Blindsided.

I wake from a deep sleep with bits of last nights turmoil still sprinkled across my eyelashes. 
The sun is creeping through the blinds and I catch glimpses of the blue sky here and there, but it’s hazy behind the heavy clouds. 
I feel your voice echo through me, but I can taste the distance on my tongue. My body stretches, my back arching, releasing the tiny disturbances before I inch my hand towards the empty spaces where your hand would be. 
Not even the crave for warm coffee will drag me out of bed. Instead, I lay still and wonder if maybe you too are thinking of me. There is a slight ache that rings throughout my limbs when I think: I haven’t crossed your mind.
 None of us saw the end coming, and I think I will skip the coffee this morning. I will dig my face into the pillows and drown myself underneath the covers. Happy thoughts swell and they only make me happy for a moment, because soon the realization that they will no longer exist outside of memories sets in. 
This morning, I will lay in bed and search for the fleeting image of you.

It’s too late to be thinking this hard.

There are too many things my head is trying to run through, the way we go through file cabinets, I’m going through all of the things I want to remember. 
“You hold onto things too tightly,” you said to me. 
And I do, I want to dig my nails into the spine of everyone. 
It’s too much sometimes, like I’m carrying weights inside my chest where piles of somethings, anythings, and everything's rest. I’m even tucking away all of the nothings and things I wish I’d forget, hoarding memories until they rot between my bones. 
I use words to lay everything out neatly, to revisit and let my lungs expand a little wider but now I can’t find the right words to use, or maybe I am out of them. They are lost underneath everything I no longer want to remember: the way his hands felt on me, two heartbeats (mine and one I did not recognize) loud in my ears. And your face, the way it flickers like a candle’s flame on the back of my neck and how it never dies out.

Test personalitate MBTI [Jung]

ESTP - Extravertit, senzorial, reflexiv, perceptiv - (initiator, diplomat, negociator)

• Atitudinea extrovertita se refera la faptul ca ESTP este deseori motivat de interactiunea cu oamenii. De obicei are un cerc larg de cunostinte si se simt incarcati de energie in cadrul intalnirilor sociale - situatii in care introvertitii pierd energie.
• Senzorial si nu intuitiv: tipul ESTP are o gandire mai mult concreta decat abstracta. Isi concentreaza atentia pe detalii decat pe imaginea de ansamblu, pe realitatea imediata decat pe viitoare posibilitati.
• Reflexiv fata de afectiv: pentru ESTP argumentele obiective sunt mai valoroase decat preferintele personale. Atunci cand ia o decizie de obicei acorda mai multa atentie logicii decat consideratiilor sociale.
• Perceptiv in loc de judecativ: de obicei ESTP se abtine sa emita o opinie si amana deciziile importante, preferand sa aiba la indemana mai multe optiuni, in cazul in care se schimba imprejurarile.

Aproximativ 13% din populatie este tipul ESTP. Acestia sunt foarte buni initiatori si antreprenori, sunt persoane sofisticate, orientate spre actiune. Ca parteneri sunt incantatori si incitanti. Aptitudinea de a actiona cu rapiditate si eficienta ii face pe ESTP sa fie buni in situatii de urgenta, in a-si aplica gandirea logica in situatii care necesita actiunea imediata. Obiectivele pe termen lung nu sunt atractive, acestia cautand rezultatele palpabile, rapide. Mediul inconjurator reprezinta o sursa de aventuri si ESTP isi testeaza deseori abilitatile fizice in situatii riscante. Energice si amuzante, aceste persoane sunt deseori sufletul petrecerii.

Impinse de entuziasm, persoanele de tip ESTP deseori nu isi dau seama de consecintele pe termen lung ale actiunilor lor. Din acest motiv se cearta cu prietenii, colegii sau sefii. Mintea agera si aptitudinea de a improviza nu compenseaza intotdeauna dezavantajele planurilor pe termen scurt. Daca nu sunt impresionati, ceilalti le pot considera pe aceste persoane insensibile. Cei pe care tipologiile ESTP isi varsa furia sunt cu adevarat nenorociti. Daca nu pot sa actioneze liber si impulsiv, aceste tipuri de personalitate incalca regulile stabilite de altii, in incercarea de a-si recastiga entuziasmul.

