F**k relationships! Go for large, go for insane, go for the unicorn, go for love!

,

I want to enjoy my afternoon, 
not to wait for my afterlife!
We are all going to a blind date with the future. 
And just like on a blind date with a woman you never know if the future is going to love you back. 

Yes, Life, I’ve seen the menu and I’d like to order: 
Starter? 
A real childhood. 
Something to drink? 
Bittersweet truths. Forget the glass. Bring me the bottle. 
Seafood?
I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry for love when I’m by the sea. 
Have you noticed how the body of a woman turns into a miracle fish the minute her legs touched the water?
Have you, Life? 
Then why do you give her so much crap? 
Promises 
do decieve her. 
Men 
to leave her. 
Age 
to destroy her. 
And mirrors. 
So many mirrors. 
Not to be able to forget that time flies. 

Mirrors are the real clocks. 
Just watch… 
and you’ll see time ignoring us. 
Taking it all from us like it’s nothing. 
Because it is nothing. 
A day or a year. 
A life or many. 
“My immortal soul” wearing out my body just to slip into a rock and smile back at you through a witty epitaph. Famous last words carved in stone like an irony for the rain to wash away. 


at

Love me loudly



There are many cases where love should remain concealed.
One of those may be a family reluctance, his wife’s, for instance, or her husband’s…
There are even more cases where she keeps looking at you like any blonde to a menu, with no idea as to what she should order.
She doesn’ know whether she’d better want you as fast food or to go – and take home.
And, since she can’t make up her mind, she also can’t say what she wants… from you.
What if we told each other fair and square all we want? Only what we want.
I want you for sex.
I want you because no one else listens to me and I can’t afford seeing a shrink. Some couch we all have at home.
We don’t do that. And I think it’s just fine.
You know what it is you want from her. She hasn’t made up her mind yet.
You think about asking her in marriage, but you’ve no way of asking her, since there’s no one you can ask her from. She doesn’t even think of getting you properly introduced.
Or the other way round. She’d go so far as tattooing his name onto her delicate skin, he’s got a thick bark of a face and wouldn’t let her even tag him on Facebook…
We’ve all been outlaws at least once.
Or at least reluctant.
I’ve never dated women with an IQ the size of their waist. We both knew why we weren’t talking. Or why we kept a low profile.
And now look… You stay there and read me, and you’re not lobotomized… just in love… not very much apart… lobotomizing is irreversible… falling in love can be dealt with through the cold showers of indifference.
You stay there and read me, and you still choose to think: he doesn’t say “I love you”, because he isn’t ready yet… doesn’t everyone know it takes at least an hour’s warming up with leg shaking, to be able to say a few words…
You stay there and read me, and you still choose to believe him that only fools register on Facebook as being “in a relationship with…”
You stay there and read me, and you still choose to think that his fingers are simply swollen, so he can’t wear that wedding-ring any longer… or that he’s an atheist and there’s no reason for you two to get married. Not in a church, anyway… My dearest, I wouldn’t know how unfaithful he is to God, but to you… he most certainly will be.
We all want to be loved loudly. With capital lettering.
That she should feel comfortable both when she hides you in her bedroom… and when she takes you out and introduces you to her best friends.
It’s important she should have you introduced. It’s even more important how she does it.
A friend… or my friend?
A neighbour… or… we already live together?
As far as the ones are concerned… even when there’s no reason left… who keep a limit of discretion regarding their partners, as if they were at a bank counter, keep in mind they’re not the best of investments.


at

If…



If we didn’t waste so much time envying, we’d have enough of it to take care of our own going up, rather than of somebody else’s downfalling.
Anyhow, they say whenever you set about taking revenge, you’d better dig two holes.
If we understood how little time we have, we’d sell off less of it.
If we understood that success is a team sport… winners wouldn’t always be lonesome.
If we chose to not live everything in a shop window… we could taste victories, too, without an audience.
If we gave up madly chasing certainties… we’d have to lie less often.
If we understood why rules ever came to be, we’d most likely stop observing at least half of them. Surely, a set of strict rules is more often than not replaced by another set of rules, not by freedom.
If we gave up dissonant words and stuck to clear-cut facts, we’d see more happy people in the streets than in commercials.
If we took care of our bodies like we keep in mind to make all possible revisions to our cars…, we’d live longer.
If we listened to the advice we give our children… we’d live in more harmony.
If we followed the saints’ principles, instead of just kissing their relics… we wouldn’t be waiting for a better after-life. We’d have it here, on earth, and modern man would stop falling into the “genuinely-fake” category. Or the “original copy” one.
Women would rather stir up genuine emotions with every beat of their fake eyelashes, while men enjoy paying with promises unaccounted for.
Two lies cover up well for each other, but they don’t add up to make a truth.

