It was a kind reminder of a Saint’s day
moved too soon in the life after life
where flowers never wither, and rivers are always fresh,
and the human heart is forever coherent.
John has not killed any dreadful dragons
still, in a humble sacrifice
he has blessed others and has made possible the glory
of the true Life.
I have found these faint memories
in the depths of an imaginary drawer
with fields of gold tenderly waving in the wind
like the breath of my father on his birthday.
Dedicated to my father, John, born on St. John’s day, June 24th.
90 words, Adela Galasiu, 2016
In a far away land there is a city with hundreds of wise houses. Each house has a roof, a soul and an attic with two windows. Eyes scrutinize the birds that get back to their nests late at night, the grannies that bake homemade bread, the blatant children playing outside, the flowers raising their heads in the sun, the cats that purr in hidden corners, the dogs hiding their precious bones, the women that dream of the return of their husbands and the husbands dreaming of other women.
Every day opens a new color, a new hope, ends a life and begins others. Every evening sends to sleep all the rippled memories of the day, all the children and cats and birds and wives and husbands. Some of the grannies will sleep longer, other babies will get born out of the dreams of past nights. Some of the flowers will grow seeds, others will bloom, the stars will seem to rotate on the sky awaiting the rays of the same sun that has opened the eyes of all the children and women and cats and husbands and grannies and birds.
When morning comes the smell of coffee invades the streets. It fills up the sky and the staircases of all houses. As eyes open life vibrates, noises clash in the air, birds sing again, cats lick meticulously their paws and wash their furs with slow movements on the edge of wide open windows, dogs inspect every corner of their territory, children moan instead of waking up, wives pack lunch for their husbands, husbands go to work hoping that the day will be better that the other days. And even though life seems the same, it is always different.
In the city where houses have eyes life can still flow in unexpected patterns. Houses have eyes in Sibiu, Romania.
Intr-o tara indepartata exista un oras cu sute de case intelepte. Fiecare casa are un acoperis, un suflet si un pod cu doua ferestre. Ochi privesc cu mare atentie pasarile care se intorc la cuiburile lor noaptea, bunicile care coc paine de casa, copiii galagiosi care se joaca pe afara, florile care isi ridica frumosul cap in soare, pisicile care torc in colturi ascunse, cainii care isi ascund mult iubitele oase, femeile care viseaza cu ochii deschisi la intoarcerea barbatilor lor si barbatii care viseaza la cu totul alte femei.
Fiecare zi deschide o noua culoare, o noua speranta, sfarseste o noua viata si incepe altele. Fiecare seara trimite la culcare toate amintirile ondulate ale zilei, toti copiii si toate pisicile si toate pasarile si toate nevestele si toti barbatii. Unele bunici vor dormi mai mult, alti copii se vor naste din visele noptilor care au trecut. Unele flori vor face seminte, altele vor inflori, stelele vor parea ca se rotesc pe cer asteptand razele aceluiasi soare care a deschis ochii tuturor copiiilor si femeilor si pisicilor si barbatilor si bunicilor si pasarilor.
Cand vine dimineata aroma de cafea napadeste toate strazile. Umple cerul si casele scarilor. In timp ce ochii se deschid, viata vibreaza, zgomote se ciocnesc in aer, pasari canta din nou, pisici isi ling meticulos labele si isi spala blana cu miscari foarte tacticoase pe marginea ferestrelor larg deschise, caini inspecteaza fiecare colt al teritoriului lor, copii gem in loc sa se trezeasca, neveste impacheteaza pranzul pentru barbatii lor, barbati merg la lucru sperand ca ziua va fi mai buna decat alte zile. Si desi viata pare la fel, este mai totdeauna diferita.
In orasul in care casele au ochi viata poate inca sa se scurga in tipare cu totul neasteptate.
Casele au ochi in Sibiu, Romania.
300 words / 300 de cuvinte,
Story and Translation / Poveste si Traducere : memyselfandela / Adela Galasiu October 2013 / July 2015
He was sitting on by the water in Mexico when it hit him how much he hated himself. Which kind of sucked. Because he should have been happy. He should have been ecstatic. After years of struggle and poverty and horrible physical pain (getting almost killed by a semi truck sucks too…) he finally had it. He finally had everything he ever thought he wanted. He was 30 years old, in good shape, good friends, professional success, fun toys, plenty of free time . . . Even better he was one of only three guys on a yoga retreat and was spending his days stretching and snorkeling and chugging margaritas with a bevy of beautiful, intelligent, passionate (and flexible) women.
