Will You Be Alright?

You take a jar - a random one and you stare at it. The emptiness in between the glass walls frightens you at first 'cause you see no end to it. And it's like an invisible Vortex, pulling your soul out for an out-of-body experience you never asked for.

And so, with every second that passes, you get smaller and smaller, Alice in Wonderland size and you fall. Glass forms a thick and hard bed for you to land on. And suddenly you see lights and all kinds of wonders that you were to blind to see before.

It was a small jar, wasn't it? That's what you thought. That's why you picked it up in the first place. You were intrigued by it's roundness and perfect shape, the way it would close and trap in whatever you put in there. Only that it's you inside there and there's no escape from it...

"Will you be alright?" A voice echoed through the air, making you look around you with frightened eyes. But there's nothing but warmth. And a summer day is being shown to you - the very first one when you made your first mud cake, adorning with yellow and white wild flowers that used to fill the park behind your house. A younger version of you is mesmerized by the copy of reality she made. "I'm going to be a Chef!" But the rain came and your cake melted into a dark coloured and ugly mud pool.

"Will you be alright?" A softer voice asked again as you caught the smell of ice and cold. Ice-skating was always fun, especially when you'd get to spin around without landing on your back or scratching your knees. You used to feel so safe and secure while walking on the ice. But one winter you slipped down the ice and scared as you were, you didn't go to the doctor and handled the throbbing pain in your ankle with tears and tantrums.

"Will you be alright?" This one grabbed you by the wrist, spinning you around. You in classes, you being perfect as you usually were. You were great back then, you can clearly see it in a mirrored reflection of a past you almost forgot. Yes, you were the best and always striking for more. More, more, more - more is better. And then you fell. An inexplicable feeling of falling forever, lower and lower, passing the ground level... and you were no longer the best, the envied one, the respected one. You were just... normal.

"Will you be alright?" A voice like the rustle of pages shook you yet into another mirrored experience. Your first essay. Your first story and your first challenge. You knew then, just like you know now, that it was one of the best feelings in the entire world: having something written by you, from your own head, put down on paper and admired like some sort of expensive and rare China porcelain. But school was out and you had grades to worry for, where to put that your favourite pair of jeans had a huge hole in the knee...

"Will you be alright?" This voice was sweeter than all the others, opening the door to an exited you pointing at a strange, black thing. Your first encounter with a piano. And it wasn't even one to be used, but one in a museum. "I'm going to be a great pianist!" You were delighted, enchanted by all the great composers that left behind sweet tunes, powerful tunes, melodies that were telling you stories never heard before. But then your doctor said you shouldn't force your hands too much since you have small hands and the fingers can't cover the keyboard lightly. And money were another problem... and so the piano lessons ended before you could even understand the keys on the keyboard.

"Will you be alright?"

"Will you be alright?"

"Will you be alright?"

So many voices, so many concerns, so many mirrors breaking in front of you in the jar you thought it was empty. But you couldn't have been more wrong - for it was full with the ghosts of the past you, with so many abandoned dreams that were born to stand tall and shine brightly over the world only to be forgotten in the end. 

And there you are, surrounded by the ghosts of your past self, all looking gloomy and gray, flickering lights that were burning down their last supply of energy. And that only to take a second look at the present you, the you who are so lost from your original self that you were overtaken by fear.

"Will you be alright without me by your side?"

"Will you be alright crying by yourself, without me giving a glimpse on your future self?"

"Will you really be alright without me helping you stand up in moments of fright and pain?"

"Will be alright without any hope left for tomorrow?"

And that's when you knew it. You new they weren't any kind of dreams, but your dreams, expensive dreams, dreams made of pure sunlight and ice flowers, dreams that made you smile like a fool, dreams that made you challenge the world only to prove they were wrong to label you as 'OUT OF ORDER'.

All those dreams that made you grow up beautifully, at peace with yourself even though a little shy and maybe not that out going as the rest, but that kept you safe and sound even during the darkest thunder storms.

"Will you be alright?"

A new voice. One you didn't recognize at first for it was coming from the outside the jar, from inside the invisible Vortex.

