To you...

To you, the one who isn't beautiful.

To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who knows she won't have a dedication written on musical notes, heard by the entire world. played over and over again and some more, especially during foggy mornings.
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who knows Prince Charming exists only in badly written fairytales that seem to always have at least two versions - one always ending with the most desired happy-ending, the other one full of horrid scenes that depict human nature better than any commercial on TV or B-class movie.
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who wishes Darwin's evolution scale could go backwards, 'cause we screwed everything up and work on the ultimate auto-destruction. 
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one that wears her heart on the sleeve, not as a shield, but as the pretties coats of arms. She's not afraid to feel sadness and loneliness as she's afraid to feel unloved and unwanted.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who gives everything of her and keeps nothing for herself, the one who'd jump into fire without thinking twice if you'd only look twice at her and give her the smallest chance.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who knows how to be silent and alert, always there, always near, always prepared to catch the you who's falling deeply into the abyss.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who wishes sometimes to be invisible or a hole to open up and swallow her all, so that she'd disappear wholly with all her pain and aching soul, the one who is embarrassed that she can't be like that person and that person and that person.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who was left without an ounce of luck at birth and still manages to carry on, day by day, with only sun keeping her afloat.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who knows there won't be someone asking for a second, a minute, a day, a month, a lifetime, a forever of her time and still keeps her head up, laughing to the wind and the colours only she can see.
To you, the one who has the most beautiful heart in the whole world, your story hasn't been written yet, so there's no answer to your silent plea. But there is someone, yet to be disclosed, yet to approach you. And you'll be his everything even though you won't see it.
To you, the one who is frail and broken winged... do not despair. 

We want a man. THE man.

"I want someone to love me for who I am." - One of the most heard phrases I heard spoken by single women, myself included. Because, let's be honest here, we all want someone who'd play well with our demons, someone who'd play the role of pure and bright light when surrounded by our darkness, someone who'd give and give, a never ending mine of sunshine. We women want - no, let me put it other way, we think and need to think that we deserve such a person after going through the hardships of being 12 months out of 12 "forever alone".

Well, let me tell you my conclusion after having a more than pleasant get-together with childhood friends: bullshit! And on a larger scale, I'd say we all say big fat lies to the others, ourselves included (well, at least I realized that's what I was doing all this time). We don't want someone who's quiet and soothes our forever bleeding wounds of past loneliness and bloody wars with persons we were too scared of leaving out of principle or out of fear of remaining just another face in the female population crowd that has been dumped/is still single. We don't wish for a man that would never ask who called or would take no interest in that next-door-looking guy that seemed to have his eyes linger on our bottom a second longer than necessary. We're incapable of imagining the rest our life next to someone who brings home puppies and books, does laundry and always remembers to put down the toilet seat. And we certainly won't get along with a man that knows when to remain silent or throw all of himself at our feet.

But then, what do we want?

Let me put this down, wait for it, wait for it... We women, no matter what men think, we're not complicate at all. Most of us want to be taken as deep and give off the wrong signals, when in fact we act on base instinct and, just like the big cats out in the savanna, we go for the big, fierce alpha-man. Money in both his pockets and bank? Sure. A shiny, flashy car, Italian branded that sounds like a purring cat? Nice. Sun-glasses like the stars from Hollywood? Not a must-to-have item, but if possessed brings a plus. Hair styled at a saloon? Mrrr! Facial hair tamed and trimmed perfectly? Double 'mrrrrrr'! But above all mentioned before, we're more likely to fall for his polished macho-ness, for the way he knows his way in and out of a flirtatious moment, for his grande stature that seems to have brought Greek statues to life, for the way he's capable of pulling a night long of intellectual talks and at the same time can completely go into random mood, whispering nonsense like "You're cuter with each day that goes by!" (admit it ladies, it might not make you feel comfortable, but deep inside is tugging on secret strings that we both know should be better taken care of). We'll fall for the big, flashy diamond ring he'll put on our finger with the smooth move of a cat that got her pray. There won't necessary be a  knee on the floor, or a  violin making us go all teary and close to fainting in anticipation, or a romantic scene whatsoever. But he will state that he wants you for an eternity and you'll see that passion in his burning eyes (he would have to put aside his celebrity-like sun-glasses for a little bit) and we'll roll with that.

We women like to fight no matter what we say, so we need a partner in crime, a man to fit the role and throw back the right words on the right tone, a man to be aware of his power and never throw at us anything else but a flower (mind the thorns if it's a rose, please). We like to hold grudges and blackmail our partners, so we need someone who's good at teasing us. We like to consider ourselves powerful and almighty, but turn into scared cats when we hear noises in the night, so we need a man with the power of hundreds to tuck is in beds and act as hugging bears until the morning when we'll kick his ass to work.

We want power and refuse to surrender, so we need to be seduced every single day by a lover with experience and eyes that can imply the most perverted fantasies through just a glance over the shoulder at a party. We need a man who'd act like a man does and make us go furiously mad (yes, those terms can go together, you know) over little things like that darn toilet seat, but when it comes to a western like confrontation, he'd know how to play wounded to death and make us take him back with hiccups and crocodile tears.

So, what do we women want? It's actually simple: a man, THE man. Kittens and tall constitution, kissing techniques that can make us tremble on two, intuition in when to play dead and warmth. We need someone with angels willing to lower themselves and play with our demons.

"We need someone who would take us as we are."

Oops! Did I kind of contradict everything I said above?!

XOXO

Tints

I've been ill for quite some time now. Cold and trembling, merely breathing, dragging my feet across the floor only to reach the limit of my squared life and turn around just to make the same journey backwards. I should know that there's no room for giving up... not now when I came so close to grabbing it - that ray of light silently knocking at my window each day at the same hour.

When it first appeared, it scared the shit out of me to be sincere. It was all yellowish with tints of orange and red - a whole rainbow caught in a droplet of light! And the way the glass warmed up my cold, sweaty forehead... Nothing was the same afterwards! I came back day after day, dragging my legs for hours just to see that for a couple of seconds.

But then the clouds came, my illness made me feel cold and too tired all of a sudden to even open my head. And so I remained pinned in my suffering, angrily building forts of darkness to prepare myself for what seemed to watch over me with every second that passed by - Death. 

And then you came along and nothing was the same anymore. You brought light where darkness had nested, you planted flowers where the ground was dead and dried and watered them with your tears, giving them nothing but lullabies and gentle smiles. And you held my hand when I was all gray and cold, stony figure laying on a bed of fresh and poisonous ivy. You weren't scared of my dirty looks, my sharp tongue or of me trying to escape your gentle grip. You remained despite my cursing and begging. You stayed still and just hushed me back to sleep when the rain would force my darkness out. You - you were my light, my hope, my ultimate colour. With you by my side I could have coloured the entire world and there would have still remained enough paint to glue my skin back to my flesh and my bones all back together.

You - you were my salvation. For when I was gray, you were red, when I was just about to give in to my darkness, you brightened up my fear with tints of pink and when I was this close to just give up on everything, you held me next your golden heart. And nothing was the same...

And now you're down, running out of light and colour, holding tightly onto me, hoping for that small ray of light at the window. So I'll be your guiding hand, your light, your colour. I'll paint your life in bright colours and just a patch of blue of my own, for you gave up on yourself just to bring me back to life. You helped me find my colour when everything was hopeless - you gave me my blue. So now, when you're running out of your brightest colours, allow me to stay by your side and make the same journey back and forth until you finally gain your faith back.

I love you, don't you ever forget that...