Kindness

•28/08/2015 • Lasă un comentariu

kind love

Anunțuri

No one writes letters anymore

•13/04/2015 • Lasă un comentariu

I had never seen her so happy. She said hello and hugged me tightly and I could feel her smiling as she was doing it. I knew it wasn’t because of me, but enjoyed seeing her joyful. For the first time ever, the happiness was real.

I remember the look on her face when she carefully took out the folded piece of paper out of her purse. The words were scribbled in soft crayon and she liked to always carry it with her. ‘No one writes letters anymore’, I thought to myself.

And then there were the days when her smile would completely fade away. She still caried with her the folded letters, but never took them out. It was a silent sadness that was at times painful to watch.

But she never complained. She knew some days would be her happiest and most fulfilling and others filled with a very bitter unhappiness. And she chose to live both*. She chose to feel. Because feeling, regardless of its nature, is what made her who she was.

*Most probably hoping time would be on her side and fade away the second type of days. She still does.

He made a map for me

•22/08/2014 • Lasă un comentariu

I’ve always prided myself in being able to hide my feelings, put a straight face on and get over anything whenever life was tough (and my feelings hurt). I feel a lot but my face has never revealed any of it. Until yesterday, when all the rules I’ve created for myself these past years got broken one by one. I cried. I didn’t pretend to be ok. I admitted to be hurt. I was weak. And the most exposed I’ve ever been in my life. And for whatever reason, being so vulnerable felt…liberating. 

I should be angry. Annoyed. Disappointed. I’m hurt, but I can’t be upset. 

I should stay away, but I’m weak.

He made a map for me and all angry thoughts went away.

Familiar

•11/12/2013 • Lasă un comentariu

It’s in her eyes that I saw what I’ve been feeling for years. A feeling that had become my second nature. A feeling that I still hate with a passion.

It’s reaching for the arm of the one sitting next to you after the third sip of wine. And wishing you hadn’t made any move. Not because it wasn’t what you felt like doing. But because your gesture didn’t trigger any reaction.

It’s walking next to each other on the street, casually resting your arm on his shoulder. And putting it back into your pocket two cold minutes later.

It’s buying a present, hiding it at the very back of the drawer and never taking it out again. Because the fear that the engraving won’t be of any significance for anyone other than you.

It’s in her eyes that I saw what I’ve been feeling for years.

Unspoken

•29/11/2013 • Lasă un comentariu

At the end of the day there are too many words we take to bed with us.

Tell her she looks nice in that dress she wears just for meeting you. Tell him you like the hugs he overwhelms you with at the end of the day. And that it would be nice to feel his arms around more often. Tell her you don’t like when she lets go of your hand in the middle of the street. Or when she only kisses you on the cheeks when you meet. Tell him it annoys you the way he always walks too fast or speaks too loudly.

Days are short. And I bet it would be nice for some people to know they sometimes leave a trace behind them.

Tiny bits

•30/10/2013 • 2 comentarii

Sometimes I wish I didn’t remember all the details. The red t-shirt and tiny stripes on the grey hoodie. The feeling I had when waiting in the rain. The thoughts running through my mind when having the first cigarette. The disappointment in my voice when agreeing to leave earlier. The sadness and seriousness in someone who would always emanate enthusiasm, optimism and contagious silliness.

The very stubborn little weaknesses that just won’t disappear.

Constant Wonder

•25/10/2013 • Lasă un comentariu

They say expressing feelings shows a lack of strength. That gestures of affection betray weakness. That being happy doesn’t depend on feeling loved and being taken care of. 

We grow up thinking it’s normal to go to bed wondering. If we said too much. Too little. If we hugged too tightly. Or for too long. If we should have refrained from that last kiss before closing the door behind us.

Did we feel the need to grab their hand while walking together? We’re such needy human beings.

Do we sometimes think about asking them about their feelings for us? We’re so old fashioned.

Do we ever wonder if they tell anyone about us? God, we’re such insecure individuals. 

 

*It’s the most basic longings that we’re now ashamed of.