He should have been happy. He should have been doing a victory lap around the mess that was his twenties and screaming to the moon about how he finally made it past childhood trauma and adulthood disappointment to become a “success.”
But he just couldn’t do it.
Nope. Instead of being happy, he was damn miserable. Angry. Emotionally nauseous and, worse yet, viciously angry at himself for not waking up to how good he had it.
One night he found himself sitting on the shore alone watching the waves come in. Everyone else had gone on to a bar to order large amounts of drinks in broken Spanish, but the bile in his throat and the voice in the back of his head wanted him to be alone. Alone and vulnerable.
It was pitch black but for the shine of the moon off the water and all he could feel was the pathetic bottle in his hand, the drink in his gut and the tension in his jaw threatening to break his teeth.
He wasn’t man enough to admit it, but he had tears in his eyes.
“Why?” he thought to himself in a silent whisper. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just enjoy this?”
It was a rhetorical question, so he was pretty shocked when he got an answer. It came in a voice as dark as tar and as toxic as venom.
“Because you don’t deserve it,” the voice in the back of his head grumbled. “Because you’re evil and dangerous and anyone foolish enough to love you deserves to be harmed.”
He closed his eyes and could finally see it: what he really thought of himself. Not a man or even a boy, but a creature with claws and teeth and a cruel, cruel grin. A creature who’s only glee came from clawing at his heart and pulling him down and reminding him to never, ever feel even one moment of happiness.
He flew home a few days later feeling like he’d gotten into a duel with Godzilla and damn it, bloody Godzilla won. The entire time on the plane home his brain stormed and he counted down the hours until he could go see his therapist.
“How are you?,” she asked as he walked in, her eyes half squinting as she searched his face.
For an hour he let the words flow out like a dying breathe, rambling at Speedy-Gonzalez-pace, desperate to get every hatred and criticism and imagined crime out of his heart and into the world. Finally, after minutes that felt like days he looked his therapist in the eyes and said:
“I’m so sick and tired of hating myself , beating myself up , punishing everyone around me … I’m wondering what would happen if I just decided to stop and actually LIKE myself for a little while instead.”
The therapist looked at him with kind eyes and a half smile and said “Well, that would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”
And so he did.
Right then and there he decided to try liking himself – maybe even loving himself – for a while.
And at first the creature in his head and his heart raged like a angry lion and dragged its claws against the inside of his skull.
But instead of arguing he did something kind of weird.
He pointed and laughed. He dressed it up in silly shoes and ugly makeup and mocked it . And suddenly a weird thing happened: he felt this glowing freedom rising in his chest and this crazy, irrational smile pulling hard at the corners of his mouth.
Suddenly he felt . . . happy. Ecstatic.
For the next two weeks he walked around on a love-high. His friends asked him what the heck had happened. His enemies got confused when he was actually nice to them. And that beast in the back of his brain shrunk and shriveled and cried.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly as easy as that, for every time he would fail or feel ashamed about something or feel like some woman was getting close he would feel that creature rise up. He would feel that bile on his tongue.
But now . . . years later . . . here he is with nothing to hide.
And years and years of anger and pain turned into . . . something simpler. Nicer. More wonderful. He’s not into the “woo woo” stuff a lot of his friends are, but he is into this one simple fact:
“Happiness is a choice. Liking yourself / loving yourself is something YOU choose to do, no one can make you miserable or happy but YOU.”
900 words, memyselfandela, November 2013
Any apple used to remind
Of the original sin,
Of her mythical alluring death perfumed beauty.
Wisdom blinded men used to see
The creeps of destruction
In the eyes of any innocent woman
Carnations. Red bloody curly petals all over the cold hard floor. Pain filling up her aching soul, an acute sense of bloody uselessness, her life breaking to hopeless pieces, dead flowers covering the ground, remembering her of a love that used to mean everything but that has become nothing. She felt no longer his presence, no longer his loving words, no longer his loving touch, she felt abandoned like a piece of unwanted trash, rejected like a broken mechanism that could no longer tick with sounds of life once known. All left was only the disfigured shadow of the man she loves.
