Acum ceva vreme, dupa ce am citit o multime de articole legate de depresie, anxietate si revenirea dupa o experienta dureroasa, am scris cateva randuri, rezumand si reunind informatiile gasite. Probabil ca nu mi-au fost totusi de niciun ajutor.
Caci de curand mi s-a spus ca m-am "imbolnavit de tot". Se pare ca nu reactionez asa cum isi doresc altii la dezamagiri. Poate pentru ca paharul dedicat s-a umplut cu multa vreme in urma; poate ca mi-e greu sa renunt la ceea ce credeam ca va dura o viata; mi-e greu sa renunt la tot ce-am iubit, la singura persoana care mi-a stat vreodata alaturi. Nu fac fata bine tradarii, e drept.
Se zice ca e bine sa lasi orice urma de orgoliu de-o parte in dragoste; orice urma de mandrie sau incapatanare; ca e bine sa te porti cu celalalt asa cum ti-ai dori sa se poarte cu tine; ca e bine sa fii complet sincer si sa dezvalui totul pentru persoana pe care o iubesti. Si totusi, oare asa sa fie?
Cand acea persoana te va fi parasit, vei continua sa aluneci intr-o spirala innebunitoare, sa cazi din greseala in greseala, fara a mai avea niciun punct de sprijin. E oare o greseala sa iubesti? O eroare teribila in firea umana?
De doua luni si 23 zile lumea se roteste si se invarte in jurul meu, doar eu m-am oprit!
Natura a inflorit, soarele straluceste din nou, vremea e frumoasa si un vant cald imi mangaie pielea. E ciudat ca e asa. Eu am ramas inmarmurita in iarna. Ma tin cu dintii si cu unghiile, cu disperare, de timp. Nu mi-am schimbat garderoba, nu vreau sa renunt la hainele groase si la ghete, port zapada cu mine-n gand, imi tin ochii inchisi si traiesc in propria-mi minte. Poate...doar poate ca voi convinge timpul sa se intoarca putin.
E o greseala sa lupti pentru cel iubit? Cand stii ca ceva e gresit, e o greseala lupta in sine?
Daca iubirea e o boala, atunci mai devreme sau mai tarziu va trece. Sa fie asta singura speranta ce ramane?...
Asa ca, daca veti vedea o fiinta incrancenata si incercanata, imbracata ca la Polul Nord, in cele 32 grade de afara, cu un nor ploios personal de-asupra capului, rogu-va sa nu radeti prea tare. Sunt doar..eu... Promit sa nu musc!
Roman Lob - Standing Still
duminică, 27 mai 2012
sâmbătă, 26 mai 2012
de-ar fi...uitare
Uitarea este opusul durerii. Va veni o zi cand ma voi trezi si sufletul nu ma va mai durea. Cand amintirea lui nu va mai provoca nici durere, nici valuri dulci-amarui de iubire in sufletul meu, cand fluturii din stomac se vor fi potolit si vor fi plecat sa-i sacaie si pe altii cu freamatul lor. Va veni o zi cand voi zambi si ma voi mira ca acea persoana este cea la picioarele careia mi-as fi depus viata toata; cand ma voi simti rusinata poate ca am putut sa iubesc asa acea persoana. Si poate va veni acea zi cand nu ma voi mai intreba daca ii este bine, daca are cineva grija de el, daca are pe cineva alaturi. Va veni acea zi intr-un final.
Si totusi.. mi-e teama de ea. Mi-e teama de uitare, mi-e teama de nepasare. Ma tin cu ultimele puteri de ultima farama din sufletul meu. Caci acum, in acest moment, am senzatia ca daca as permite uitarii sa se coboare asupra mea, as muri cu adevarat in interior. Mi-e frica. Nu vreau sa mai doara, dar nici nu vreau sa uit!
Pastrez cu incapatanare, incrancenare si disperare ultimele crampeie din ceea ce eram noi. Si ma tem ca multe amintiri sunt colorate in culorile pe care eu doar mi le-am imaginat, insa chiar si asa, uitarea pare mult mai crunta acum.
Timpul nu iarta pe nimeni. Asa ca..va veni o zi cand voi fi uitat. Dar nu doresc sa vina acea zi, desi ne-uitarea ma omoara..
Noora Noor - Forget what I said
Si totusi.. mi-e teama de ea. Mi-e teama de uitare, mi-e teama de nepasare. Ma tin cu ultimele puteri de ultima farama din sufletul meu. Caci acum, in acest moment, am senzatia ca daca as permite uitarii sa se coboare asupra mea, as muri cu adevarat in interior. Mi-e frica. Nu vreau sa mai doara, dar nici nu vreau sa uit!
Pastrez cu incapatanare, incrancenare si disperare ultimele crampeie din ceea ce eram noi. Si ma tem ca multe amintiri sunt colorate in culorile pe care eu doar mi le-am imaginat, insa chiar si asa, uitarea pare mult mai crunta acum.
Timpul nu iarta pe nimeni. Asa ca..va veni o zi cand voi fi uitat. Dar nu doresc sa vina acea zi, desi ne-uitarea ma omoara..
Noora Noor - Forget what I said
vineri, 25 mai 2012
I'm having a sad affair...
Long ago and, oh, so far away
I fell in love with you,
before the second show
Your guitar, it sounds so
sweet and clear
But you're not really hear
it's just the radio.
Don't you remember you told me
you loved me baby?
You said you'd be coming
back this way again, baby.
Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh baby
I love you, I really do.
Loneliness, is such a sad affair
And I can hardly wait
to be with you again
What to say to make you come again
Come back to me again
And play your sad guitar.
Don't you remember you told me
you loved me baby?
You said you'd be coming
back this way again, baby...
joi, 3 mai 2012
cocaine...
...cada día un instante volver a pensar en ti, mi bebé querido..
.
.
...nunca será lo mismo...
miercuri, 2 mai 2012
<< “Dacă trebuie sa ma înseli, măcar fă-o cu una mai frumoasă decât mine!"...
Refuzam târgul. Nu o văd nici frumoasă, nici urâtă ci mereu aceeași, iar această constantă mă mâhnește.
Chiar
dacă toate femeile din lume ar fi niște urâțenii, așa cum dorești tu,
tot le-aș face curte din simpla plăcere de schimbare, de a gusta din
alte trupuri. Adevarata frumusețe este o plăcere a numărului, ea rezidă
în diversitatea carnațiilor, în mulțimea chipurilor; cele mai frumoase
femei sunt cele pe care încă nu le cunoști. >>
(Luni de fiere- Pascal
Bruckner)
something to ponder upon...
A sweet lesson on patience.
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing, I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated."
"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, "Could you drive
through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly..
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued in a soft voice. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" She asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said
'You have to make a living,' she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing, I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated."
"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, "Could you drive
through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly..
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued in a soft voice. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" She asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said
'You have to make a living,' she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
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