The samurai in the pale rose convent

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In the pale rose convent

I retract myself

I hide myself

I befriend intensively with loneliness

No noise

No trouble

In the pale rose convent

I touch the warm walls

Pale old pink of time wear

Far from me

The precarious outside world

Hard feelings and emotions

Games of power

Symbols of success

Negations as motto

I might be faint

Opening my door

Only to you

Appear like a samurai

Touching my heart

With your good intentions

Following me in my retreat

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Linguistic

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I think the word “FAVORITE” is used a lot, but wrongly used.

I think it is an error of the language, and it deprives the real sense of what we mean when saying it.

I think the word “PREFERRED” is better. When putting in comparison the preferred object with others.

You are not my favorite. “FAVORITE ” reduces the sense of the preference.

You are my preferred. “PREFERRED” extents, enhances the fondness.

I PREFER you among a thousand of other men on this planet.

I PREFER your  being and your soul among a thousand of human beings and souls I know in this world.

You are my preference

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Preference is the instantaneous choosing of something which attracts me, which attracts my seeing, my hearing, my touching, my senses.

When I look at a landscape, I don’t see only the landscape, I see first everything in it. Then I see you. Each landscape talks to me like you would talk to me.

You are my preference. You are the landscape.

You are the life which is going on in me.

The rain is still pouring outside. The night is dark.

I see with your eyes

I hear with your ears

I feel with your heart

You are my preference

In revelations

In perception

In sensation

I have loved you long before us

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I did not know that you had blond hair when you were a child.

I did not know that you had such strong personality as a child. Stories about your childhood were told to me.

I was there in your old room.

I have always thought I knew you well and the reasons which made me fall in love with you were solidly linked to the present, and to our past.

But when I was standing there in your home, my heart was whispering to me all the soundless words to the brightness of that Sunday midday. My love for you goes far beyond the reasons for which I had chosen to love you. It is now all over your home, back to your past, back to your history. The picture of this kid which was you, in front of my eyes. Everything seemed familiar.

Your room stored memories that I did not know but somehow I think I could guess all of them and reconstruct them again, in my mind.

Could that be possible that I have loved you already before having known you?

Standing in your home, I had that feeling. I have loved you before the sound of your voice could reach me.

On my way home, I shut my eyes and let the joy invade my body. I have loved you in no time, long before memories had time to become ours.

I have loved you out of time. My eyes were closed. I remember a tear slowly slipped on my cheek. Out of time joy.

The ears

“…Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you… So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones… That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine… (Haruki Murakami)

Define being high – have you ever been high without drugs?

Define being in love – that feeling, the closest to getting high, without drugs.

You are on the clouds, suffering is not in your vocabulary, you fly, you float, you are light, you lose focus, you are not weak; you get stronger.

In love and high.

I was lack of sleep for months. His mails usually arrived around 5am in the morning; my brain and body were programmed to open my eyes at 4.59 am, then I could never fall asleep again. I started to get high at 5 am.

I was supposed to see him again sometime in the middle of the year, in June. I stopped counting the days that separated us. Days, months, time passed by so quickly for me and anybody else, except the time within us – him and me. Weekdays were long, weekends were long, nights a nightmare, days full of casual things with other people which made me move and laugh. One morning in early May, his mail arrived at 5am with a bomb effect. He announced his early return due to some emergency. I acknowledged the news at 5.01 am and felt for the first time, since our time apart, a great pain on my chest. It was because the timing could not be any worse. Two days after his return, I needed to get out of the country for some emergency on my side. The whole time he was back in the country, I was outside the country. Fate, destiny, call it whatever name you like. It hit me like a storm. The storm is in me, outside of me, everywhere.