"Will you be alright after leaving my side?" It continued and you knew that it was worrying for the pale replicas of you. After all, it was the future you. "Will be alright with finding another path to me? Will you be alright with returning to my side a little later, after I finish growing up and have my own kids? Will be alright with returning then and staying by their side?"

And so they faded, died away like summer into the autumnal wind.

A jar of dreams was what you kept hidden from the world, packed under your bed without allowing them to shine brightly. A jar of broken dreams was what you were about to desert into the trash bin. A jar with so many shards of yourself, that someone could have cloned you and you would have ended up dying in a dull and horrid present.

So, keep it safe, 'cause they help your hands even when they were fading away, 'cause they felt sorry for leaving you even when they knew they were worn out and lightless to show you the right path.

Keep them close for those who have yet to hear about all their funny adventures, about the rain soon stopped and you made yet another mud cake, about the ankle that didn't hurt that much and the ice that wasn't a real enemy in the end, about the piano sound you continued to adore from afar, about how the words were your biggest pride. 

Keep it safe for the ones that are to come - your jar of broken dreams and untold stories.

Yes, Lonely Love

There's your sit. Please, make sure you're sitting comfortably, for this may take a while.

And here's your drink: natural juice of your favourite fruit, 'cause I don't want you to get drunk just yet.

All set? See, I even prepared a box of tissues just in case, you know, get too emotional and can't hold in. 'Cause I'm telling you, darling, tonight is the night. Tonight is the night when I finally strip down this show for you under one single lime light. But it will feel like the footlights are blinding you, 'cause summer is dying and the dress of autumn is rustling like rusty leafs.

So tonight I will let the cat out.

I'm telling you, I'm not the type to just vent out like this, so blame it on the glass screen in between us if you want. Blame it on the stars and on all the words you say - nonsensical, by the way - but that still manage to make me smile even when I'm drowning in the deep waters of my own mind. Blame it on your music taste that I try to understand and catch in between the lines, 'cause you just refuse me the privilege of being that cool and know the name of your favourite band. Blame it on your silence and stares, on your stupid way of contradicting me - stubborn to the bone, I'm telling you.

Blame it on the distance between out fingers when you're not around and blame it on me being foolish enough to fall for you despite knowing I stand no chance, 'cause there you are, all dark and twisted, chuckling in amusement.

Blame this on the bluff I'm secretly playing whenever we talk on Skype, 'cause I'm just that awesome and hide my silly smiles behind emoticons sent only after you're no longer online.

Blame this on the cold water I drank before calling you here, because I have been without you for too long and I was thirty like Sahara without rain for half of year.

Blame this on my eyes that see you crossing your legs while staring right back at me, seeing through my chest and aiming for my poor, poor soul. Really now, you'll be the death of it someday, I know you will.

Blame this on my mouth that twists awkwardly whenever I get a message from you, pulling faces when you can't even see me - I'm low like that, yeah...

Blame it on my stupid and foolish heart that beats like crazy just knowing you're up by now, doing whatever you do early in the morning when normal people sleep.

I see you're getting nervous there, but bear with me for a little while, alright? Dude, I need to gather the left bits of my courage, really now!

I don't understand it either as a matter of fact. I don't get how all of this happened right under my wide opened eyes, when you know and I know that you're one world away every time I reach the circle you run in. I don't understand either what exactly is this 'show' I put for you every time we talk, but I know it can't last forever. I mean, look, summer's almost gone and as much as I hate to say this, autumn will be here in no time. And being serious for a second, we both know our season ain't autumnal or cold. It's fresh and hot, full of sun light and ice tea forgotten on the round table I know you adore. Our season is that when you feel you're drying under the sun, when you walk shirtless after waking up after 2 PM 'cause you stayed up all night bugging me with your nonsense and mean remarks. Our season is that when I hide inside and you just laugh at me from the screen, when I eat nothing but tomatoes because - heck, I want to be pretty when you sneak up from behind the glass and proudly show me your new phone because you're awesome like that and downloaded all the apps on it just to surprise me by sending a message from under the window.

