And thus we continue...

Dear readers,

Those who subscribed for my stories or check from time to time to see if something new popped up need to know that old stories were moved or are in the process to be moved on the following personal blog:

http://storiestotakeyourbreathaway.blogspot.ro/

Also...new stories are on their way. Soon. :)

Thank you for those who during these last years cared to read, like, share and comment. Your words are kept in my drafts and highly appreciated.

Myworldofsmallbigthings will continue as well, but with more life, real situations.

Let's stay in touch and as always....

Keep reading!

:)

Pages from an unwritten novel

                                                                                *****

"Everything began with a sleazy, clicheic 69 tweet." This is how this letter was supposed to start. I felt the need to let the entire world know what is happening behind the scenes.

I thought that if I put on paper all the evilness, the beauty, the challenges, the roads I travelled for several years, it would help me somehow go through the ordeal. Because the ordeal didn't stop when it was supposed to stop. No, ladies and gentlemen. The ordeal went on even with uninvited guests. Guests lacking minimum of decency. Guests driven by such malice, alienation and lack of respect, that everybody involved froze in place speechless and baffled.

But lets not digress. As you can suspect, what we thought it was miraculous and divinely brought to our paths vanished from my heart. And I think... out of the entire story, this is what hurts most. Stealing from me all the moments we shared. Influenced or not, on purpose or not, it doesn't even matter anymore. The wounds are so deep and so "unhealable", that only hatred can do real justice. But hatred is such a big and useless word. Rationality, cold blood and determination sound better. More to the point.

Therefore, the story that needed to be told is dead. Too many words were spoken on all sides. Good ones, but mostly bad ones. Unimaginable ones. Broken, raw ones. One thing is when somebody makes himself a life without you, giving up on you with the easiness you click the Block button on Twitter, but another thing is when somebody is using you shamelessly to put order in his life, in the process allowing the above mentioned guests to behave as if the world had turned into a place without laws and where anarchy prevailed.

I am robbed. Mercilessly. Walking Dead like inner life. No wonder a fly is buzzing me, as if I dont exist. And I dont have palms to slap it. A stone instead of a soul. Now that we know the robbers, what exactly can we do? Society is not on their sides. So the right and correct solutions will be searched for. Because the world is unbalanced.

They say people change. Or maybe not. Maybe they were like this all this time. Merely faking everything, because I was at hand, offering support even when I was sleeping.

The feeling we call love, the longing, the desperation provoked by absence is still there nevertheless. And most probably will always be. But when somebody dies, then its over. You cannot talk to a dead person, right?

I kept the part of the deal we had until the very last second. Now it is time to take care of liabilities and damages. Because too many provisions of the contract were violated. Not even millionaires would get away with so many mistakes, errors and damages done with a clear purpose in mind: you die, because I don't care, while I live happily ever after. Thank you. You were such a lady. But its time to focus on my wellbeing. Oh...and yes. Thank you. Because I know you will keep your mouth shut, while I dance. I am smiling. You see? I am cool. You are cool. Oh...you are not? Ahhh, you are in pain? So what...?  

The story goes on. It is being written right now. But not with love and admiration. Not with a smile, a tear and a joke. Because he doesn't deserve. I don't deserve. The guests don't deserve. At all. Eventually we all failed to be human. Broken toys thrown in a greyish attic, where there is no light, no warmth, no air. The story is being written with dripping blood right now.

Life will settle things on its own. And I despise life for letting such a crime happen. Life is just a cheap brothel. And we circle around inside it, wearing too much make-up. We have the audacity to believe that, if we shove in front of the audience our sad face with a black trace of the smudged mascara, they will feel pity and they will save us all from the misery. Delusional. We deserve to be here.

Because we chose, step by step, to stay in it.

But then again... until we meet, stay tuned. And alert. It is over when I say it is over. Because...loyalty is gone now. We are on our own. I paid my price. With interest and all. Time for others to pay, too. I will even put a good word with the bank. Why struggling to reimburse big hunches of sorrow over a short period of time under such a pressure? Dont worry. I will arrange lifetime small and intense instalments for you.

                                                                                  *****




   

What do you see?

"What do you see?"
"A woman in a grey coat, carrying a heavy laptop and a dog in leash. She is walking fast. Her eyes are pinning the asphalt."
"You are wrong. You see a woman who loves her work and her pet. You see a perfectionist. Somebody with ambition. A little bit unhappy, but a fighter."
"Hmmm..."

