ha. long time no see. 😀
de-aceasta data revin in forta cu un nou eseu, o noua compunere, un nou ceva, tema speciala la o materie adorata, preaslavita, scălâmbicioasă.
da, tema speciala, 4 pagini jumatate despre iubire. pana joi.
yey me. ce noroc ca-mi place sa le scriu.
People call it ‘the key of life’. Some couldn’t exist without it. They breathe it, but it has a different feeling in comparison with the one brought by the already underrated, random air. They think this has some kind of magical taste, a special taste, that lasts forever in your mouth, until the very last breath of the underestimated air.
It’s no key at all. It’s called ‘love’. Just like that. Some of us do feel it, some of us don’t even bother to. Some of us are too lost in it, so they can’t feel it no more. As we tend to choose the easy way, what’s easier?
Loving someone, in my opinion, comes with time. And with love, there comes another feeling, it’s called ‘happiness’. People in love are generally happier than the rest of us. They have someone’s permanent attention, someone’s heart, and they also get candies on Valentine’s Day. They smile when they wake up, and if that happens to the both halfs of a pair, even better; they’ll think it’s some kind of telepathy of heart or feelings, something like that. They listen to the very same music, with fitting lyrics for their great relationship, their great hands held together into an endless, sweet dance, led by a moaning piano left outside alone, in shadows.
It’s something felt both inside and outside. It’s felt with an intensity that can’t be described easily by those who do feel it. And of course, waking up happier with each day that passes by, going to sleep even happier than in the morning, sounds overwhelming.
But, for some, this sounds… boring. Really boring. ‘Love, please, who needs that?’, or ‘I don’t have time for it’, even better, ‘I don’t want my heart to be broken again’, that’s what they’ll answer to you when asked about love. So, they avoid it. They avoid a man in his thirties that wants to sit at their tables, in a restaurant. They avoid a woman who’s ready to open up to them. And I find that quite funny, yet interesting, because this shows how different we are, one from each other. While some run for love until they reach it, some run from it, like it’s some kind of disease that you can’t get rid of.
And yes, love may be a disease, a disease that draws your blood out of your veins, until there’s nothing left inside, until everything’s broken, waiting for blood so it can be reborn. Are they right, running from love, it’s worthy? They are, somehow, because love can give birth not only to a beautiful, precious child, but to an unborn feeling developing inside, generating growing pains, with each day passing by. Walk carefully, stones are all over the sidewalk.
Yet, there are those who have felt love, but are either too afraid to feel it again, or think that, once felt, it will never come again, because, in their opinion, love can be moody. More specifically, these are the people who have lost the battle against love. These are the people that used to wake up happier in the morning, and go to sleep even happier, but now, going to sleep it feels like a never-ending nightmare, a never-ending ‘why?’, and waking up it’s only the sequel of the nightmare, but felt in the daylight. These are the people that have once had someone’s heart, but now, that heart it’s buried in dust, a painful, red dust. These are the people who once had candies, sweet gifts on Valentines’ Day, but now get drunk in bars, moaning over their loneliness. These are the people that once were listening to perfect songs, fitting for their perfect relationship, the perfect couple that could’ve had it all. Now, music makes their eyes wet. Lyrics turn into rivers with great eye-drowning abilities.
They’re the most vulnerable people, because they’re the ones who’ve once had everything, and now they’re only heavy. Heavy and empty inside, lost, just like the love gone with the wind. The only word left for them it’s ‘why?’, and unfortunately, there are no answers for that, nor synonyms, because, as I earlier pointed, love is moody, so it can vanish in just seconds.
Losing’s not easy. And love’s main disease it’s called ‘lose’. An infectious love it’s dangerous, a love that comes with pain it’s nothing but poision, but, maybe, if there’s such thing, faith has something to say in all this. Maybe destiny has something better for us, maybe desting wanted and found better for us. Or, either way, we’re set to live a loveless life, a chess game, killer chess game, where a bad move makes you call defeat. And if love’s a chess game, all we have to do is carefully play, with ourselves, with our own hearts, with each other’s hearts we’re holding in our hands. Because there’s nothing greater than a well cared heart, because there’s nothing worse than a shattered heart on life’s white floor.
Is there a healing for treating a player that has lost a chess game? I think the cure stays in people, friends. Distract the loser as much as possible, over a movie night, karaoke night, a bar, and things will probably get better. A loser cannot be left alone, so make him think you’ve lost with him. Join him in tears, laughs, overwhelming feelings, and maybe the loser won’t feel alone at all, yet will catch some courage so he’ll start searching for a chessmate, decided to play right this time, ready to embark on another long journey. Luckily, it won’t be the first journey of that type, but, still luckily, it might be the last one.
I think, no matter how bad, or awful this may sound, we’re all born to love and be loved, and it’s a matter of time until we’re all going to catch this flu. Some of us are already in love, have already given hearts and promises to their beloved ones, have already given white nights on life’s white floor. Some of us still refuse to feel love, and refuse to think and admit that they’ll ever feel it, that their hearts are going to beat faster and eventually flow over life’s white floor. Some of us have already felt it, but, in the end, it did no good, so their white floor needs cleaners. Cleaners that, sooner or later, will show up and start their job.
Because, in my opinion, why would love exist and spread among us, if someone wouldn’t be able to feel it? We all need our roommate, have it already, or secretly dream and wait for him, for that perfect roommate. We all need our perfect singer, pure-voiced singer, to listen and sing night’s songs all along. We all need our dancer, our lovely dancer, to dance our days with. We all need our chess mate.
We were all born with dancing, singing and loving skills. We just need to find each other. Echoes will last forever.
COPYRIGHT BITCHES. make your own thoughts.