, sliced a thin layer of bark with his knife and carved in the words that he believed were life’s driving force:

There’s a someone out there whose heart beats only for you

The message had to be passed along.

Only few people in the village could actually read and one of them was the priest: the next morning the piece of bark had already ended up from under the door into the hallway of the church.

“There-s a some-one out the-re who-se heart beats on-ly for you,” he read the words aloud. He then thought about them and smiled. A message from God? He had always known that love existed and was determined not to let it die.

The priest was indeed the right person to carry on these words.

He waited until darkness had come down over the village and headed for the merchant’s house. It was not more than 10 minutes away from the church. Once there, he stopped in front of the door, pictured the coming conversation in his mind ahead of time and then knocked. The merchant’s footsteps were quiet but the priest heard them reach the entrance and come to a halt.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice frightened.

“It’s me, you can open,” the priest answered.

The man on the other side of the door seemed to relax and turned the key in the lock.

“How can I help you, father?”

“I need to speak to your daughter.”

“To my daughter?” the man’s face went completely pale. She was his only child. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” the priest’s matter-of-fact smile did not seem to calm the man down. “I would only like to ask her how she is doing.”

“She’s fine.”

“In person.” Battle won. He was allowed into the house.

Anne was a beautiful 17-year-old girl.

Her blue eyes turned to the door as the priest knocked quietly.

“Come in,” the girl’s high voice echoed from inside. “Father!” she was happy to see a familiar face other than that of her parent.

“I am here to tell you something,” he told her as he sat down in an armchair. “An angel spoke to me today.”

“A real angel?” Anne was astounded.

“Yes, a real angel. He told me something that I would like you to remember…now and forever.” She moved closer to him and he whispered the words in her ear. Her eyes sparked with excitement, her cheeks filled with blood.

…

Time passed. People came out of their hiding places, but they couldn’t let go of the fear. Anne, however, seemed to shine. She was happy. She had made her best friend believe that there was a someone out there who lived with the constant thought of her.

And it went on from there. Her friend told her neighbor; he passed it along to a relative from the town nearby, she – to her children, her children to their children. The words often changed, but their message stayed the same.

“An angel came to Earth years and years ago and told a man that love is for everyone,” they would say. “Never forget it and make others believe in it as well.”

They did and they still do.

They are all singing the same song – a song written centuries ago by a man who lived with his heart. A man whose heart saved love.

lifestuck

The motel room is small, the window – wide open. The breeze is playfully tossing the curtains back and forth, but it can't chase away the cigarette smoke that lingers in the air. It's dark and tense. The noise of the speeding cars on the street is penetrating my mind, making me want to escape. The squeaking of the bed in the room next door is being anything but helpful. The roughness, the moaning, the screams of satisfaction. How long has it been since I have last screamed with pleasure!?

And then silence. The only sound left is the one of glass meeting wood, as I slowly place the bottle of scotch on the table.

Another moan. I shiver and catch myself biting my lip - so hard I can actually feel the taste of blood in my mouth.

There's no point in waiting for him, but also no point in going to bed. He's gone. Getting drunk probably, hitting on other women: I've gotten used to that. After the fourth year, it has become nothing more than a daily routine. He'd come back in the middle of the night, wasted, with the smell of women's perfume all over him, wanting more…this time of me. Back in the days, I would try to stand my own and not let him use me as a punch bag for all his physical needs. I never managed. He would toss me around the room, tie me to the bed and beat me until I'd have no more strength to scream or cry.

Nothing's changed since then. No, he has gotten better at one thing – using cruelty to his advantage. Perhaps I've made it easier for him: it's been so long since I've last tried to confront him. But then again, what's the point!? Has my body not suffered enough - my face, my arms, my legs and everything in between? Have I not heard my ribs crack under his weight so many times…?!

It's the same story over and over.

I know tonight he'll come back drunken again and look at me with that perverted spark in his eyes. And I know I'll turn my head to the side and will have to stand the humiliation of being his wife. But it is what it is. I can't escape; I've tried. He knows how to look for me. And when he finds me, he'd be 10 times as hard, and 20 times as disrespectful. There is nothing I can do, but smoke my cigarette and drink my scotch.

And wait for the night to be over.

between two covers

“Stop teasing me about this, I can’t tell you. That’s the beauty of a diary – to be a secret.” He kept making fun of my pink little notebook. “Plus, you wouldn’t understand.”

“But I thought we said no secrets,” he fired back as I hid the diary behind my back.