Our season - wait, give me a second here 'cause I feel a feeling being born right under your eyes - our season is that of pictures taken when you sleep, 'cause you hate the camera. Our season  is that of listening to music with the speakers at maximum, dancing in front of the PC, pretending we're there, together.

Oh man, why is this so hard?!

You and I, we haven't known each other for that long, right? It started casually at the beginning of time, with an awkward 'Hey!' and more 'FUCK!-I-almost-spit-on-the-screen' than anything else. It continued - I guess, with a lot of random shit and a broken keyboard. You said you like loneliness and I just shrunk on my chair, thinking you're some sort of lunatic that flew out directly from cuckoo's nest. Then you disappeared from my online list for days and I thought I dreamt. But one evening, there you were again, red like a cherry right on top of my list:

"Hey," your message poked my ears, "I've been shopping for stellar dust till now. Want some?"

Got to tell you, not the most original way of starting a conversation with a girl, but I let it slide since my heart was badum-badum, going like a drum inside my chest.

So, that's how we met. But how on Earth did we manage to keep it going like this over the Stone Age, Middle Age and Modern Times?! 

You filled my head with crazy codes, the strange signs you said you saw in a movie with aliens, while I wrote your profile down. You turned up the music volume in the middle of the talk, while I disappeared under the shower for more than a night. You fed my brain with psychological thrillers while I didn't even let you share my box of tissues during 'The Big Wedding'. You liked dogs while I liked cats - we finally settled for a stupid, white mouse (you still owe me a new couch and new living room furniture, remember?)

What else?

Oh, I hate your random shit playing whenever I open your profile. I hate it so fucking much that I almost broke my PC in two after it remained blocked for almost two hours. I hate your awkward silence 'cause it makes me blabber nonsense and be like, well, you. I hate you being lonely, 'cause it makes me feel powerless. And you know what happened last time you said you're lonely - I took the airplane, rode a bus, hitchhiked, walked 10000000000000 x nth miles and wore a fucking alien suit only to find you eating ice-cream under a palm tree.

And finally, hate that whenever I start saying something serious, you put this glass screen between us and you go blank like you're stoned or something.

Ok, ok, I think I've got it now! Just give a second to - done! It's out, it's out! Listen now well, alright? And tell me what you think, okay? Here I go!

Dude,

Behind Everything I Am

"All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am

But these stories don't mean anything

If you've got no one to tell them to..."

I need to confess something. I need to let it out already because it's eating me from the inside and I can't take it anymore. I need to put it down in words, because there's no one I can really tell this to since there aren't a lot of people that care about this things, while my mom will just be sad if she hears it from me. So here I am - I will put it down today and feel better for a little while, alright?

Like any other kid on this planet, I too had a pair of grandparents. They were mine and I was theirs, until they no longer were a pair. Last winter, one day before New Year's Eve, my grandpa died alone in his house, just across the courtyard of our place. He was so close and yet I didn't even stopped by his place to sing him a Christmas carol or to say 'Merry Christmas!'. He died all alone, like a stray dog and the next time I saw him, he was nicely shaved, wearing a black suit and laying lifeless in a coffin for his own funeral...

My grandpa... he was a nice man. And right now, right now I can't even remember him that well, despite him being around for 18 years.

But what I am most sorry for is that I never got to know his side of the story, his life story. I learned from grandma that he was one of the rich men in the village where they were both born and where they lived before moving to my current city, and that he chose her to be his wife, despite his mother telling him that she wasn't worthy of him.

I never got to know what story hid behind the wrinkles from his face, what worries troubled him, what were his hobbies, what he liked to do. He liked reading just as much as I do, that I know. And staying up late - I guess I'm taking after him with this one... But otherwise, I don't know anything else. And I can't go ask anything now. It's way too late. 'Cause all that remained of his is a cross in the graveyard and some photos thrown in an album...

My grandpa was a good man. He would bring me cherries from his garden and he would share his food with me if I happened to stop by while he was eating. He was a good man that never said 'no' to me. And how did I repay him? What happiness did I brought to him when he died all alone without a person to visit his house for Christmas?!

