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Brigitte Syndrome

[They have promised a storm today, which we thought will never come.] A sip after another sip, the dress is becoming shorter than it was, the sight is more dazed than you left it before going out for a breath of fresh air. The moment you came in, I knew I missed you… And I knew it was completely wrong, but your darkness, your wrongness were so right. I was myself, and I stopped liking what I saw in the mirror. Bones not shoulders, ribs undressing the skin, thin legs, bold thoughts, bold plans. I could not handle myself anymore, I became too much. My ego became bigger than me, it wouldn’t let me anymore love as I did, trust as I wanted. I wanted to run, to get out. I yield, cried, I told you to stop, I told you to get out, to leave me alone, I asked you to go. How could you not hear me? Why would you not listen? How did you dare to negotiate with the devil the price of my soul? You kept me bound, handless, forceless, speechless, until I stopped breathing, until I was dead. Today, when you came back you knew I was in the place you left me. All I needed was a check, but all you did instead was testing. I have always shown the best results, but best is never perfect, best is never enough for you. The circle never closed, there was missing a piece, and you were searching for it in me. Until you finally won the self I lost.
I always left the house I own with its doors open, never living the calm and peace it was meant to bring me.            Would calm and peace make you want it all this much? Would the thunder keep you inside, and make me never take that sip?

-R.V.V.-

Photographer: Jon Eric Marabobol

Où est ma cigarette?

M-am mutat cu traiul în scris și dacă la început mergeam pe ideea too romantic to be a copy and not romantic enough to be a writer, lucrurile s-au cam schimbat de atunci și acum mă întreb, dacă suntem atât de deschiși la minte și ne asumăm să ne categorizăm ca fiind heterosexuali, gay, transsexuali, asexuali, queer etc., de ce nu ne batem și noi cu pumnul în piept, cei care scriu? de ce nu zicem și noi direct cine suntem? Mi se pare că e ceva mai mult în jur decât numeroasele site-uri care ne arată căfiecare al doilea astăzi se consideră blogger, fiecare al treilea- poet sau scriitor, fiecare al patrulea- artist etc. Însă cine este acel al doilea, al treilea, de fapt?