Ages passed and her soul was lost, like a rose that faded too early. The statue was long misplaced, disappeared within the caverns of time. Life goes on but time does not return again, even within the circle of fate.

Clods covered the sky, giving it white and gray shades, making it look like a stone ceiling, able at any time to fall. Along the stone figures, around the table of silence, a black dressed figure wondered through the mysterious place, singing a tune full of lust and memories.

‘All my mistakes are buried deep beneath

The mountain of my grief’

The wind played with her long hair and her black eyes glanced around as she touched the cold stone the table was made of, remembering those times when obsidian statues guarded this area. The land seemed cut from a fairy tale-she was said to be a princess, but her kingdom was from another time. She felt the lost souls wondering, and heard the call of destiny, as she went into the deep woods.

The small city was quiet, medieval figures adorned the walls while the sun glistened in the metal roves and made them seem glowing. A pair of feet guided by a strange force, between old buildings and paved roads, towards a small cafe, where she used to spend her afternoons. Light was reflected from a round figure tied around her neck.

She never felt much for anyone, her hearth was cold and hard, and although she longed for the chance to feel, she was never able to do so. She lost much and knew she always had more to lose, being too much of a weak creature to fight fate. She believed in fate, in myths, and strange gods coming from ancient times, her secret name was ‘sister of Lilith’, figure to which she always seemed attracted to.

‘Believe me all that I always was is now a blur’

Raising her eyes, her breath stopped. He was once hers, where she wanted but she felt guilty of the unfair circle they danced in, and ran away, like she always did.

‘Relieve me from the burden cast upon my soul’

Sitting alone at a table she opened a book about enchantments and esoteric, being strangely attracted by a certain part, yearning to have the power described there. Looking out the window she didn’t notice a figure in a black robe, with black eyes, slipping her a page with strange encryptions. When she read it, a metallic glow started covering the amulet around her neck, and it was like she had woken up from a dream she had ages ago.

Standing on that high edge, she faced herself with fear, anger and regret. She thought she has forgotten the bitter taste and chills, and fell blindly into another trap. ‘..the last one’

‘My memories lie carved
With words that formed in time
In the milestones of my life’

“I feel I’m filling up with venom, standing on a chair, with blurred senses and a fast beating hearth. I’m so sick of everything, I want to take the fist train out of here, no matter where it leads.”

That was some days ago. I somehow manage to get past some unpleasant situations in my life, but I think it’s best that I avoid them all along. Maybe this will happen as I’m slowly loosening the ropes this life tied me to. Life has both good and bad surprises, but taking them too seriously cuts back a few years of your life. But who’s interested in a long, life, anyway?

I’ve managed now to catch up on my reading, and I don’t have to frown anymore on the street(or anywhere else) to see what’s around me. But these glasses surely are being added to my complexes list.

I miss some of my good times, when I was surrounded by so many people I thought cared. One by one, they left or slowly searched for other companies. But that’s my past, no reason to bring it back now. I think I’m starting to cope with that Shakespearian quote: ‘what’s done is done’. It’s just done, not forgotten or forgiven-It just cannot be changed.

Somehow I don’t know where all this time went. I already find myself near the middle of my university semester, and I haven’t even managed to find a solid ground, although I told myself I was going to work harder now and not let anyone get in the way. The second part is a bit more reliable, as I’m still in the ‘becoming-numb’ state I decided is best for me.

I’ve been postponing this blog entry, as I managed to lose all my ideas from the past time. That plus I’m lazy to write a story I wanted to, based on a song. But we’ll see when I’ll manage to talk myself into this one.

For now it’s bad coffee, head ache and gray clouds in my world. How is your heart doing?

I’m slowly drifting away, while other waves try to sink me deeper. There’s a strange mixture of numbness, fear and a constant state of consciousness that continuously drive a battle inside my mind. My shine has long faded but I still try to reach out for that small drop of faith, and every time I get lost in the same maze.

There’s not much fighting as long as you obey the rules..

But I don’t. Although there are so many things standing in the way of what I believe in, I’m not ready to give up. If I do, there’s nothing left to live for, anyway.

