#epilog

cerul scrie într-un alfabet nepământean
scrisori de-o moliciune tactilă
prin retină unei zile
ce tocmai și-a luat adio furiș.
cerul,
ca un balcon plat desfășurat,
o mare mută, albastră, fără briză
sau tactilitate.
biletul de dragoste al unei
povești cât o aripă de fluture.
orbire-n marginea luminii
puf răsfirat pe pleoapele lumii.

dacă aș putea să aleg,
aș alege să fiu o
scriitoare de epiloguri. bijutier
ce însăilează și dă altora
povești în loc de finaluri
de istorii
personale vecine cu nebunia în loc
de final.
oricum neprimit. dorit. căutat.

până atunci împart ca pe o pâine
cu lumea singurul final pe care-l am.
al meu. ăsta.
ăsta-i Finalul. cel de care
mi-am agățat perdele de fum, broderii
de vise, speranțe și argint viu. poate.
poate realitatea o să-mi spună
că a fost doar o păcăleală de 1 aprilie.
că i-a plăcut reacția mea și
a lungit-o.

ăsta
nu-i un final fericit
lumea mea nu-i făcută de Disney.
ăsta e doar un final, sinonim
cu o lungă, grea și-apăsătoare victorie.
ăsta e ultimul poem
mărturie a noastră. act
de deces și ceremonie de-ngropăciune.

chiar dacă noi nu mai există
decât în amintirea unei arhive,
oază de nostalgie, martor
al unui trecut perfect…
privit de la depărtare.
azi

prințul își caută locul sub soare,
împărțind numai accidental același cer
cu cea care-și găsea cândva regat
în distanța dintre brațele lui,
zidind din sclipirile ochilor ce o priveau
cu un amestec de dorință și melancolii
hotare rănilor de mai târziu

e mai,
și azi eu și cu tine
mai împărțim doar o amintire
și, dintr-o întâmplare-același cer.
e mai, și-am obosit
să mai încerc să sper.

Letter to my suicidal friends

If you’re reading this, just know that I’m sorry. I am sorry for having you put in front of such a radical decision. I’m sorry that the world hurt you so bad that it made you believe that there’s no other way. And I hope you’ll read this letter till its very end.

Life is a terrible adventure, indeed. It is such a terrible thing that, at the end of it, we’re all dead already, but living it is no chore. Being alive means a lot more than you’d possibly see right now. It means regular chances to discover new things, little things that could bring you joy. They call them days. It means that you can still hug your loved ones, and send a good thought to those which are no longer among us. It means that you can still do something to end the hurting. Something other than death.

I know it feels like a never-ending spiral, but the truth is it ain’t. The pain won’t last forever. Bad days won’t last forever. No matter how many of them you’ve had till now, keep in mind that they’re temporary. Remember the fact that blooming is always painful to the bud, but the flower is always beautiful. So beautiful, that the pain of blooming gets to be forgotten.

Now look in the mirror. Do you see yourself? Look with care. See your eyes, your neck, your lips, your fingers, your hair. See your eyelids, your skin, your smile, even if you are faking it right now. Take a deep breath, as you see your chest moving as you inhale the air. And, now, think about this: you’re just a little bud, in the middle of its blooming process.

It is ugly, painful, and seemingly never-ending. But it will end up soon, and you’ll get to have another perspective about this, once it is over. I know, from what I’ve lived so far, that to grow, you have to feel the pain. It hurts leaving behind things that you feel attached, but are no longer good for you. And when we talk about people, it hurts even worse.

I would want you to know one thing. Pain is temporary, but death is a one-time-only, permanent solution. I know you don’t really want to die, you just want the pain to end, but this way, the pain will only be passed to someone else. Usually to your loved ones.

It hurts us too, you know? Because, the way they know and can, the people who genuinely love you are holding your hand through your pain and hell. We try daily to be there for you, to say or do something that could make you smile, even if it is just a morning text or a song we’ve discovered and we think that you’d like.

And losing you would mean losing a part of our souls and this world’s sparkle, as well. We, the people who love and care about you, will be honest, we hate this dark tango, too. We know you’re harming yourself. We know that you’re fasting for days, to reach the perfect body. We know that you’ve been crying yourself to sleep over the same thing for weeks. We know, we care, we see you and we try to support you the ways we know best, as we talk about our hardships when you’re not there, to protect you, as we want to be strong for you, even if, at times, we struggle as well.

 But this happens only because we also trust you that you’ll become that person you were dreaming about when we were 10 and life looked easy and pretty and fun. Look again at yourself, and you’ll see how much of that road you’ve already walked, just look!

And that’s not even the end of it. Yes, the temptation of giving up is greater than whatever we might tell you, sometimes, but don’t. Please, don’t. You don’t have to give up on living. You don’t have to give up on hope, on loving, on expecting, on dreaming. You don’t have to give up at yourself. No matter how appealing this would possibly look.

There are so many places you would love, and you didn’t see them yet. So many people out there asking themselves if there’s someone like you even existing on this planet, and you will, one day, get the chance to discover them. The world is such a better place with you in it. With your imperfect, self-doubting, dreamer and hurt self.