Daca este in continuare ingradit, tipul ESTP devine tot mai stresat si se simte mort pentru lume. Primul impuls este sa se razbune batandu-si joc de valorile celorlalti. Astfel devin tot mai antisociali si sfidatori. La fel ca toti senzorialii perceptivi, in conditii de stres, aceste persoane se razbuna desfacand barierele libertatii prin castigarea increderii si cooperarea cu ceilalti.

Urmatoarea lista reprezinta exemple de cariere si tipuri de locuri de munca pe care acest tip de personalitate de obicei le imbratiseaza. Cerintele acestor joburi sunt similare tendintelor acestui tip de personalitate. Nu uita ca aceasta lista nu cuprinde toate carierele posibile care se potrivesc acestui tip si, foarte important, se intampla frecvent ca oamenii sa indeplineasca functii care nu se potrivesc cu tipul lor de personalitate si totusi sa aiba succes in cariera.

•  Agent imobiliar; bucatar sef; dezvoltator imobiliar; pompier; initiator; reporter de stiri; agent de bursa; pilot; agent de asigurari; consultant in management; inginer electrician; mecanic de avioane; medic de urgente; insotitor de zbor.

so the dust settles.

The year is coming into a close and for now, it looks like the dust has settled. 
I’m sorting through salt and letters, trying to wipe away the grime that has collected in the floorboards. Clearing the surfaces and looking under all the cracks to make sure we can see the sheepskin skies in them. 
I have been leaving my hands open so I can catch the loose particles before they fall. We are rebuilding the bridges we burned and I am burning bridges with all the shadows casting sighs and shaking whispers. 
I’m tried of looking for a new position when I sleep, and like the dust, I’m going to try and settle into sheets the only way I know how—with a crooked spine. 
I am humming songs of optimism and slipping sunrises beneath my shoes. 
This morning I woke up feeling like my dream was next to me, on my pillow. Cheeks wet and the taste of burnt coffee on my tongue. It was so good to have you breathe in that light again. 
I’m happy for this new beginning, even if it is all made up of the pieces we thought we lost and only misplaced. But you know some things can’t just be wiped away and I hope you’re here to stay. 
(I do, I really do).

Teenage angst.

I’ve been feeling worn with limbs that fall like the loose threads at the end of your sweater, the one you keep tugging closer to keep you warm. But you stop once you realize that the cold always finds a way inside. Maybe I am just bracing myself, I tell you. I am curling into myself until my ribs hold my head and my knees disappear into my chest because winter is coming. And we feel it even when we laugh and sigh against each other’s mouths, breath that tastes like cigarette smoke. We laugh because we know it’s coming and we know we can’t stop our hands from shaking.

Hair swings.

I’m forgetting. And that’s the last thing I ever wanted. Between sips of gas station coffee and the melody between the tips of my fingers and the keys—I kept finding your brown eyes, staring back into mine. Even when the paper had ran out and the typewriter ribbon didn’t have any ink left to give me, there was always you. I jotted down your name in the corners of notebook paper and the napkins that jumbled together on my nightstand, wondering how something so beautiful can build me up and destroy me with no mercy. Maybe you liked the fragments of me underneath your fingernails to keep. Now, I’m forgetting. The way my name curled up against the inside of your lower lip and the taste of your tongue. How it feels like to have you open your door for me without having to pry it open myself. Knuckles to hinges. This is not what I wanted.

I hate sleeping alone.

