"You do it for the greater good"//
May, 9. Glazing shadow on the sheets of a curly golden hair. Pair of despair of the alarm that won't turn on-off, meaning nothing. Warmth of the sun, gently pressing heat on the back of my head.
Felt reality, for what I gathered until now were dreams. Felt despair, for what I didn't done made me a loser. Felt like a child, for what made me stood up was a purpose.
"You do it for the greater good"
Saturday in May. Shortened summer in twenty four hours. Burning glass, blurring my eyes. Short periods of stroking the gold into the wind.
Something so personal in the enabled act of sitting barefoot in glass, but didn't do it. Something so personal in tilting the chin into the arm.
Something comforting in the written words of a 10 year old girl into a Romanian magazine about storytelling. Something I used to believe in.
"You do it for the greater good", when you wash away the sorrow pressing on your back, the same one that pins you down into your bed, not sleeping, not hoping. Not doing.
"How do you wash away the sorrow?" You never do it properly, as stains remain in every tad bit of you's that you present to the present moment.
Some of them have so many them's, that they get lost.
Some of them overthink, daydream, walk to the toilet for a minute and fifty one ideas and possibilities strike like a bullet in the tormented mind. "How can you shut down that?".
You could never shut down yourself. You could never.
"You do it for the greater good"
Mindfulness when you could properly read, page after page, without forgetting the information. Repeating your ID card number, after repeating it number by number, loudly.
Approaching a conversation with relevance. Remembering your argument before you fall in the opposite team. Showing affection, without overturning your wanted actions into overthinking.
Doing puns with the notes opened in your phone, because you're aware of the fact that there are more to come and you'll forget them easily. Seconds. Count them before you forget.
Seconds, before you dive into your mind. All of these are like Heaven for me.
Heaven is when I perfectly remember how the grass bend under the weight of my oscillating arm, how heated I felt under my breathe after I told someone that he's worth it.
Heaven is when people acknowledge they could do good. This is how Heaven looks like. Community. Unity. Connection. Under these, I can feel. Under these, I remember.
Under the stars, I remember being a teen, looking hopelessly, dizzy, even foggy at the sky. It was May, six years ago.
Under the stars, I remember being myself, looking aimlessly, amazed, even genuinely feeling about my worth, as a broken shed of star, as there were two that, through processes I felt,
deemed externally as uninteresting. I was absorbed. I listened to her like I was absorbed by the whole sky. She took a shoot of it. It was the end of April, one month ago.
People have their ways here on Earth, but I truly believe there are puzzled letters in the form of conjunctions and oppositions that make us what we are, how we manage to feel towards someone,
how we choose to be mindful or lost in ourselves. Futile, the last paragraph, as I didn't mold my thoughts accordingly.
Futile, as my words crumble down my throat, raping my own kind with pride, choking the neck until the words are fully hopelessly drowning in the beer that my stomach hold.
I'll hold her in a matter that won't perish. I'll hold and love her here, there, anywhere. I'll lay my unfaithful eyes on her cheek, as my matter does not attend to touch it.
My mind does not deserve it, until it's drown in it, like a sugar mosquito gets drunk, roaming over rotten fruits. It happens all the time, spontaneously.
Happily, a frustrated degenerate that couldn't get up and take her hand, flying around on those unearthly letters, written on the sky in the form of stars. I can't do that, as I can't get to do.
I only have these words with which I can mold every fold of skin, every shadow that embrace them lightly as she laughs in a late afternoon pinch of sunlight.
I only have these cute, fugitive glimpses when I do something that come over like a film scene in which she could easily play the mesmerizing, charming star of it.
After that, comes the imagination, taking pictures of this iconic figure that managed to boil both my mind and heart at the same rate.
The inoffensive, light, tight gap between my cheek and your hand, as you kept holding onto it, as I kissed you.
Until I get the courage to be human, I only have my letters, born under the greatest experiences.
I do it for the greater good. 9th of May, remember it.