Reacting when you are high is never a good idea. You hardly know what is right, what is wrong. You try to be rational, you try to get some sleep again; and mostly you try to act adult. My head was a mess. The inside of it that morning was like all the wires hidden behind a thousand of computers or actually it was exactly like all the wires that I have tried to hide for months behind my huge TV and the super sophisticate surround home movie (a buy recommended by a geek friend). Even worse. I was in my bed when his mail arrived. Development of some worrisome scenarios. I calculated his possible time on the plane, his trip, when he landed, when I got myself on the plane, when I took off and how two people with such unfortunate destiny could somehow meet each other in a real cloud (yes, not the one in my head when I am high). It became difficult. Think of a bomb with a ticking clock, programmed to be exploded one minute to another, and the yellow, blue, red wires impossible to be unraveled. Imagine a situation where only a Jack Bauer could do something about it; and that was me that morning with no Jack Bauer.

I knew he could only arrive with one flight connection at 5pm the next afternoon. Being in a very no-man’s  land of a relationship where we are friends, or free lovers, or lovers living apart (again my relationship could not fit any normal definition – the only thing which was clear for me from the beginning was that my heart was in command, and my rationality has surrendered long time ago and I was always high when it came to anything related to him), the issue with the “no-definition” and the “no name” relationship with a man who has made you high for almost 200 days on the row, was that, in that particular situation, you would never know if you could show up at the airport just to say hi. Definitely a “no-no” or a “yes-yes” or a “what the hell, I will do it anyway”.

After the breaking news, I went to work, acted normal but could not concentrate. I had one chance to see him before my trip: at the airport. Going to the airport could make me a real stalker, a crazy chick, an immature lady. In public, in daylight, forever, in front of him. Yes, because I don’t care being a stalker, a crazy nuts chick as long as it is in my apartment, in front of my bathroom mirror; I can handle a huge amount of ridiculous in my head, virtually, with words but not out loud, in actions and in front of people, and most of all, at the airport.

During the whole afternoon, I cogitated. The clock on the bomb was still ticking. To be at the airport at 5pm I was supposed to leave my office at 4.30pm, the latest. At 3pm I was still in the dark. I would use some daisies and tear off its petals to play the: “I am going to the airport”, “I am not going to the airport”, “I am not going and I will regret”, “I am going and I will feel remorse”. Tic, tac, tic, tac, 3.30 pm. My hair was dirty, I had no nice make-up (it was a rainy day and normal day of work), I had my ugly old cowboy boots and that was the day that was supposed to meet him after ten weeks apart. I looked tired, ugly but still high. That’s the funniest thing of being in love. Love gives wings and lightness even in the heaviest dilemma. But I had to admit, at some point I did feel a bit dizzy that afternoon. Suddenly, no more imaginary daisies to tear off, I jumped out of my office chair, and headed to the airport without turning off my computer.

Two possibilities of arrivals of his flight: one on the Arrival 1, one on the Arrival 2. Some more imaginary daisies please! I opted for Arrival 1. Once in front of the arrival gate and seeing people getting out, kissing each other, I wanted to flee. Why was I here? Not possible. Wrong choice. Wrong number of daisy petals. What did I do? Why did I decide to go to the airport?? I looked at the people who were waiting. I said to myself, if someone among his friends or relatives was there, I would run off. I could not be there, my place was not there. But I did not know how they looked like. So again, I just stared at them and remembered what he used to tell me: “all of my friends are Turkish or Albanese or Serbian”. So I stared at one man, speculating that he was Turkish and speculating again he was his friend and then again I said to myself: “damn, he is his friend, am sure, I have to back off”. Hardly, I finished this sentence in my head, here he was. And of course, someone was there to pick him up. Not a Turkish young man, but an old Italian man. How could I figure that out just from staring at the people waiting at the gate?? Too late, I said hi. He was surprised I guess, and until now, I still hope it was a good surprise for him.

