"remember that in fairy tales it's always the children that have the adventures, while the mothers stay at home and worry"

like I worry. i worry about what this minute, this very moment slipping through my weary grasp of time could bring, the changes it could produce right in front of me or far away from me, but still within my sphere of interest. i cannot help thinking, with a certain sense of wonder, what he is doing while I am trapped in my cage with my butterfly wings pinned onto the wall like a specimen on exhibit, what he is thinking as I write this, where exactly in this strange universe of ours he is, unbeknown to me, hidden almost in the folds of time and space.

as if it were a recurring theme in a poet's work, this distance occupies my mind whenever we are pulled apart by forces we are neither able to control, nor prevent. time, that is ever so short when I am with him, as if it were crammed by our presence in a miniature box, dilutes itself and stretches between the both of us like glass. beyond it I can see hundreds of tipped hour-glasses and the sand in each of them falls slowly, tantalizing, seemingly stubbornly wanting to crawl back up the half of the hour-glass they came from.

i feel myself trapped in this sick game of time, thrown around from the notion that time is stable to the notion that it can warp and change its dimension, its length. i try to chase the wait and the distance away-- i try to close my mind away from the silent ticking of my watch and the dreadful confines of my house, I try to escape to alternate universes that do not coincide with this one, that are of my making entirely. i read books and immerse myself in the story of this character and that, trying not to weave the situations around my own experiences, trying not to fit myself in the book plot line lest I'd bring my worries with me.

i have always wondered, with a hint of jealousy for never having accomplished this, how it would be to not worry, to simply live your life outside your emotions and not just through them. would it be better if I enjoyed the time I spend with him and then just put him somewhere deep inside of me and carry on as if he were there, as if nothing were missing, just because he is in my heart and my mind? i've tried to, but it could never last. i tried to just pretend that once we said our goodbyes he was still there, always present, like a fleeting shadow. however my imagination could not create that illusion. i was left with a heavy weight on my chest, crushed under the dullness of my actions without him there to give them a purpose, a meaning. his pace did not fall in rhythm with mine, his breath did not echo shallowly, longingly in my ear, his voice did not whisper "I love you" back as a continuation of a thought I hadn't even the time to express, his hair did not fall beautifully around his face and arched neck, his incredible green eyes did not hold that steady, warm gaze that could sum up the world and the feelings better than anything I've ever experienced.

however, when loneliness and darkness become my friends and I let myself be engulfed by the terrible, looming wait, I find myself thinking, in a small voice coming as if from my conscience: what are you waiting for? i immediately think: him. but it is not as simple and clean as that. i wait for him, yes. i would wait for him all my life. if we were at some point in time pulled apart, I have asked of him to live his life, be happy, even if I will be jealous of the one to make him happy, I will wait for him, wherever he may go I will wait for him, I will hold on to this life enough to see that other one or him go, before I let go. because I want to be there, I want to be the one to hear his last words, I want to hold his hand whenever he needs the support, I need to know that we are going to withstand the challenges of time. lately I have seen life like an endless string of disappointments, in which hope is the biggest disappointment of all. but then I figured that one can have everything one wants if one knows what to ask for. would I be warping the time-space continuum so much if I asked for him?

i have lived this word fully, in all its gloom and depth. yet it still frightens me. it frightens me to think of either of us whithering away in a stubborn wait for the times we may lose as unexpectedly as they came to us. i hate thinking of him waiting, because I know that it is the most heartbreaking of all tasks in this world. waiting offers nothing, promises nothing, and might as well give nothing back. i have always liked to think, ever since the two of us got closer, that I have unknowingly waited for him all my life-- that everything that happened to both of us brought us in that moment in which we fused. as we lived our lives up to that point, we never knew where they would lead. but I like to fathom that we have both waited for that decisive moment, we have walked towards it without knowing it as our destination, without daring to hope for it as hope is almost always delayed disappointment, and this we could not possibly disappoint.

there are times when I wonder exactly how intense our emotions are to us, I wonder how better to express them so that their meaning is as pure as it is for me, the one who is feeling them. i sometimes wish I could transmute my own thoughts and feelings and adversities into him, and he his own into me. it would not be swapping roles-- but for a fraction of a second we could see ourselves as the other one sees us, we could realise what we are to that other person, and be swept off our feet by the intensity of what we are experiencing, the tingling sensation coursing through our brain and bursting like fireworks, bringing every brain cell to contribute in the glorious act of understanding, finally, fully, just like it is, what this feeling we so shallowly call love really implies. for just the smallest time, we could live in another body, in another mind, trying to understand how that other mind works, while our own impressions coincide with our own way of thinking things over.

there are many things that I desire possible, but they never come true. i dream of dark skies and silky stars and the moon a pearl, and a quiet beach with bleached sand and wet alike, with the calm calling of the sea as its waves splash against the shore in million drops of ice-clear water, with their salty foam enveloping us, breaking us, throwing us, so that in the same time we are pulled apart and brought together like two magnets facing opposite directions. i dream of semi-bohemian, semi-pretentious living style in the outskirts of an over-populated London or another city, maybe even less known, with a small apartment in a tall yet oppresed building, with an overview of the city, with a faux art studio in the living room and a double bed in a smaller chamber and a kitchen dirty from disastrous cooking and greasy pans and a make-shift bathroom, as left-over. we would cram our closest possessions into this apartment of sorts and live off semi-obscure galleries to which we would sell art and semi-unknown companies for which we would animate a series of things.