Two plans never put into practice are worth not even a wrong step, made instinctively. From that one learns something at least.



at

If you don’t love her in the morning…




If you don’t love her in the morning, you don’t love her at all. You only love the way she does her makeup.
Isn’t it you simply adore the way her mascara glides off a little with her tears?
When you make her cry with laughter.
And her hair… no hair stylist can give it such a volume as you give it yourself when you tousle it for her during a happy-ending pillow fight.
Isn’t her less-than-perfect complexion sensational when you get to know the geography of her moles, and the two small wrinkles on her bottom are like the beds of two ecstatic rivers flowing out of the spring of happiness.
Every morning, she says she doesn’t want you to see her like that: I’m ugly at seven o’clock in the morning.
Not if seven in the morning finds you in my bed…
The sleep-heavy eyes? They’re still inward staring, to the soul in which I wallow like a king. A palace I don’t share with anybody.
It’s a glorious morning. With her.
It’s worth killing the alarm-clock only to be able to enjoy the image of her sleeping. A less-than-perfect angel with a black wing.
A perfect piece of sculpture with a broken corner.
Or to phone her mother. To thank her that she exists.
Or to sneak out on tiptoe to make breakfast for her.
A breakfast as less-than-perfect as she sees herself each and every morning.

We are nothing but two less-than-perfects fitting together perfectly.



at

What the perfect relationship looks like. For those who don’t have it.



Men imagine the perfect relationship as a beautiful and a resilient car. That everyone admires when you stop at the lights. That you have nothing to improve on.
But there’s no such thing as an ideal car, and women and cars are very much alike: unless you look after them…, they give up on you…
Women imagine the ideal relationship mostly through negation.
They do NOT want to experience things they already have… which were bad.
It’s like the ten commandments:
He shall not drink…
He shall not look for any other…
I shall not feel hurt again…
The ones as well as the others wish for some sort of magic remote control for their relationship: one that would rewind it and make it better… or bring it up anew, because it’s been so good…
That would key up the volume of orgasm.
That would pump up the volume of the pectorals… and other volumes, too, until they’re just right.
Men would generally turn it a bit lower.
When she’s in a quarrelling mood. Or even on mute.
The thing is they don’t leave it on hold…
But no. Can’t be.
In a perfect relationship, there’s an ongoing interest, because the discreet charm of uncertainty is still there… neither are you quite at ease to let the erotic panther go out without you… nor does she sing: “Oh, not my baby”… a bit of jealousy is of the essence… 
In a perfect relationship, communication doesn’t go gently, as if it were a peaceful weather forecast… it’s rather like a radio drama meant for the neighbours…
In a perfect relationship, she stays neither behind… nor before. A subdued man already belongs to the past, even when he’s not realized it yet.
It’s a funny thing that until you’re thirty… whenever you are in a perfect relationship, it doesn’t quite seem to you that way…
You see one-minute quarrels bigger than a week’s worth of happiness.
You see his wearisome passions… he sees your friends as equally tiresome…
You see a couple of flaws and ignore a hundred qualities…
You see most clearly what it is should be different about her… but only after she’s left do you realize there were some things to change about yourself, too.
Then you wonder how empty your hand can feel without hers.
And you start searching.
That men’s casting in which you’d almost cry out loud: “Neeeext!”
That moment of glad grace… when we boast about how many of them we’ve had…
A sour search from its very start.

A perfect relationship is not something you find. It’s something you have to build up.




at
Abonați-vă la: Postări (Atom)
Back to Top