Tonight taste some ROMANIAN <3<3<3 ROCK!!!! 😀
Sunday evening. Dark outside. Fever in my mind.
Funny how sitting here and writing and imagining and dreaming can feel. I’ve always been a writer, only I’ve never known it. Just like I’ve always been a smoker and I only discovered it much later than others. Pieces of my life, a huge complicated puzzle, are coming back to me out of the blue. I know who I am but still I discover it every single day. But I guess this is valid for all of us, isn’t it?
Just as others use every spare moment to sing, listen to music or paint, I find myself also stealing moments from life just to write and feel, for this is my absolute passion. Of all that I write I will always be in love with poetry, my first true love. But it’s not important what I write, I’m still learning and I always write from the depths of my soul. When life allows me to sit and write, things just gush out of my mind, I just do it, it’s only afterwards that I take time to recline and re-read what I’ve been posting and to think more about it.
As I drink my cup of tea right now, my mind runs free between several posts I’m working on. Sometimes I write in not more then 3 minutes with a lot of passion, sometimes it takes me quite few days to come to the point where I feel that the story closes and makes sense. The only thing that matters for me is to keep on writing, good, bad, long, short, poem, prose, does not matter…
At the end of the day there’s always one fabulous quote shining in my mind:
“if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. if you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. if you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it. if you’re trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you’re not ready. don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don’t be dull and boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don’t add to that. don’t do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.”
Thank you Charles, you are so damn right!!!
As the Communists were hunting them, Mihai, Ion and David decided to hide deep inside this forest, and so they became the only group of the resisance that ever managed to remain hidden and not detected for several years. The three of them, even though they had families, wives, children, had decided to never allow a soul know where their den was, after seeing how many times, despite all love, wives, mothers or children ended up by giving crucial information to the Political Police, sacrificing their own beloved without even knowing it while thinking that food or clothes or medicines will be sent to them.
By the news that the Communism was over and Ceausescu was dead the three men were absolutely reduced to silence, happy, finally free to return to their families and society but not knowing what a life in freedom ever could be.
They have left the den with a trembling soul though: a part of their life was left there and nobody could ever know what moments or feelings they have lived in that small chamber digged underground with bare hands in a winter’s night.
Sometimes they return to this place just to find again a part of their lost soul, as what for others looks abandoned will always mean only one thing for them : life .
this is my entry for the Five Sentence Fiction Challenge
There will always be my silence
Don’t get me wrong, I’m so in love
And my love looks me straight in the eyes
But there’s no tourniquet for this bleeding heart.
Forced apart. Lake of tears.
And I won’t tell anyone how to live their life
All are free to live or hide or lie to themselves,
Each one of us does whatever their destiny allows them.
No, my sadness will never take vacations
And nobody will ever know who I am.
Impossible dream. Requited love.
Destiny? Tragic trace. Scars.
His shining eyes. My dark heart.
Between me and life will always be
Something in the way.