-You’re not a princess and there’s no prince charming coming to save you. All this fairytale routine has badly degenerated long before our days-

So why drink the poison when the other will throw it away and find another life? Why drown for the things you believe in if their proof has no importance? It’s all too much effort, and, between us, I’ve done it too many times, and now I’m standing in the cold with a soaked dress and venomous lips. This is maybe how the good girls go bad.

I’m not the sweet frappe girl, I’m the black coffee one.While sipping on the bitter fluid, I kept patting the table with my nails. A hallow sound echoed from the table through my head and thoughts were going back and forward in my head, until it felt almost painful. I was wondering why there aren’t more easier-to-guess things in life. Let’s take two examples: people and books. People write the books, but that book makes the person who he is. Right?

People are more complex, you ‘d say. I’d personally count at any hour in night or day more complex books than people I know-and without even trying hard. You read them both, sometime in your life, some leave a bitter taste or an open ending, others are just a waste of time. At least books don’t fuck up your life. They might cause suicide if you’re mentally unstable, but that’s your problem.

I remember that walk in the cold I took after dark. Although my feet hurt like hell and I couldn’t feel my hands anymore, it somehow did me well, it was something that relaxed me, made me focus better. And it was then when I felt the numbness starting to unravel over me. It doesn’t frighten me whatsoever, it’s better than suffering, anyway.

I met enough people in my life that managed to make me see that as different as they may seem, they all have a common root. Humanity is a deep, venomous pit.

I remember those moments of silence. My hands trembling from too much coffee, my head leaning to my last safe corner, my eyes counting dots or lines on the wall, my right leg moving up and down, constantly. Imagination always was a nice refuge, but it’s the reflexion through reality that might get you in the end. Cards down and masks off, and nothing left to save you. And somewhere, a scream in my soul- I always knew that any world, no matter how well hidden, may be torn apart without any remorse. I’ve been a clear witness of others’ selfishness while I threw, one by one, the shattered pieces of my heart. Isn’t it enough?

People look into your eyes and down into your soul without actually caring about the consequence of them messing up. And I’m sick of finding a reason for everything I do, and giving explanations that anyway will be mistaken for ignorance. Those cold shivers when you get acquainted with a stare send though your whole body a certain feeling. Is that good or bad? You figure it out, I’m too busy with my own little world.

‘Brake me, shake me, hate me, take me over’- I’ve been broken, shaken, hated and took over too many times and for others it’s still not enough, and never will be. Hear that? It’s the sound of no one caring. My head in my hands, sitting on a leather chair in a wide room. My last moments passing through my mind, with the constant question: ’where did I go wrong this time?’-was that it?

And I remember the day after that one. It snowed heavily. When I caught some flakes with my bare hands, I could swear I felt I was melting.

That’s odd, my black coffees usually were drunk hot.

I’ve had three nightmares last night, one after another. I don’t remember the last too well, the second involved murders all around me, things I couldn’t stop, but the worse was when I dreamed I was sleeping in my own bed, with ghosts and demons running around me. I couldn’t get up, or make a phone call-the phone itself felt too heavy to be lifted. This scenario player over and over until I finally woke up and looked at my phone, then lifted it. Twice.

”I know you’d take me back

Before I slip away”

It’s so painful sometimes, it makes me sick. My head hurts in a million ways, but that’s not as many as my soul feels itself torn apart. It all starts as a game, when you bet the least bit you have left on the ‘all or nothing’ routine and the cards don’t seem to be favorable.

I was sitting at the table, watching them at their target practice while I was sipping on my second Bloody Mary and trying to push the cigarette’s smoke from my face. After a few moves made me feel misplaced, I knew I wanted to be more than I did seem in the first place. Secondly, there was a feeling of replacement that hit me when I saw a certain exchange of glances and smiles. I didn’t know what I wanted to prove, and I didn’t know if I could do it.