Pain. A way out she prayed to see again. No idea how tomorrow would look like. Not the vaguest strength to carry on with this tragedy. Him, laying sleeping drunk on the floor, holding still in his fists the rest of the carnations brought to tell her what he didn’t know how to verbalize anymore, him all surrounded by the rest of the bleeding shreds scattered allover by her in an attack of passionate rage ignited by seeing him coming again in a state that never stopped to humiliate her in front of family, neighbors, strangers.
She, in a corner, crying, endlessly cursing her own life and wishing she would have never been born or no longer been alive. He, in another corner, sleeping, seeing in his dream her beautiful face, radiant with the love she used to give him, as he caressed gently her cheek, feeling so bloody guilty but so in love with her while kissing her forehead, this awesome woman that could no longer see how much he bloody loves her, how much he is depressed because of not knowing how to turn back the time and start it all over again. With her. From scratch.
Childhood. Life seemed to be the easiest thing,with endless possibilities like the countless shades of color trapped in his iris that curiously expanded at the sight of all the marvels around him. Time had millions of tunes, millions of facets, millions of open doors for the brave heart of a young boy seeking for answers and treasures that he suspected all kept intentionally away from him. Roaming through the immensity surrounding him the days were unveiling more and more mysteries created just to fill up his thirsty mind. Life was his, life was beautiful and full of hope and wonder.
Maturity. Many of his old childish questions have been answered, yet this did not manage to satisfy his mind and soul. He was convinced that life is more and that asking the right question might bring him the answer that owned the whole universe. In the middle of his existence time meant more, as he realized that he had already wasted too much of it. Life was carved according to his own choices and hesitations and remained a force he was still fighting with while holding on to the few impossible crazy dreams he never gave up on his way.
Old age. As it conquered his being he felt how he had lost most of the battles. He felt alone and misunderstood for years till one morning when, while sipping his coffee, he had the epiphany of his own fleeting existence. With wide open eyes and with life still flowing through his veins he understood that he meant nothing on his own but an instant, a little wheel in a huge mechanism, a second in which the whole universe was glimpsing at his own image trying to photograph the experience lived in a form of life not yet tried before.
300 words, memyselfandela, September 2013
Shades… A million shades… The afternoon was made out of so many shades between the black and the white.
The sky was not perfectly blue, the heart was not perfectly light, the hope was not really a hope.
If it would have been love or no love at all, all would have been so simple, but the heart was flooded by all those shades of colors and feelings and electricity boldly lingering in their touch. It was a delirium of things and images passing before her eyes while she was processing the remains of the previous days.
“Why is life not simple like in those romantic movies where all is fine?” was the thought lingering in her mind while watching him stop in front of another little shop, with the amazement of a child that has just seen something he was hoping to discover for a lifetime.
Entering the shop she realized that it would make a beautiful present to compensate his birthday. She missed it, it’s true, but not because she didn’t care, but because she didn’t know him yet back then. But still, she would have loved to have been there with him that day, and in her heart she was.
He loved them all. It’s true, they were all beautiful ties, hand made, real, just like he loved to feel authentic and sharp and real…
With a smile in the corner of her soul she sent him to have a look in the back of the store while she took the tie he had admired in the very first moment. 69 pounds, that was the price. It was perfect. The colors were perfect, shades of color, shades of life. The price spoke volumes. To him it would have probably meant an erotic thing, but to her it was a tangible translation of the moon dust trapped inside their bones, of their breath as they were kissing and talking about the muses watching over their love, of the raise and fall of their entwined souls, or the incarnation of all the things that were present in that very second when she wished him happy birthday, now, better later than never.
In the back of her mind there was only a song lingering talking about the raise and fall of the same moon dust that was still shining in his eyes just like that night when they have met the first time, not even knowing if tomorrow will ever come or if there will be a chance for another minute together.
The day was fading, in the corridors of the city, in the tunnels covered in graffiti, as the two lovers were getting back from a city adventure that meant all and nothing, while lights were shining on the side of the road, like fireflies dancing songs known only to themselves.
And the light was dying in millions of shades of obscurity, while the moon, all alone, saw the loneliness crawling back in the souls of the eternal loners.
500 words, memyselfandela, September 2013
It’s dark and I really don’t care. I feel your hand holding mine and we have all we need. We don’t even talk and we have all we need. I have the taste of your lips on mine and I cannot stop smiling uncontrolled. It’s long after midnight. The moon smiles with a white powdered face glowing at us. On the way home your arm holds my shoulders and I put my arm around you. Tipsy and happy we return home. Home is a place in Heaven. We are.
memyselfandela, July 2013
” Three matches one by one struck in the night
The first to see your face in its entirety
The second to see your eyes
The last to see your mouth
And the darkness all around to remind me of all these
As I hold you in my arms.”