"What do you see now?"
"We are passing by an ugly house, where there are no flowers and just an old, ugly tree is hanging there in the front yard."
"You are wrong. You see an old house. A melancholic one. Deserted, yes, but still standing. She finds comfort in her lifetime buddy, the only one who has never left her. The one who is telling her every spring: come, come, dear friend, we might be old, but look at my foliage. It's here, only for you."
"Hmmm..."

"And what about now? What do you see?"
"I see a teenager, smoking on a bench. He has empty eyes and he is dressed all in black. Oh, and near him a dirty notebook."
"You are wrong. He is a young boy, lost in thoughts. He has just hurt his girlfriend and he is scared. He doesn't know how to ask for forgiveness. The notebook is his only comfort now. It is his journal. There you will find all the poems he wrote for her every night. He has never had the courage to show them to his sweetheart."
"Hmmm..."

"I smell fresh coffee. So what do you see inside the coffee-shop?"
"A bunch of strangers, drinking and eating."
"You are wrong. You see people enjoying themselves, people leaving the comfort of their houses, friends chatting, and loners who smile when they receive the steaming cups with creamy hearts beautifully drawn."

"Okay. I give up. I need to ask you. How come you see all these things?"
"I lost my sight two years ago, but my heart still can see."  

Open letter to God

Dear God,

You know I haven't been among the best of your supporters and believers, but in my sincere and honest way  I carried you all along inside me.

You know I haven't been the wisest, but I did ponder over things and I tried to act in such a way nobody was hurt.

You know I haven't been the most beautiful (far from it actually), but I did my best to be a pleasant presence wherever I went.

You know I haven't been the smartest, but I have never stopped learning and forcing my limits.

You know VERY WELL I haven't been the luckiest, but this motivated me to work even harder.

You know I haven't been the wittiest, but I have always tried to make people laugh.

You know I haven't been the most generous, but every person I loved felt like a king or a queen around me.

You know I haven't been the most pious one, but I have tolerated with an open heart all the people around me, no matter the creed or sexual orientation.

You know I haven't been perfect, but I have always tried to give back something good.

Well, dear God, I am tired.

It's time for you to do something as well.

Because so far I have received from your children only deception, rejection, cheating and betrayal. As a bonus, you gave me sickness. In body, spirit and heart.

And not one single moment of happiness.

All the "positive" aspects have always stayed under the sword edge.

Every time things seemed ok, I knew it was just for a brief second.

And I am fed up with it.

Be a sport and prove me I was wrong all along.

Give me a chance to say thank you. With love.

Of "love", real love and the other side of the coin

I have earned my right to talk about a feeling people use too easily to describe what they go through.

Age, personal experience, stories of close and not so close friends, a fair amount of relationships, times of despair and "happiness", thousands of words read and written do not make me an expert, but they give me the confidence to evaluate and define what love is.

It is generally believed that the base of any relationship is love. Once this ends from various reasons, it goes into oblivion, taking forms like friendship, indifference, or forgetfulness. All based on the survival processes like "letting go", "moving on" and other inventions of sort that Internet articles and friends talk SO love to highlight in moments of "soul crisis".

If that is the case, I am sorry to wake you up, but you have not been in love. You experienced infatuation, ego enhancements, crushes, lust, mutual interest or fear of loneliness relationships. So accept the truth and stop talking about love.

Real love cannot die. Real love goes on infinitely, as in a perpetuum mobile, feeding itself on its own energy. Real love stays inside you and one cannot fight it with wise stories, advises or self-control. Real love is an overwhelming power that cannot be tamed by anything. Real love kills you every second and gives you birth every second, too.

Then, the big question comes. What happens when real love is betrayed, hurt, mocked at, despised or shattered by the counterpart?

In exceptional cases, it manages to keep flowing as a positive stream of feelings. I personally have never met anything like that. But I don't deny the possibility.

Most of the times though it turns into an equally powerful universal intangible machine, and that is hatred. And as real love keeps growing with time, the same it happens with hate.

And while real love comes with incredibly crazy and romantic gestures that can make anybody cry with happiness, hatred comes with a tool to be feared: revenge. On a long term. Until the possessed one dies.

Avoid real love if you are not prepared for the other side of the coin.