I stood up, went to them, and said: ‘see that highest target? I bet I can shoot it down. It will fall and reach the ground in an awful sound and make a mess in its way down. It will amuse me as to lift an eyebrow, and ruin everything. Who cares I have to pay on the way out?’ And I bet then my last bullet on destroying everything. Even if I was to fail, I’d be left with an empty gun in a world full of coyotes, all out to get you. The steel feels so cold..

It was all quiet when they heard a gunshot. No screams, fuss, there was nothing but dust in the air, while the sound of fallen metal echoed in the silence. I could still feel my heart beat although I would have thought that was supposed to be the moment it stops.

(Give me a gun and a license to kill and I’ll set the targets right once and for all, but don’t leave me in a shallow place with no other options-I have the talent of destroying what’s best in the all-or-nothing games)

It smelt like cigarettes and dead hopes everywhere. You couldn’t help but noticing the lost stare on most of the peoples’ eyes in that forgotten little bar. Like it or not, you face that time in your life when you sell yourself: for others’ emotions, for hopes, dreams, wealth or sins of the flesh. It’s all a matter of how you sell and to whom-we all end up empty, anyway.

My book doesn’t need to be written. It’s writing itself here and now, and my words going on and on do nothing but to fill the blanks I have left until my final point.

I remembered : I was cold, holding on to myself, setting aside what I know to see what I have left, and somehow this countdown doesn’t seem to end soon. Was I too much of a fool? When I got out I could still feel my hair smelling of cigarettes, the dead hopes lost themselves on the way to the door. I took my red scarf from my bag and tied it around my neck. It smelt like perfume, my perfume.

And when, like through a dream, I heard the plastic bag wrapped on my face, I knew it was all over.

‘Why did we never go back to bed?’

Maybe because it was too late. I woke up and felt the bitter taste on my lips and then the cuts on my hands-I knew there was no sense in returning to dreams that made nothing more than fool me onwards.

‘So little time..’

Indeed. Time is so short, you cannot ever have it all, every moment is marked by something lost, something you may never get back.

And it’s all a matter of time until you lose too much, Gripping on what you thought you had left but then seeing it slip through you fingers. strange, isn’t it? Get used to it, it’s that bitter taste you wake up with. It’s not about castles, seashores and fairy tales anymore, when that clock decides to wake you, you’re as good as fallen. And you never know when it’s your last awakening which precedes that long, long rest.

That is, if you don’t have an insomnia.

Me? I could be your sweetest dream turned into your worse nightmare. I know your wishes, fears and regrets. I know what you cherish and hate. I know the tricks you play. I know where you sleep..

I’m still tired of games and riddles. But hey, in life, there’s only one sure thing-the end.

But can’t I rest for a few moments?

‘Why should I wake when I’m half past dead?’

“Fell that? It’s broken. “

I’m mad at the world. I’m even madder at myself. For having faith in people, for being such an easy prey – in this world, where there’s only the h(a)unter and the h(a)unted.

Bitter tears won’t make things right. Not even regrets, so why bother to have them? These deeds are merely recorded in some registry and then you are sent on your way. Time follows its’ normal path. And you grow, collect memories and wrinkles and eventually die. No one asks you whether you want it or not. When that pale figure in its’ black cloak comes to you, you know that was your final goodbye.

“Wake the nightmares in my head..”

I told myself that so many times. And so many times I fooled myself, mixing an imaginary world with this cruel reality. What’s wrong or right for me isn’t for you and my life is somebody elses’ fairytale or drama scene.

“Doubt truth to be a liar”

And somehow nightmares-living or (un)dead, keep you going. The fear they are able to enhance tell you something isn’t right and make you search for another place, a temporary sanctum.

“Stau singur şi mă duce-un gând spre locuinţele lacustre”

I’m emotive. I know I am. You told me so many times and it has been proven in so many ways. It’s obvious I’m affected by some things thaht others wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow to. But hey, that’s me-the whole sequence of events in my life that made me this way-and I cannot turn back to change it, even if I’d want to.

I know that every letter, pause or point written here is a result of my thoughts, frustrations, ideals.

Just give me the truth-I’m old enough to handle it. But do not expect me to thank you for that shot behind my back.