I never asked for diamond rings. I never wished for the moon or for the stars.
I just wanted somebody who'd hold me, even just for a while, someone who'd tell me that everything's gonna be alright.
I don't want beauty, because it doesn't last.
I don't want perfection because I'm not myself either.
But when the dusk sets and everything goes to death silence and the whole world shuts off around, I just want that somebody to be by my side.
A kiss, a touch... gently to settle down to sleep in someone's cozy arms.
I don't think that's much to ask for since I'm not high standard when it comes to love.
Sincere, loving, caring... that's all I am, that's all I want.
I'm one of a kind because I give everything and I don't expect much but for that.
Time has come when I really feel bleeding needs and cravings for body warmth.
I hate sleeping alone.

Bleeding raspberries.

There was grass there, grew to where our kneecaps rested and we could see each blade like when we caught glimpses of our eyelashes that pressed against sunsets and light that glowed golden. We were still fresh, still young, and still burning. We had swallowed embers that sizzled into the hair that melted into our necks and into our backs. I have been seeing your eyes, all dark and full of mud in places where they don’t quite belong like when we found birthmarks in the bend of our knees and we were wide-eyed, surprised at the sight of them. Some days I think I might break, split in half or wake up and find that my limbs had snapped off like the twigs underneath our shoes, that my neck won’t hold my head. There are water bottles half empty and wrinkled white sheets and I’m trying to figure out where exactly it all went wrong, why you rubbed my fingers until they were bleeding raspberries, until they looked like summer afternoons just to fade behind all the dust in my pockets and under winter’s breath. Why you waited until I let the sun light up our cheekbones and uncover the shadows I kept in clenched fists. I’m turning my cold shoulders at the way the traffic lights twinkle the same way you did. Green, red, and yellow whispers in the dead of night: blinking and blazing like shivering fires. The running water still holds your gaze inside it’s droplets and I watch them until the tips of my fingers turn into raisins and the bath smells like december again. Maybe I’m still getting used to seeing you where you don’t belong, turning walls into haunted homes and draping over my eyes like cobwebs I can’t get rid of.

old eyes and something beautiful.

Your eyes were brighter than I said they were, they were glassy and wide but still quiet like the calm before the storm, the breeze before the hurricane. I could spend hours staring at them but I could only ever catch glimpses of them like dust in my palms, a moment before they would scatter and disperse. I had ghosts dancing in front of me once, coming in colors like they were made of pomegranate seeds and cherry blossoms and their limbs were awkward and young, fragile and made of milk. They had your eyes so I inhaled them like cigarette smoke and sewed them into my lungs, feeling their bones rub against my ribs as I turned gold in the sun and they explode at the ends of my fingers when I want them to. I hope your ghosts melt into your eyelids like our sweaty shoulder blades in mid-summer, like old fruit and when my hair still tasted like sea-salt. I’m starting to peel the tangles from my insides, realizing that sometimes we can’t help falling apart. And that we can hold our bones until they rattle loose but we can’t hold them once they crumble. There is something beautiful about the way we break, like cities that couldn’t hold up but they cause fires that blaze for miles, red with orange specks against blue skies and green eyes.

honey and sugar.

I woke with eyes made of clouds, cotton candy pink, peeling back against the yellow creeping in through the blinds and pouring over window sills. My dreams made noises I thought only existed in nightmares, in quiet corners, behind doors with broken hinges we thought we had locked. You slept in my lashes, slipped inside the spaces between my teeth and I listened to the songs my wrists would make to ignore hearing you. In my sleep, the corners of your mouth taste like honey but we know that isn’t true. We know the moon likes to turn your eyes into fireflies and coat your lips with sugar. And when the howling fades and hides behind dawn, our skin grows cold. Our whispers come out in heavy sighs, damp like they had been dipped in the ocean and pulled back out again. You had words floating out of your mouth like glass, ready to rip me apart, to turn my skin into loose strings. In the morning, you had your hands on my milk thighs, counting each bruise with the tips of your fingers. You told me how good it felt to have your palms on my bones and your nails in my spine. I told you how much better it would feel with my hands around your neck.

I am enough.

