I was exhausted from the city lights, the fake laughter that was far from making things easier. I wanted to hear the pain, because I knew that it was the only thing that was real. At that moment I was trapped inside and out – I was ugly and foolish, repulsed by every man I have ever known, yet still adoring him. I was surrounded by different people who seemed to be the same – clueless, proud of their mediocrity, emptied out of their essence.
I kept staring at people’s eyes, trying to catch a bit of a depth, a click to make me believe that I wasn’t alone. I also observed the way people looked at me and I couldn’t recognize myself. With pen and paper, red wine and erotic fantasies about someone far away; with insomnia and tiresomeness, anticipation and reading the world – that was how I could see myself for the past couple of years.
I was still even when I was changing my life, my emotions didn’t move in tune with the circumstances, they remained as flat as a summer lake, stubborn in their comfort zone, fighting for waves and journeys.
I played the melodies that he once played for me and I imagined what his thoughts were saying, what he thought mine were saying; I imagined scents of perfumes, echo of desires, left-overs of a dream. I imagined our life in the bedroom, in the daylight, in the shallowness of the city. I refused to live, I refused to give up.
I was watching the darkness, the Moon, the beautiful painless things that happened only in the distance.