You love me unconditionally, but you can only compare me. You love me pure, but you can’t be happy. You love me, but that’s all, you don’t know me. You honestly love me, but you don’t know the trash of my soul. You love me (at least that), but you are too selfish to show it. You love me completely, but all you have in your head is “my hands are tied, my body bruised, you’ve got me with nothing to win and nothing left to lose”…
Today more than ever it pains me. Every word unspoken, every touch ungiven, every kiss not shared, every word not necessary…And tomorrow, more than ever, others will pain me, just the same…
I want a white room with a mattress on the floor. And a life made out of simplicity when we rediscover your toes getting out of the sheet in the morning or my fingers on the edge of the window. I think it’s funny how much negative we’ve been holding inside, it feels it’s about time to empty this all in the big bin outside. In the ecological bin. All this trash shouldn’t be deep inside.
Over, under and around us is air. And loads of life inside of us.Armies of cells and molecules, working and sweating and running around to make us live. We are 90 percent water. Streams running down the mountain side of our being, transporting essential salts and chemical reactions and oxygen.We are science, we are mystery.The gift of life spills and fills every crevasse. You would hate living inside your body. A 9 to 5 in your lungs or your liver. You’re over worked and under paid with a shitty boss and knee deep in toxic waste of cheese puffs and beer for 8 hours… Imagine this… Now stop fucking complaining about life.
300 words, memyselfandela, 2013
Once upon a time there was a love story between a simple man and an ordinary woman. Little matters how they got to know each other, maybe it was at one of the same social events that they were both attending. It was love at first sight, he used to say that he fell in love with her inner light, but in her humility she didn’t even know that she had it. She loved his spirit and wisdom and everything about him. He was like no other, and the love shining in his eyes was incredible.
Happy days they have lived together, yet they knew that he will need to leave one day for a while, for a final battle. He was determined to make peace with his past, to solve his problems, so that no bad memories could ever again threaten their happiness. But nevertheless, they were happy and they were one heart, so problems didn’t seem to matter.
They have spent time reading and dreaming and sharing the beauty of life in a way that nobody ever did. And for a spell they were completely lost in their universe of absolute love.
One day as they went on the beach he built for her a wonderful sand castle and he decided to close it under a glass cover so that she could have it always close to her in her house until he was back. It’s not an ordinary castle, it was their castle.
“Wait for me , hide your soul inside the castle, and in no time I’ll be back to you my Love”.
The day before he left she took him in the woods. A beautiful light was shining there and there were flowers everywhere as the spring was bursting with joy and color. Walking on paths known only by her they found a quiet place and stood under an old oak tree. And she took a picture of him as he was smiling leaning against that tree. As he saw the tree he said:
“It’s a most extraordinary tree, but I can’t understand why.”
And she told him that it was so because the tree was not alone, but loved and surrounded by the most beautiful green ivy. “The tree has many scars, yet he is covered by the ivy that gives him his strength. They are one, and this is love, they never let go of each other”.
He smiled. Yes, NEVER LET GO. Of course it made sense. And as he got inside the train that took him away from her he fell asleep smiling thinking of her love and the beautiful tree and the ivy…
Days have passed and day by day he forgot her more. The eyes you don’t get to see you forget, they say. She was writing him every day but he hardly found any time to answer her. His problems were solved, his life was secure , everything was all right yet no matter how much she loved him, he failed to hear her anymore.
And his absolute love crumbled like a handful of sand flowing between his fingers. He had a stable life yet his soul was empty and he was not happy , never happy as he used to be by her side. But maybe he was scared that he could not make her happy or maybe he forgot all the happy days. Sometimes in his dream he used to see her smile and hear her calling his name, he felt her kiss on his lips and her forehead leaning against his. And he kept telling himself again and again:“I need a bit more time, but one day, soon, I will go see her, and I will make things right and one day we’ll be happy.” And today became tomorrow , and that became one day soon, and then this became someday, and the day never came and his heart left her more and more.