It is sort of ironic maybe that summer did not melt away with the taste of maple syrup and orange juice in my mouth but instead ended with the taste of iron like I swallowed the change out of everyone’s back pockets.

I feel the way winter is slowly starting to bloom and usually this is all boxes of cigarettes and blankets that never cover my feet but the air is like an arrow right to my lungs and I’m tired of not letting them expand like I know they should.

Maybe the truth is, I don’t know how to be okay without him and I don’t think that anyone else could love my crooked bones and the way I put too much into everything too soon.

But most of all, I think that with the cold winds is coming something better, something bigger.

I am enough.

I am enough.

I am enough.

I’m not afraid to say it anymore and I’m being brave and realizing how okay and beautiful it really is to stand on my own with my chin up towards the sky.

"You wouldn’t mind leaving me behind."

It feels like static and it burns my ears with the distortion and noise but I can never quite find where it’s coming from. I keep thinking it’s in the empty spaces between me and you, cradled in the lonely state lines that have nothing else to hold. That maybe it’s in the way you say my name because you have to, not because it tastes like lumps of sugar on your tongue. I could fall into the ocean and make a home under the tides until I grow gills and a fish tail. I’ll have pearls for teeth and the starfish will replace your hands over my breasts where the tips of your fingers memorized the curves. And you wouldn’t mind leaving me behind.

“Welcome to paradise.”

You knew how to smile and make it last even after it had gone. Flashes of your teeth and pouted pink lips every single time I closed my eyes like a quiet tattoo etched into the insides of my eyelids. My skin was crawling against yours from the heat and the more I sighed, the more your fingernails dug into my hips. I was lost—somewhere in the middle of the ocean—but you had been found simultaneously between my thighs and something about that made it alright. The floorboards shook underneath us, like a house that cried over what it had taken and what it could never give back. And the stars peeked through the sky like tiny pinholes, your face half made of milk and half hidden in the shadows that lurked there. Every thrust made you more discouraged, like you were trying to find something that was not there. Hunting for skin over limbs only to find bone, a hard interior where everything should be soft and sweet like teaspoons of sugar on your tongue. You wanted a postcard from the sea. “Welcome to paradise,” it would say and instead you found something that formed like spider webs in the corners of ourselves everywhere we’d go. So you finished with moans that grew shallow underneath the groans of frustration, the ocean leaving me salted and dry and you pulled out a cigarette to fill the room with something other than regret. The ceiling above the layer of smoky air was beginning to chip away, I remember and I watched while you buried your head in your hands, the taste of copper and sulfur somewhere in-between my teeth. Welcome to paradise indeed.

they'll be watching from the sidelines while I rock the life.

making changes? yes.
starting where? no, starting with who. starting with myself.
like MJ said, 'take a look at yourself, and then make that change.'
therefore, >> I'm starting with the man in the Mirror <<.

there won't be no more lies, no more what ifs. I'm taking chances, I'm talking names.

[the title is self explanatory to this post.]

Obsessed much?!

I don't love, and I can't love. I won't love, because there's other things that matter for me.
Love is just something that might come along the way, but it's not my priority, and it won't ever be. I don't want you, or someone else. I don't feel the need to have someone close to hug, or kiss or whatever. Yeah, I'm that heartless. But it doesn't make sense for me. I find it dis-fucking-gusting.
Love ain't for me.

Now...
You say you want me? Seriously. You don't know shit about me. Find another girl across the bar, 'cause I ain't that one. Keep walking, but not my way.
I tried to be friends with you, but me being nice to you, made you imagine stuff. You're delusional. It's not gonna happen. Not now, not ever.

1. you ain't my type.
2. I don't find you that attractive.
3. I don't need you.
4. I find you confusing & that just adds up to the part that you're freaking me out.
 5. You need to lay it off.