It’s all a matter of time, I’m sure of it. It always was, no matter how impossible some things appeared in the past-I should know.

‘I’m sorry, the contact you are searching for is temporarily out.’

I need a break. And a tea to go with that. It’s time I believe, to do something that’s good for me. Take two steps backwards, thank you.
Some things did happen despite my will, even if I was the one that threw the first stone..

‘Feed on me I’ve got fuel for ages that you will steal against all odds
Feed on me and then close the cages-we are just energy for the gods’

Bringing things to their backbone, it’s all like in those ancient games. When placed in battle, it doesn’t matter how much, less, how careful or ignorant, how guilty or innocent you were. It’s there and now, you against yourself, guns thrown and a battle to the death. What part of you shall win?

“I haven’t had everything from life. I had enough.”

I woke up with my pillow soaked in bitterness.

It’s all a game. Hide and seek, catch me if you can, childish stuff that manage to play the cruelest tricks on you when you get older.

They pushed me into this when I was a child, when I didn’t realize I was playing with forces I couldn’t understand. Yes, it was foolish. Yes, it could have cost me my life back then. But now I’m here, aren’t I ? I fought and am still fighting. I lost battles and won broken wings, I’m still marching on my road to the unknown. Don’t have time to stop, cry, or plead for mercy. I can only look around at what others manage to ruin in this world. I fought for some values and ended up in defeat.

Good intentions are the pathway to hell. It’s like that drop of mercury you don’t see in your glass of sweet wine, after you lifted it for a toast and glanced behind your curtain. They won’t notice you missing and eventually someone will find you lying, breathless, on the bed’s mattress.

But no, I’ll take off my gloves when I feel the time is right, even if they really are, the last.

(It all comes to settle in the same way, really. Like in a circle-a painful, six feet deep one)

What am I now? A ghoul? A ghost of my former self?Did I manage to lose what once made me to be.. me? Coldness and bitterness are now the stones placed upon my crown, but the weight I must bare is beyond what others could imagine. Lost souls now circle around me, haunting my every dream, and I cannot leave my battles, I won’t break my blade and surrender. When I’ll do that, I know I’ll be lost, forever more.

And somehow, I manage to fool myself with my own riddles.

It’s so easy to fail in this world.

Flashbacks collide before my every dream, when I lie in my bed. Pain twists through me, like poisoned blades-and it feels too real-like I’m living it over and over again. Old cuts still feel fresh sometimes.You think you know? You have no idea. You’re just trying to imagine what your own mind tells you.

My soul has lived so many lives and known so many bodies, and I.. I.. cannot even call it mine. It’s here on a temporary basis, which will pass just like seasons do. But I cannot help but wonder, where did it travel before it was endeavored to me, what were the shapes and colors into which it was poured, what are the energies it carries, the power it resonates?

Like so, the ones you care for in this life may have been your assassin in a past one. And vice versa. It’s all a matter of time, place and the people you hang out with.

Again, when I tried to look at the sun, I got burnt. Again and again. I should have known that wasn’t made from me, I always was more of a shadow person.. Angels fall, so do pedestals. Wings are just a state of mind. I’m not making any sense and have no intention of doing it.

I find myself trying to kill what’s left of an old time, trying to nullify any idea of feelings that will, eventually, cause pain. I’m not afraid of it, or of solitude, I just need my own time and balance so that I can find that track that my soul needs to follow in this life.

These really are ‘the all or nothing days’, it’s a constant game- the rise and fall- the pain and sweetness- the laughter that may lead to madness. How far does it go? As far as you’re ready to take it.

If your soul is not entirely yours, your body is. It’s offered to you when you’re conceived, it grows in the shape you build it, it fades and leaves this land when the time has come. You may offer it to others, put money, faith, into it, color it, destroy it, make it your sanctuary, your pleasure, your hell. Do whatever you want with it. But your soul is another story. You cannot imprison it, but only slightly change its path as long as it’s yours. Then this quest is taken by another body, and so on..

What are we in this world?