One thing I learned from him during the many nonsense talks we had: he wanted to be buried in his hometown, next to his father, on this beautiful hill. And that much I couldn't do for him even though I foolishly promised him that I would do it even if I had to fly him with a helicopter till there... That much he wished for himself and I am unable of fulfilling.

And I miss him. I miss him so much that I can't even remember him without crying. Hell, I'm crying like a fool as I'm writing this. I miss him and I'm scared that I'm slowly forgetting him, that he's slowly disappearing from my mind and that there will come a day when I won't be able to remember how he looked like. 'Cause right now, from all 18 years while we've been together, all I can remember is the way he used to return from his garden in the summer, wearing his straw hat with a ripped tank top, white shorts and flip-flops, stepping slowly because of his back ache. That's all I can remember of him at this point...

My grandpa was a good man. And I hope from the bottom of my heart that his body no longer aches, that his vision is better and that he has a whole library all to himself wherever he is right now. I don't deserve him to stay by my side to watch over the foolish me, so I hope he got to a nicer place, where there is no memory of the bad me. 'Cause I'd like to know him happy with his long gone from this world siblings and parents...

Do you hear me, dear God? Please, keep him happy wherever he is right now...

I needed to confess this because lately I felt like my heart was going to burst. I needed to confess this because I can't tell it to anyone else...

I'm sorry.

"You see the smile that's on my mouth

It's covering the words that won't come out

All of my friends who think that I'm blessed

They don't know my head is a mess..."

Her Personal Demon

She's not crazy. She swears she's not. Neither does she suffer from a mental disease, one of those that are undetectable.

And yet, once the sun sets and the North Star appears on the sky, she feels these cold chills going down her spine. And suddenly, her walk through the park transforms into a race against time, with invisible hands stretching towards her, ready to grab her and pull her into the pits of Hell. 

Eyes - sparkling, dark coloured eyes that keep watching her.

She always thought of her house as some sort of sanctuary that could keep the bad outside, scratching at her door, howling at her blocked windows. But not tonight. The real Darkness somehow managed to slip inside with her, making it impossible for the light to actual illuminate the way up the stairs.

And once again she finds herself hurting like never before. Squatted next to the armchair, she feel the pain creeping closer and closer to her flesh, sneaking inside her, grabbing her heart with venomous claws that seem to tear through the walls of her heart.

The pain of remembering that He had left her, that He had sought for a way out from the very beginning. A way out of the darkness, out of her house, out of her life.

The pain. Like she feared, it became bittersweet, comforting to a certain extend. And there He was, dressed in light, smiling at her like only he knew how. It was mocking her confused heart, really now. It was mocking her beliefs, her futile attempts to stay normal when her whole world was out of balance.

And hands - stretched arms, palms almost facing each other, calling for her, asking for her warmth as a tribute to the Darkness that had defiled her house and body. Mute arms, body-less arms, colourless arms. Ghostly.

Just like her pain.

"Come, come with me where there is no darkness following in your footsteps."

It seemed only normal for her to grab the opportunity of peace and quiet. And it wasn't the shadows that were biting, digging holes at the back of her mind, but the idea that there were actually two ways in the promise, two meanings.

For only the eternal sleep could put away the fear that had nested inside of her. She knew that. And so did the beautiful illusion in front of her, her personal demon.

"Come with me."

Her palms weren't sweaty when she placed it in his stretched hand. And fear was nowhere in her eyes as he finally looked Him in the eyes. There was a cocktail of craziness and defiance, heroism and stupidity bouncing in her twirled lips.

"Let's drown the fear of falling and darkness will die away as well."

Wasn't that nice of him? Salvation through water.

"But I can't drown my demons," she whispered, right hand buried deeply in her pocket while the other still captive in His hand. " 'Cause my demons know how to swim," her voice seemed different. It stated actually the obvious: she was finally free. "But I can burn them."

It took a single sparkles from the lighter for fire to be born and show his already grown teeth while munching on the wooden floors of her house. And she was there, in the middle of it, holding her illusion closer than ever, embracing her fear with a smile.

Burn, baby, burn...