You don't know me, as I said above, and you can't make me like you more than friends, and I'm not sure if I like you as a friend either after all this, because you're weird, and not in the good way.
Don't make me dislike you to the point that I won't be able to stand you, because that's when you gon' start to piss me off, and that's when I'll be starting to get rude and treat you like shit.

Know your fucking limits. Okay? Do you get it now? Or do I need to make a fucking drawing for you?

What did you think? That talking to me /over/ YM and see my FB photos and read my blog, will push you up to top and you thought that it'll make me like you?

da fuq u smokin' man.

I don't like being with someone, at least, not someone like you. Why? Because reason and because I like my freedom and independence.

I am so fed up with you that I just wanna kick you in the face. Knock it off, stop stalking my every move.
Since that night you said: "As vrea sa fii aici..." you creeped the fuck out of me. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that about? We were talking for like, 30 minutes? Maybe less. That was uncalled for. That was a stupid move. Who the fuck do you think I am?!  And why in the fuck do you talk like that to me? Did I become your propriety over sight and I don't know? Whoa. Don't trip. I think I've told you enough on Yahoo too. Babysit, you make me sick.
And to be honest, you're boring as a bad fuck. You don't impress me. You leave me cold.
Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself.
Cut to the chase.

YOU WANT WHAT YOU CAN'T HAVE. THAT'S TOO DAMN BAD.
I AM DONE.

This one's for you. 

still not getting any...

sa zicem ca totu`  okay. dar...
tind sa cred ca e cu ghinion pentru mine, si funny shit, m`am nascut pe 13.
in fine. superstitii...
numai ca m`am saturat sa nu`mi reuseasca nimic. incerc, si degeaba. okay... something's not right. nu stiu de ce. nici nu vreau sa ma gandesc.
am ajuns la rock bottom, mai pe scurt.
fucking luck, it seems to avoid me.
chiar nu am nicio idee ce si cum sa fac. ca orice as face, oricum nu`mi iese.
I'm done, with everything. and this time I mean it. I'm sick of it all.

I give up.

"How could this happen to me?"

& on a side note... just thought I should throw this here.

I'm done giving a shit. this time for sure. I just can't care anymore. as numb as never, I'm quitting affairs with feelings, especially with people.

what the fuck do you want from me, & why all these reproaches & why for? I do & say what I want anyway, so don't waste your breath. fuck you, simple as that.

I really don't need you to tell me how to live MY OWN FUCKING LIFE. 

...fragmente.

Second sight...
Sunt unele momente cand iti amintesti de anumite intamplari din viata ta... fragmente de viata, ca o poza in rama ramase intiparite in mintea ta... Amintiri ce poate te fac sa plangi... sa plangi de bucurie.
Ne-am schimbat toti, suntem grabiti, nu mai acordam timpul necesar pentru a trai cu adevarat... toti avem diferite probleme, griji si alte nu stiu ce. Sad, daca sa te gandesti ca toate au timpul lor si ca poate peste ani nu o sa ai urme ale trecutului in suflet, poate nici macar o umbra.
Stop for a minute and smile...
Detasarea pentru o clipa de obisnuit, si de ceea ce iti ocupa majoritatea timpului este the best thing you can do for yourself.
Intr-o lume in care nu mai exista timp, sa rupi din realitate pentru o clipa de vis, could do more than you can imagine.
Not all that glitters is gold, but shining for a while is a little piece of heaven you can get yourself.

"everybody dies, but not everybody lives..."

 

so far, so gone...

I wish I could stop the time, hold it still in my hands and sort it out...

"I don't have the time, and I don't have the patience..."

I need to find a place. I’m going to find a place. a place to write it all, and be real, and honest, and I’m not going to be afraid of my own words in others minds anymore. I need to find myself… or, create myself? something about doing and being more than here. to do that I have to buckle down a little and deal with the need. 

"But everybody knows that a broken heart is blind."

I have a bad feeling. I have a feeling of not being good enough. I feel like that’s normal seeing as from here on out the future is unknown and I’ll be thrown right in the middle of it. I just hate not feeling good enough. I don’t feel good enough for anyone.