i am waiting, and time is unwrapping itself in front of me like the wrapper around a favourite chocolate candy, and I know that whatever is coming I am both waiting for and already living it, and I cannot change it, and it is coming, and after all has been spent and given and we have reached the end of our time, our time that is just a fragment of the on-going time, we ourselves will be going, because we are all going.

mai sper la inca o ora, un minut, o secunda. in fiecare clipa care se scurge stau scrise un milion de alte viitoruri, groaznic de multe sperante nesperate si vise nevisate si soapte nesoptite. in fiecare clipa care trece sta regretul a ceea ce ar fi putut fi. in fiecare clipa ce urmeaza sta incertitudinea a ceea ce ar putea fi. si in fiecare clipa ce o traim sta grandoarea a ceea ce este, mai presus de orice alt timp, de orice alta stare de fapt in care ne-am fi putut afla, in care ne-am putea afla, vreodata. si inchid ochii si simt cum prin mine trec nespuse clipele ce nu vor fi niciodata, fara tine.

o asteptare. o asteptare cu inceput si sfarsit neintrezarit. asteptarea vocii tale, a rasului tau, a privirii tale ce aduna lumea si o spulbera si o preface intr-o dragoste mare. asteptarea imbratisarii, a momentului oportun in care sa-ti demonstrez ca suntem toti la fel, si abia pot sa respir fara tine. a momentului in care toti vor privi de sus tot ce e intre noi, si vor rade, si noi vom rade cu ei, convinsi ca nici unii dintre ei nu au simtit ce simtim noi de fiecare data. de fiecare data, ca prima data.

raman cu tine in gand si dupa ce sunt singura. si in zgomotul din jur rasuna ce-ai spus tu, toate cuvintele pe care le pot aduna intr-o rasuflare insetata de fervoarea atribuita tie. raman singura, si simt singuratatea mai puternic ca atunci cand nu e nimeni la capatul telefonului. dar in singuratatea asta creste ceva, in loc sa se distruga. cresc sentimentele. creste nerabdarea de a te revedea. creste ritmul pasilor mei cand se indreapta catre tine, un ecou perfect pentru ritmul batailor inimii mele la vederea ta. creste neasemuita multumire catre tot ce e in jur ca s-au inteles sa ne aduca impreuna. crestem noi.

tot ce ne inconjoara se topeste, si as putea in clipele astea sa jur ca si daca ar exploda lumea, eu tot as exista in spatiul asta doar cu tine. as putea sa raman doar a ta, si am manca norii de vata de zahar, si cerul s-ar preface in mare, apa intinsa spre orizont ca si iubirea noastra. as adormii cu tine in gand si cu tine in brate si cu tine in suflet. m-as trezii cum am adormit. as visa la tine fara teama spulberarii visului, pentru ca sa ma trezesc ar insemna sa ma regasesc tot cu tine.

y

si totusi nu e nimic mai mult decat un vis. din care nu ma trezesc langa tine. din care nu vreau sa ma trezesc, pentru ca sunt singura si tu esti...

altundeva.

si deschide ochii si spune "te iubesc". Si nu aude nimeni.

si se trezeste si casca si nu e nimic mai frumos decat perna ravasita si patura aruncata la o parte.

si pleaca si in mers sta scrisa asteptarea care a luat sfarsit si in rasuflare nelinistea intalnirii.

si in aer e sarutul.

si in toata lumea asta nu mai e nimic decat el. de timpan s-a lipit vocea lui, de nari mirosul, de buze gustul, de piele atingerea.

si picioarele sunt in apa inghetata, si inima e picata in pantofii aruncati langa patura de pe plaja, intr-un soare opac, intr-o luna difuza, si valurile sterg anticipatiile si sarea se amesteca cu sperantele.

si sterg picaturile de pe pielea ta uda, si simt cum pe aceleasi urme de pe corpul tau se preling alte picaturi, si altele, mereu altele, minunate mereu.

si clipele se intind, ca elasticul, si miros a tine, si se pierd in noi ca degetele mele in parul tau, se pierd in jurul nostru ca vantul in nisip.

si nu se mai intoarce timpul. dar nici nu se pierde. se preface in amintire, intr-un alt acum, intr-o alta ipostaza a noastra, intr-un noi al trecutului, un noi al vremurilor prea devreme sa se duca si prea devreme sa ramana.

si numaram visele, si numaram ecourile, si traim pasiunile, si starea de iubire latenta se preschimba in ceva cu totul, exceptional mai grandios decat secunda care fuge spre infinitul uitarii, si suntem prada viziunii viitorului.

si suiera a furtuna, zgomot de mult apus, si suna a ploaie, rapait de stele si de cer albastru nemarginit, si ninge a ganduri straine noua.

si apa e materie, si spuma marii ne inghite, ne preface, ne rastoarna, vartej de utopii.

si ne amestecam cu neantul, si traim vidul, si ne inaltam in rotocoale de fum de tigara si parfum de alge moarte si calcam in scoici sparte cu sidef de praf de planete neexplorate si o strangere de mana in intuneric.

si adormim pe nisipul ud, cu fulgere ca felinare si tunete ca muzica, si un pescarus urias acopera astrele si le schimba licarirea in vapai, si de sub patura de apa verde-albastra rasare soarele palid.

si in mana mea e forma mainii tale, maini care n-au atipit asa, dar s-au aflat in intuneric, si rasare dintre raze intrebarea-- care dintre noi l-a nascocit pe celalalt?