She felt him far away and it pained her just as the blood draining from one’s heart must hurt. And she felt cursed and abandoned yet she was true to her love. “NEVER LET GO”. And she thought to herself that maybe something horrible happened to him and so he can’t make it back to her yet. And she waited, and wrote him how she missed him and how much she loved him. Yet no more answers…
Not many years have passed and the news of her death arrived to his ears. It was only in that moment that he remembered her eyes and smile. A veil was suddenly lifted from his eyes and he realized that even though he took her love for granted she was now no longer there. And he saw the piles of letters in a corner of his library, abandoned, forgotten and never answered…
He got scared and felt sick and desperate. As he felt the pain creep in his heart he decided to attend the funeral so he went to at least see her a last time.
In her house, that now was unchanged, he saw on the wall the picture she took of him. “Never let go” he remembered, as his heart crashed in pain… And he realized that he got so lost in his own idiocy and crazy life that he let go the only soul that ever truly loved him. Willing to see her again he entered the room where the wake was being held. God, he hated wakes, but he wanted to see her, touch her, maybe it wasn’t true… maybe he still had a chance…
As he entered there he saw a simple closed coffin, a red rose fading on it and on a side table, under a glass cover, a crumbled sand castle…
“Oh how I love you… “ he mumbled, his tears flowing as rivers all over his face… “My Love, how could I have been such an idiot as to leave you?”
His knees couldn’t sustain his weight anymore and he was helped by few people to have a sit next to the coffin. As he touched the cold surface he leaned his forehead on it just as she used to lean her forehead on his years ago and he screamed:
“Oh my God, please, please make a miracle, please take me instead. My Love, please forgive me for what I’ve done, please forgive me, I would do anything to turn time back, I would do anything to make you happy…Anything, anything… Please forgive me”…
As he cried so badly he felt a ghostly light hand touching his shivering shoulder. The room turned around him and all turned black. Then, feeling his heartbeat in the temples and ears…
…. he finally opened his eyes and saw her loving eyes crying in front of him…
At first he could not believe what happened and he looked around. They were again in that wonderful forest where they have been years before. He was leaning against the oak tree and a wonderful light was shining over them.
“Love, how come you are here, where are we?” he mumbled.
“The day you left you’ve had the most horrible stroke my Love , and you’ve been caught in a nightmare for many years. And when I saw you dying I was in such a pain that I asked God to have mercy on me and take me also. I think I died of a heart attack. But I know that God smiled and decided I deserve to be here with you, so He turned back the time…”
Suddenly his heart exploded with joy and as he held her in his arms and kissed her he whispered:
“We really have a second chance Love?”
“Yes my Love. Just remember, NEVER LET GO.”
Photos of the forest: memyselfandela, 2013
Art. The most intense form of individualism ever known.
Pure art filled his hungry eyes. Windows – paintings mirroring shreads of a huge reality, each another reason to run away from his own life and recreate it from scrap. Balconies – masks hiding millions of known faces, seductively passing him by in the night, leaving him only a whisper reminding him of her. All beautiful, but none real and shiny like the light in her eyes.
Masks. He looked up again at the building while lighting himself another cigarette, then continued his journey towards the day when he will meet her again.
memyselfandela, 2013, Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Copyright –Kent Bonham
Her pervious mind borrowed the cheerful child spirit into the age of balanced assertive thinking. Driven by her kinaesthetic sense she tried it all, got hurt often badly and learned her lessons very well. She made the rough journey from “carpe diem” to “memento mori”, deprecating her own ego and boosting her heart. Mitigating the material side of the existance she found greatest joy in the petty things full of life that surrounded her and her passionate heart got freed in time from many kinds of emotional skins revealing the core of a big romantic whose eyes closed for many things that make other women happy. For her winks coming from men, being touched accidentally or random compliments meant nothing, there was something above all these things that made her recognize love. Only one beautiful mind and one true loving heart could have been her love. She was completely resolute in her decision of never accepting half measures. She knew what she wanted and she did not allow anyone to waste her time.
And the day came when her fiery soul recognized that unique spark in his eyes. Completely silent in front of this epiphany of her life she felt that she found her one drop of peace in the deep blue ocean of torment: the enfant terrible found redemption.
¬ As I sink in the
beauty in your deep true eyes
my heart smiles and sings. ¬
220 words, memyselfandela, 2013 , Ligo Haibun Challenge
When He created me out of your rib
He did not realise that after waking up
You will wander in other worlds, in other arms
Basking under other suns than the one created for you.
I am out of your being, marooned in another dream
You cannot feel my pain anymore
Yet even if I am invisible
I am still your missing rib.