Bad times don’t mean a bad life. You are strong enough to face them and capable enough to enjoy the good that is to come, knowing that you are worth it. Just be patient, as life has its own pace, and keep your faith grounded in the stars and the sound of the voices of your loved ones. And don’t be ashamed to tell us how could we help you to be effective, or to ask for professional help. If you feel like it and you’ll tell us, we will help you find the best mental health professionals, in order to see you thriving again.

Maybe you feel like you’re all by yourself, but you’re not. Everyone who has loved you is by your side, trying to help, as we all know that maybe not tomorrow, but the next month, the next year, the person trying to give up on life could be us. And no one deserves to get through all this by itself. We’re always here.

NOTE: IF YOU, OR ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU HAS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, ENCOURAGE HIM TO GET PROFESSIONAL HELP. TALK ABOUT THIS WITH YOUR DOCTOR. WITH YOUR LOVED ONES. JUST DON’T HIDE. PLEASE. THERE’S NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED ON  STRUGGLING. SEEK HELP AND ENCOURAGE THE ONES AROUND YOU DO IT AS WELL. YOU MIGHT SAVE A LIFE THIS WAY.

#detalii

daca as fi o planta, as fi un ciuline;

daca as fi un animal, un arici.

daca as fi obiect, as fi o lumanare;

iar de ar fi să fiu un loc, as fi bazar

cu toate astea, în mod bizar

nu sunt nimic din ce-as putea.

sunt doar un om, si-n mintea mea

stau vise-nțepenite ca-n borcan

sunt om fara sa stiu ce-nseamna.

eu stiu sa mint si stiu sa simt,

stiu ca am si stiu ca sunt,

dar fara instructiuni sau emfază.

e doar asa…

eu stiu ce am, si ce-mi lipseste

am o mana ce-atinge trunchiurile

copacilor blocați în timp,

am o talie pe care se-ascund gravate

toate detaliile unei existente

prea abstracte ca sa o reduc la esențe

eu stiu ce sunt, dar e abstract

nu pot concretiza.

lacrima mea, vorba ta,

povestile pe care le port

ca pe-o armura imateriala,

dar nelipsită de greutate

am rost, dar rostul meu abstract

abia încape într-o vaza.

nu-s rost, căci mi-ar vicia la bază

tot mecanismul de ceasornic vechi

pe care-l port in cap

am brate-n care încape ‘ntreaga lume,

doar ca sa fiu suma oamenilor care

m-au frânt candva într-o îmbrățișare

si-nca putin in plus

am un zâmbet ce poate lumina omenirea,

si cu toate astea nu functioneaza lunea.

eu nu-s nici zâmbet, nici lumina,

ci doar un amalgam de nopti si vină

am ochi pentru detalii,

sub ei înfloresc ceilalti ca niste dalii.

dar nu-s ce au văzut ochii mei,

toate rasariturile si apusurile

care-au trecut pe lângă ei,

deși as putea la o adica deveni

abisul vazut de atâtea ori

niciodată în același culori

am amintiri de atingeri

depozitate în buricele degetelor

si langa tot ce-am simtit vreodata,

în atriul stâng, doarme cea ce sunt,

flămânda de senzatii si trait

dar nici ea nu-i eu

pe de-a intregul, doar

o parte care păcălește

alte parti c-ar fi intregul.

foamea ei de stare si culoare

e vizibila ca cerul

într-o dimineață de mai

toate detaliile pot compune un tablou,

dar adunate nu-ti vor spune ce sunt eu.

vei sti bucăți ce contrastează,

si-o sa le iei de adevar.

nu ma-ntristeaza, ca viata-i jocul

si toti la un loc ne-ncercam norocul,

ignorând sistematic diferențele,

potrivind prost detaliile

si injurand ca n-au răspunsuri intrebarile

eu sunt cea care sunt

si pe care o stiu cel mai bine.

dar ca imi poti spune pe nume

nu te aduce mai aproape

de eu cea care stiu ca sunt.

eu sunt mister si noapte si pamant,

sunt suflet descoperit si

vorbe-n vânt cat sa acopere tăcerea.

mai mult aspra ca lana decat dulce ca mierea,

si tot ce vei putea vedea

sunt doar semne ca-s umana.

cu toate astea, în urma mea

va rămâne întrebarea

in urma darei de parfum,

a primului pas facut pe-un alt drum,

a ultimei vorbe pe care-o spun

fantoma pasageră în amurguri cu fum

si singurătate la pahar, distilata.

ma stii atât de bine, dar tot ramane întrebarea

si nici un răspuns nu-ti luminează zarea.

cand am pășit pe drum, s-a stins lumanarea

si-acum rămâi sa potrivesti detalii

ca un croitor ce-aseaza stofe pe talii,

singurul ramas rece cand lumina pica prin vitralii,

doar tu si zambetu-ti rictus, două contrarii

lasate-n urma după ce s-a cicatrizat normalitatea,

soapte-surogat care sa-ti lumineze noaptea