No more feelings

You fucking asked me about my ex and why we broke up.. First off, there were no more feelings. At least not the kind that you have when you share a bed with someone. It was a second chance what we had and it stopped at that. Nothing grew.

Secondly, I saw my parents life in the combination me-her. Think what you want but I'm not gonna go down that road. I have a duty to the universe not to repeat past mistakes like this one.

You also have asked why she's not around and why she's not invited to stuff. To that my answer is simple: if anyone wants to get together with her, I would encourage it. She's a great girl, but I don't want any new memories with her. Our time has long passed and both of us are on different paths. I don't like her short hair.

The day I made you sad

I had no idea the bitch was so insane... I am terribly sorry to have put you in this position. I have failed yet again... That grave I should have been kept unmarked, unopened... Now it haunts me and I have dragged you into this horror film. Hope it has a happy ending... 

  No, I have flipped it from something wierdly pleasant into horror. The sky turned dark as petrol and the wind brought in the cold. He, the wind, had planned to blow hard on me and send me on my way back to the hell hole I crawled out of...

 Nature had a plan to punish me so that you won't have to get your hands dirty. Yesterday changed from the perfect day into the perfect storm that's sent the sun into oblivion and made the day cold as stars never existed. 

I should have learned by now how to bury them deeper and how to plant flowers over them. On these graves, I mean. I am not proud of myself, yet I have to live knowing I will sometimes pass those ugly graves and sometimes I will not be walking alone. Let's hold hands tightly and step up the pace without looking back.

All that hurts is seeing you in your mustard coat and the hat with the innocent ears, holding your distance and hiding your disgust. That's where my pain comes from. From making a bad day turn into a nightmare.

I knew it would be me

When I think of you my chest is beating as if I'm carrying all the earthly and unearthly treasures a man can offer to a woman. I'd gather them all and leave them at your doorstep but never knock.

 I'll never make the first step or speak the first word. You know that. I'm weak like that and just the thought of not knowing what you'd say sends me running to the other corner of the world. Yet I'd take you with me wherever I would go. I'd keep you in my heart until the very end of time itself. 

I've been here before, you know... Only once in my life.  So here we are, face to face and I'm still the same kid I was then, when you had just a different name. 

How could I be so blind and not recognize you from the start?! How come I didn't notice those perfect imperfections?! 

There's no point to all of this... Absolutely none. For all of this is restlessness is in vain without your touch. Once more, I am alone in this...

Cowardice

Looking back at my childhood, there were three types of women in my life. There were the ones I fucked. Those are the low lifes, the cheaters, the manipulators. Those are most exciting fucks ever. They're basic and just know how to enjoy a good fucking. The way they moan, the way they ask for it and the way they take a fucking like it's itching even harder the loger they fuck can make any man cum without hesitation. 

The second type, were the women that befriended me. There have been a few and some are still in my life. They're the good women. The ones that are so balanced that they've become unattractive, more like sisters. To these I can talk and open up to because you know they can listen and give sane advice. These women are the ones that good men seek and marry and have children with. I'll never want that.

The third one is my mother. The insecure type, always afraid something bad is going to happen. She's the controlling type, always suspicious and wanting to know everything and then judging every word, making you feel like everything you do is a mistake. I run like hell from women like that.

There's never been just one, a model to define my tastes. It's always been many women with different roles. Some for fucking, some for talking and some that I run away from. Never knew how to ask one to fulfill each of the roles and it always felt better to keep them separated. 

Infatuation

Whenever I see red lips, I think of you.

Childhood memories

I remember the first girl that I think I really liked when I was a little boy. Har name was, I hope it still is, Andreea and she was the youngest of three sisters and two brothers. Her father was a drunk which we used to see only when he came home drunk and her mother always screamed at her from the balcony on the fourth floor. I remember playing mommy and daddy with her, under the big metal gas box which was a few houses down from where I lived and almost across the appartment building in which she lived. I think she was the first one to have spent time with me.

I remember that one day we went behind the dumpaster on an alley and tried to make hanky panky. She lied down on some old piece of cloth that somebody didn't need anymore, lifted her skirt and rolled down her pantieswhile I, of course, was a horny little bot that didn't know how it was supposed to happen and tried to get on top of her. We gave it a shot or two but of course we didn't make love properly. She had probably seen one of her older sisters doing it and she wanted to be like them. I remember she said 'Ouch!' a couple of times. She was just a little skinny girl playing house whith the  boy down the street that liked her and spent time with her. I remember being terrified that someone would catch us and after five or ten minutes we went out behind the dumpster checking for nosy neighbours that couldn't mind their own business. I think I felt ashamed or at least disappointed of what had happened. Scared I was for sure for the whole eternity that only lasted a few minutes. Not sure, but I think my parents had a problem with me playing with her and think I wasn't allowed to play with her. She came from one of the poorest families on the street. Just imagine... Seven people living in a three-bedroom appartment on the top floor of an appartment building, whith a painter that enjoyed coming home late as a father and two sisters that had their own lives and didn't took much care of her except the occasional big sister beatings. I can't believe I'm remembering this so well right now. This must have happened at least twenty years ago and still I can remember her face pretty well. She was short haired and naive as any girl would be at that age. Yet she was my first, the one that set me on the path of love in the most unusual place one would think of. But we did the best with what we had. And that I'll always remember. 

Her brothers weren't the nicest. They would always get into fights and knew all the bad kids in the neighbourhood. We used to play ball in the street all day long. Danny and Chris were two completely different blokes. One was always trying to be funny, the other wanted to be a playboy, always fancy. As fancy as they could be as nor their education nor clothes did't say high class. Not even upper poor. but they had respect. One time, Chris had to fight this guy from a different street. It had been arranged for them to meet on the field next to the train station. And because i was friends with him and his brother, normally, I was there. Danny and I couldn't intervene although his brother was taking a beating from the other guy. It was their affair and they shook hands like gentlemen after it was over and the victor had been settled. There were only feelings of loss on our side and no celebration after the match was over. We went back to our street and carried on with our games like nothing happened. I just Hope they're not in jail... They were my friends and we shared a lot of momories and quite a few cigarettes back then. That's how we rolled.

Social life

I have met a lot of people and have many groups of friends but I believe I handle the interactions with them badly. I tend to get absorbed with one group and neglect the rest. Which isn't that bad though, because I need time to get to know them better. The issue at hand is that I don't know how to balance everyone out and navigate through the groups. I guess that comes from my all or nothing attitude, like wanting the group I spend my time with to be my all, and always be as I please. 

Guess I'm also jumping to conclusions and start being analytical or judgy with people. Then, when all the pressure builds up, I invent some crazy idea so that I can blame them and run away as it cannot be my fault.

The unbearable

I like the addicts, the abused, the broken, the bastards and the wicked! It's those people that I find most interesting as their views of the world are extraordinary, they have been where no common man had the courage to set foot. I value them and their stories far more than others because theirs are full of hurt and struggle. The sane man has nothing to offer but simple and plain things, the ordinary.