You are the light of my eyes
The one star on my deep dark skies
You’re my reason when I have none
And my hope when all smile is gone
You’re the one that keeps me alive
And the only one that can revive
My core and bring it in the light
Or calm my restless soul at night
I’ve loved you so from the first day
I love you so much more today
And beyond all this life’s black sorrow
I’ll love you so much more tomorrow.
I’ve always been in love with Lipatti. Maybe many of you have no idea who he is. I will say “is” even though he is in heaven. For me he is and always will be the most brilliant pianist I’ve ever heard. He is Romanian, his music is amazing, unequaled so far. A beautiful man, very intelligent, passionate, talented and calm. A man that carries in the tip of his fingers and in his soul divine grace.
As I step into the night I listen to Lipatti again.
May your night be calm and your dreams be sweet.
Last of the wilds.
Yes, that’s what I was born to be. I can lay in this snow and hold my breath listening to the silence , the meaningful silence of this deep wise breathing forest.
I can hear every creature breath around. The shy steps of deer, the hop of the rabbit, ths sneaking of the fox…
I remember how I’ve seen my father hunting a deer for the first time… How I cried watching the deer, how daddy cooked that night… And how I was eating… eating and crying…
Look at those clouds, and the light breaking through the branches… So much beauty… Such a fantastic light…
I can hear the voices of birds calling each other , sending signals in the sky, screaming my presence when I move. How can I possibly forget all that I learned in my childhood playing in here? I remember the sounds, the trees as they were 40 years ago, the paths that got lost and that nobody but me remembers… For the old men that knew this forest better than me are all gone, I am the last now… The last of the wilds…
living in the wild
the human heart finds things that
the eye cannot see.
hear nature breathing
for it’s your heart that makes you
the last of the wilds.
220 words, memyselfandela, 2013, Līgo Haībun Challenge
The car stopped on the narrow road, in front of the old house.
He could not believe the shape in which the house ended after those years when he was far away. Now that she was sick he thought of the old family house for a quiet life. He must find a cure, he must find a way to save her, he must…
Oh darling, look at it, we’ll have to repair, paint and clean it all… My God, so much work…. she sighed looking at him with love.
No, darling, don’t you worry. I’ll build you a new life.
100 words, memyselfandela 2013, Friday Fictioneers
Last minutes. They were down at the bar, looking deep in each other’s eyes, in an unspoken killing silence.
He knew he has to leave now, tonight, for he was supposed to stay only for one night, but he managed to call his wife and stay a whole week end. She managed to call her husband and ask how were the children doing, saying that her sales meeting was to be extended for another day.
She was looking at him with a screaming passionate sadness that was tearing them both apart. Deep deep sadness, her lips still hot, pulsating from his lips, from his taste, from his passion.
She put her hand on his cheek, trying to caress him, trying to comfort him, even though she was dying inside. Then her arm slided around his neck and she got closer to him.
Time to go. He completely forgot his drink, he could not get his eyes from her eyes. No words spoken, only a shredded heart that had to go now, half in her chest, half in his, bleeding for God knows how long.
Without even breathing he took her in his arms for a last time before taking his luggage and going for his flight. Tears streamed in her eyes, tears in the corner of his eyes, he held her so tight that none of them could even breath for a minute.
Their heart was one for another few moments.
He found his way to her lips and kissed her as if it would have been their last day of life.
As he kissed her and held her so tight a thought fell like a lightning in his mind:
“Why can’t we be free? Why do we have to leave at all? Why? Why?? Why??? Life’s such a damn bitch!!!!!!!”
This is my entry for the Trifecta Challenge of this week.
There are many men. But few Men. A real Man with capital M is one that always keeps his promises. Who is capable to protect even with the price of his own life or pleasure. It is someone that knows that life will humble him anyway, but that rises above everything through his resistance and wisdom. Someone who would never offend a woman in any way. Someone who does not lie. Someone who you can rely on, always. Someone who can realize that he can be wrong and wants to evolve. Someone that knows that pointing a finger at someone else means pointing four fingers at himself. Someone that has fears, but is never ruled by them. Someone who is always strong and wise, but never obsessed with controlling, dominating , leading or being right. Someone who cares for his woman not only in body, but also in soul. Someone who truly loves his woman above all, no matter what.
So much beauty in
the smile in his eyes, a true
lost marvel blooming