I wish I could be the type of person I want to be. you know, pretty, have money, have car, be successful. I don’t know. I just don’t like who I am right now.

I'm about to fucking lose it.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.”

this is the hardest thing for me. all I want is to be with you. being able to call you 'mine' made all of this worth while. but the most important thing to me is seeing you happy. your happiness comes before mine. if that means I have to be broken hearted, so be it. I just want you to be happy. if you ever want me, I’ll be waiting. I love you more than anything. please just know and remember that.

“What we always fear and loathe becomes of us,
Repay the visit of our loss, reset the marks again.
The turning point seems to be holding on.

Sands of ages and the stars above -
everchanging as the same hearts beat, repeating ‘til the end.
Seas of slander and the soil we walk -
everchanging as the same hearts beat.

It ends up all the same.
The sail that never knew the wind, barren and lost,
our wrecks these shores will never reach, a trek on darker trails.
Let days be done (let days be done),
it takes forever.”

...in the end, everybody's like YOLO and I'm here like... damn.

I think... I'm going insane.

Oh, I'm not addicted to drugs. I'm addicted to being hurt. It may seem berserk, but none of these stress relievers work. Poppin pill after pill, trying to get my head straight, trying to over power the pain until the next day. But it ain't happening. I'm an addict that's half asleep, while the other half of me is trapped in a series of bad dreams. My current postion was trippin' on trees of acid casts, until my eyes collapsed and suicide was an aftermath. 
I guess I'm insane indeed, 'cause no matter what the fuck I do you never seem happy. Adapting to stronger drugs, larger quantites, killing myself constantly, my eyes start to bleed. The feeling of being alive just isn't enough, serenches I stuff with heroine, I'm feeling the rush inside of my veins.
Maybe because you made me that way, turn me into a monster I would have never became. Creating thoughts of dying eventually severed my brain, irritated my vains, intoxicated my system. It went on for days, I had cravings of wisdom. I wanted your fuckin' opinion so I'm making you listen. Listen to all of the pain I've been feeling recently, killed myself and only now do you realize that you miss me.
I'm falling down erasing memories you gave to me, I'm still alive and nothing you can say can make me breathe. So please take away the pain that hurts me, I don't wanna be alone and thirsty. So many drugs to push the pain I have entrapped in me, 'cause I don't wanna live my life inside this fantasy. So please take away the pain that fills me, I don't wanna be the one that kills me.
I can't take this pain 'cause I'm dying, I can't close my eyes 'cause I'm crying. 'Cause these pills have taken' over my brain, side effects causes pain, I think I'm going insane.

2012.

Like WOW, a mai trecut un an. Cum si cand, nici nu realizez. Sincer acum, timpu` a trecut foarte repede, si nu pot sa spun ca am profitat de el.
Tot timpul a fost about him. M-am concentrat numai pe el. N-am facut nimic pentru mine. Insa nu e paguba. Stiu k asta nu se va schimba ever, si k el o sa fie mereu number one in my life, si k intotdeauna am sa las totul la o parte pentru el.
Asa, bun, am terminat cu asta.
Decembrie a fost o luna de nebunie. Multe party`uri, mult frig si mult... ceva.
Am fost prin Campina cu Bro, am dansat, am ras, ne-am facut new friends. A fost suuuuper, si chiar ma bucur k am facut si eu o chestie noua. [pe care am sa continui sa o fac]
Regrete pe 2011? Nu. N`am eu regrete, chiar deloc. I live it to the fullest, and I don't really give a fuck.
It's my life and it's now or never, deci n`am timp sa ma plang pentru k am facut greseli.
Da, am facut multe, dar nu`mi pare rau. Si nici n`o sa imi para. Pentru k timpul trece mult prea repede k sa am pareri de rau.
+ de asta, we only live once.

Da, cik sa sciu pe blog... N-am nici inspiratie. 
In fine. 
Bye.