From the city to the airport, my heart was squeezed a few times. Waiting at the airport, the breathing became a little bit irregular and when he was there in front of me, the breathing stopped for a few seconds. He was nice, easygoing, cool as usual and tanned, more than usual. He was gorgeous and he was HIM, and that was enough. Writing any sentence from now starting with “he is” is not the aim of this short paper. He was there and I was breathless and voiceless. I probably looked stupid. I felt like a child, an adult, an old person, at the same time, all in one. He has the power of God, how could it be? In front of him, I am everything, young, old, ugly, beautiful, smart, stupid, anything.

The following hours were clear and blurred. I kept every minute of this meeting for myself. I had the feeling that if I put it down in words I would be able to remember it for a long time. But then suddenly I felt that silence would make it mine forever.

The “erotic density” of the Greek restaurant where we stopped by to have a coffee was more than “thick”, at least for me.

If I were a moviemaker I would film that unique scene: he showed me his scars and his swollen ears from some MMA combats and I touched them, gently and shyly with my fingers. If I were a poet, I would use all the words in the dictionary to describe this feeling. If I were a photograph, I would congeal and immortalize this image in one shot. That moment was the most erotic moment in any human history of sexuality.

We said goodbye after a few coffees. I went away for my trip. I was high for several days during my trip. He was my storm. He left the day I got back home after my trip.

Today, I still wake up at 4.59am in the morning. My fingers can still feel the soft skin of his ears. And the table in the restaurant putting a distance between our two bodies has a touch of foam. He was so close to me, it was just a distance of a table made of foam.

I had only seen the green

Yesterday your parents told me that when you are sad or annoyed, your eyes change colors. They become slightly darker. Slightly grey.

As far as I can remember – I was very often lost in your green eyes.

As far as I can remember – when you looked at the sky with your deep green eyes, the sky turned into the same green, in a lighter shade, let me wondering if our world suddenly had no more seasons but only the ones you have decided for the world.

As far as I can remember – I had never seen once any shade of grey in your eyes when we were together. How many times I had asked you: “What are one’s feelings having the eyes with such a limpid mesmerizing color?”. The question was always for the green and never for the grey.

Now that your parents told me this detail.

I am just happy. This simply means that you had never been sad or annoyed when I was around.

How about?

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How about a cup of coffee this morning my darling?

How about sharing your last night’s dream?

How about swimming with dolphins this afternoon my love?

How about dancing on the moon tonight?

How about you and me?

Plain, simple, poetic, alive

Crazy, delirious, unbelievable, tremendous

How about us?

Once again

 

I would marry him in white, in purple or in any color of the rainbow

photo-93Yesterday I was telling you that my love is calm. And sometimes it just sounds like a melody played by a flute. This morning I woke up at 7 because I had the feeling that my heart was beating so loudly when I thought of him in my sleep, in my dreams, that I needed to wake up. Yesterday I was telling you that my love did not suffocate me anymore. This morning I had to wake up because my heart did suffocate me. Consciously or not consciously, still asleep or not, I felt that my love was heavy and weights on my chest. But not in a negative way. Just physically. I love him so much. I just felt the weigh of that love, of my heart. Really. Physically.  I did not invent it. It is just a natural phenomenon. My love is big. The organ of love is the heart. So my heart weights.

Consciously or not consciously, maybe I was still asleep, I remember at 5 this morning, when I woke up the first time because of my heavy heart, I said to myself – I would ask him to marry me. I, who never once thought of marriage the last ten years. I would marry him in white, in purple, in pastel, in whatever color. I would marry him because people say that the marriage even though useless and is just a piece of paper, is supposed to be the ultimate proof of love. So if people say that, I would do it. If I could do anything to prove my love to him, I would do it. Because I just know that it would be the right thing to do. For me to sleep the whole night without waking up in the middle of it, for that heart to be less heavy, I need to sleep next to him. He would bear that love in my bed, helping me to take away the weigh of my heart. For me to hear the melody of that flute in my head again, I need to hold his hands while falling asleep.

My love is calm yet determined.

Yesterday I could live without him.

This morning the idea is an utopia.

*** Sculpture “Mujer meditando” (Woman on meditation) by José Kuri Brena