Ieri seara


17 comentarii

when you call me

 

Room 5904, floor 59. At 11.30 PM. Be there.

Am nevoie de un pahar de sampanie mare. Adica cine se crede? Hm, parul meu nu arata asa de bine azi.

WTF, de ce ma gandesc la asta? Ce conteaza cum imi sta parul? O sa merg la somn in 30 de minute. Si o sa ignor mesajul. Da, asta voi face. Unde imi sunt tigarile? As putea sa port ceva rosu. Il innebuneste …

Termina Gladiola! Ahhh… am ajuns sa vorbesc cu mine. Normal, mi-a legat mintile cu aceleasi catuse cu care ma leaga pe mine.

Anyway, unde imi sunt tigarile? De ce imi pierd tigarile mereu? Ahhh si parul meu chiar arata ca naiba azi.

Cred ca am verificat telefonul de 10 ori in 20 de minute. Nu vreau sa stiu de cate ori am recitit mesajul. Imi trece prin cap sa ma leg singura cu catuse de patul meu. Sa fiu sigura ca nu imi parasesc apartamentul.

La 11.30 fix (pentru ca adora punctualitatea), cu o palarie mare si un trench frantuzesc negru, tocuri inalte si mai nimic dedesubt, respir adanc in fata unei usi pe care scrie 5904.

Taxiul ma asteapta inca jos. I-am spus ca s-ar putea sa vin in 5 minute sau dimineata. El a ras subtil…

– I understand…

– It’s not that!!!  m-am ratoit eu la el.

Dar ce e Gladiola?

El deschide usa si ii vad doar pantofii de sub palaria neagra. Nu spune nimic, lasa usa deschisa si se indreapta spre bar.

Taxiul e inca jos. Si o sa fie jos si dimineata.

Inchid usa in spatele meu, imi dau trench-ul jos si in genunchi ma indrept spre el.

Ahhh, you wear red. Naughty girl, you know what red does to me …

sunt bine


18 comentarii

Drama. Viata mea, intr-un cuvant.

Trebuie sa fie mereu complicat. Altfel, te plictisesti, nu-i asa Gladiola?

Triunghiuri. Soapte. Legaturi bolnavi delicioase. Pacatele lui. Pacatele mele. Pacatele celorlalti. Pacatele ei.

Durerea sinonimul placerii. Nopti lungi. Lacrimi. Ganduri nebune. Lux.

Despre tradare ca lifestyle.

Lumini. Luna plina. Cladiri inalte. Cockteiluri in cristale. Parfumuri scumpe. Aston Martin.
Londra. Los Angeles. Tokyo.

Caut inspiratie in asternuturi albe. Miros de bordel.
Make up. Break up. Viata urmareste un stylist care e inca in training.
Dorinte murdare.

Urme lasate de o funie pe incheieturile mainii.
Te poti abtine cand sunt in genunchi?

Capcana dintre un perete rece si caldura unui corp. Going in. Going out.
Climax.

 

Sunt bine.

Untitled


6 comentarii

Love is hard. If you completely submit to it, you risk the chance of your heart being ripped out. If you don’t, you risk being cold. You risk the chance of your entire life being wasted on one person and all of your experiences being based on that one person, but you also risk the chance of being truly happy because you’re experiencing the right love. Emotions are tricky, as are interactions with people.

But your quote is all too true. I’m lucky I never was *that* girl, but that could be why I’ve had four marriage proposals but never trusted myself to actually make one of them my husband.

Loves are like that


Niciun comentariu

“ You heart starts to feel like an overcrowded lifeboat. You throw your pride out to keep it afloat, and your self-respect and independence. After a while, you started throwing people out – your friends and everyone you used to know. And it’s still not enough. The lifeboat is still sinking, and you know it’s going to take down with it. I’ve seen that happen to a lot of girls. That’s why I’m sick of Love.” Shantaram, David Gregory Roberts