“I know, but…” I couldn’t even think of a reason not to tell him. But I love to keep him in suspense, so I prolonged the silence as long as I could. And then: “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

I opened the diary and flipped to page 1.

“11.11.2009,” I took a deep breath. “Mark took me out for dinner to that Italian place I told him I love. [He’s a good listener.] It’s been awhile since we’ve started dating but I like the way we’re taking it slow – makes me enjoy every second of falling in love with him…and work out past things.

The meal was good, as usual. And Mark was amazing. [Even more than usual.] He never let me out of his sight, held my hand while we were talking and laughed at my jokes.

He gave me a ride home. And walked with me to the front door. And to the bedroom door as well. A gentleman, I have to say. I imagined my first night with him to be like a scene from a movie. But...things being the way they were, it was nothing like that. And yet, it was perfect.

We walked in the room together and he swiftly closed the door with his leg. I could see the passion in his eyes. I felt his arms around my waist and then his body pulling me closer. His lines got blurry as I moved towards him…

A moment later, all was dark. I couldn’t see anything anymore. I could only sense his sweet scent and feel his lips on mine. Their warmth was soothing, their taste – captivating; I couldn’t let go and neither could he. But we did. My knees had gone completely weak and I saw my hands shake as I reached out to touch his face. He too, noticed.

He led me to the bed and gently laid me down on it. My heart was racing but I couldn’t move, I could only look at him and smile. He smiled back and lied on top of me; his lips centimeters away from mine, moving slowly as they uttered three simple words: “I love you.”

I love you too.

His fingers slid from my forehead, to my cheek and further down to the rest of my body. But they never tried to unbutton my shirt or unzip my jeans, and I know they wouldn’t until I have managed to put some things out of the way. He has seen through me and knows that I’m struggling to make past past, and this is why he never pushed. I’ll be myself very soon again; I only hope he’ll be next to me, waiting...”

Silence.

“Don’t stop, go on,” he said impatiently.

“That’s it. That’s all. I only have one page.”

“But that was a whole year ago. You must have written at least something since then.”

“No. I’ve never felt the need to write again since. I’ve had you."

Silence. I knew he wouldn’t…

“I understand,” he said to my surprise. “And I love the concept. Thank you for letting me write this story together with you."

“I...you don't have to...” He interrupted me and pressed his finger to my lips.

“I love you.”

Still caught in the web of emotions that past November had brought me, I recalled the four words I had so many times ran my fingers over…

“I love you too.”

Missing you

One desert, one merciless sun, one long road and one love. Ours. Yours and mine. The one that is no more.

…

It was the hottest day in July so far. The air was dry and my body needed water. We had to save it. Ten minutes ago, we had passed that “Last gas station for the next 75 miles” sign, the one you made fun of. You couldn’t get over the half-naked guy holding as many water containers as he possibly could. “And that’s supposed to be attractive,” you said and drove past him. Remember?

…

I had my window open; the wind was blowing straight into my face, tousling my curls. I didn’t care. Something else was on my mind. You. I felt your hand cross the air from the wheel to my leg; it went slowly down until it reached my knee and then stopped gently. I shivered inside.

Have you been thinking about me all this time? I have. Your eyes were glued to the road ahead, but I was sure your mind was somewhere else. I turned to my left and slid my look from your hair, to your eyes, to the drops of sweat rolling down your cheeks, to your lips. Everything about you made me go crazy. You moved your hand up my leg again and held tighter when you got to my thigh. I want you so bad, I thought. All I could think of was pull over and get all over me.

That much we wanted each other back then. Remember?

…

I took your hand in mine and pressed it against my lips. Your face twitched with pleasure. You wanted more. Just like the night before when you held me in your strong arms, kissed me as if it was the last time we’d ever kiss, made love to me as if I was the only woman left on earth… And then you simply let me sleep by your side.

“I love you,” your words echoed in my head.

I breathed in your scent and listened to your heartbeat next to mine moments before I closed my eyes.

…

The car began to slow down; I could feel your fingers on my neck. Seconds turned into minutes as the adrenaline threatened to take the best of me…The rest is blurry. The car, the windows, the wind and the sand. The heat and the sweat. The passion and the love. You don't remember, do you?

It was all there, and it still is. In the past. We were but we are not anymore. Nothing else has changed, but us.

I miss the desert, I miss the sun…the wind, the sand and the endless road. But most of all, I miss you. The way you touched, kissed, shook with pleasure…the way you held tight. I miss your eyes, I miss your smile, your hair and your smell. I miss your lips. Your love.

The one that is no more.