Pentru mâţa mea dragă

Şi un sărut prelung…adevărat !

Mi-e dor de…Iubire

Mi-e dor de Iubire, Dragostea mea

Ma usuc precum o floare in desert, apa care imi poate mentine functiile vitale e sentimentul asta al dualitatii si unicitatii in acelasi timp…Vreau sa daruiesc, spuneai…vreau sa poti sa primesti, iubita mea, ti-am daruit in modul asta egoist si virtual TOATA IUBIREA MEA…ma tem…ma tem ca toata taraganarea si incertituidinea si mai stiu eu ce poate fi …ma usuca…de dor, de sete de iubire, de dorinta de a o avea in bratele mele pe iubita mea, jumatatea vietii mele din mai putin de jumatatea vietii care mi-a ramas, caci nu suntem eterni si sintagma speranta de viata nu ne da sanse prea mari…mi-e dor sa-mi saur copii, sa-i tin in brate, sa-i joc pe genunchi, sa-i duc la scoala, sa-i vad crescand si cu familii, nu sa ajung un biet mos in baston care,poate, daca da Dumnezeu, va avea copil sau copii la varsta cand trebuie sa-si creasca nepotii…daca vrea Dumnezeu…dar daca nu, eu sunt cel care alege totul sau nimic, nu mi-au placut si nu-mi palc jumatatile de masura, neadevarurile sunt tot jumatati de masura…nu mi-am dat INIMA nimanui decati tie, poate am mai iubit, asa nevolnic, adloescentin, fara speranta, timid, neindraznind sa-mi destainui iubirea…din teama de a fi refuzat..de a se arunca la cos sentimentele mele care sunt partea din mine, n-am acceptat sa fiu terfelit in simatamintele mele…de aceea am daruit tot…chiar daca n-am primit mai nimic de cele mai multe ori…sufletul meu a ramas s ase chinuie sperand ca isi va gasi jumatatea in lumea asta,printre cei pe care i-am descifrat ca fiind pereche mie…sau asa am crezut..dezamagiri? cu duiumul…poate am un suflet calator…dar calatoria face si ea parte din cautarea fericirii, asa cum ne-au creat parintii nostri, Cel de Sus…

Ma pierd in cuvinte si ma risipesc printre randuri in loc sa-mi sarut femeia, sa-mi legan copilul, sa le fiu sprijin si sa-i simt PARTE DIN MINE, DIN FIINTA MEA, ADEVARATA FERICIRE PE ACEST PAMANT, pentru ca bogatii, frumusete…si alte cele….sunt efemere…vreau clipa de fericire si de durere in care pot spune “Mi-am implinit viata si destinul, te-am intalnit, femeia vietii mele, te-am zamislit, copilul meu iubit!….

Mi-e dor de Iubire, mi-e dor de Viata…vreau mult ?

Maimutica de la doi

Maimutica de la “doi”

Invatase lucruri noi:

Trage lesa mai cu spor,

S-aiba bafta in amor.

 

Daca vrei sa ai “succes”

Poti ‘iubi’ din interes

Dar precum povestea spune

Cand Iubirea are-un nume

Ca s-avem mulaj de NOI

E nevoie de-AMANDOI…

 

cu toata Dragostea,

al tau,

acelasi indragostit pana dincolo de rasarit si apus laolalta

 

 

 

 

O za dintr-un lant nesafarsit

Oare iti amintesti ?

E momentul ca lantul amintirilor neintamplate sa devina,totusi, realitate.

Pentru Noi doi.

Uite, nici nu pot sa mai scriu, nici nu stiu ce as mai putea scrie.

Poate doar mi-as putea insemna Iubirea pe…trupul tau.

Ce-ai zice sa incep cu o sarutare ?

Suntem la fel

Ceea ce tu nu intelegi si nu ‘vezi’ …e ca suntem la fel, mulati pe aceleasi sentimente si trairi…mai crezi?mai doresti?mai iubesti?

Te sarut,Iubire mea !

♥

Amar

haz de necaz…

si

De ti-ar spune….”poarta” mea

 

Inima mea

Inima mea e la tine, Iubire

Zvacneste in palma-ti micuta si fina

Abia daca poti s-o mai simti cum palpita

Ti-ar zice si ea ,de-ar putea, “Esti di-vina”

Hai vino acum langa mine. Saruta !

 

Tristeti si zile

The Day You Were Sad

Jennifer Levin

You find out someone loved you once. You find out that a long time ago someone loved you so much he might have died for you.

You run into an old college friend on an airplane. You get to drinking and talking, and he says, That guy once drank an entire bottle of tequila because he was sure you’d never love him. He had to go to the hospital to get his stomach pumped.

You remember he was awfully cute and that you were good friends for awhile—when was it? Sophomore year? He left and you forgot him for a long time. Looking back, you recognize all the signs, but because you’d never imagined you loved him, you never noticed.

You feel foolish because you miss him.

You remember the day you were sad and he invited you on a drive up the mountain, and you invited your friends to come along. You remember how sometimes he kissed you at parties and you just thought he was drunk and kissing people. How he woke you up early on Sundays by throwing rocks at your dorm-room window, even when he knew you weren’t alone. The way he came by with tea that whole week you had the flu. The way he sat in your desk chair for hours, making you laugh until your stomach hurt. How he never wanted you to sleep.

He was always dating some girl or another, so how were you supposed to know? He broke up with a girl once because she accused him of cheating on her with you. And once, when he was drunk at a party, he kissed you right in front of her. You remember that, at the time, you thought it was funny.

You remember the night he told you that you were beautiful—you were beautiful and you were good—but find you have no idea what else he said that night. It takes weeks to piece it together, to finally remember that you were in the dorms, in someone else’s room. He tackled you on the bed, kissed you all over your face, proclaiming over and over, I love this girl!

You are good, he said. You were very stoned, and he held you and talked in your ear; the music was loud and people were singing along. You forgot he was talking and hummed a little with the song. And I like you, he said.

And you said, What? I wasn’t listening.

And he looked crushed and refused to say anything else.

You attempt to look him up on the Internet, but he has a common name and you’re not sure where he lives. You don’t want to do anything creepy, such as hire a private detective, because that might cause your husband to wonder if there is something wrong with your marriage. But you wonder: If you saw him now? The one who loved you then? You wonder what you would do.

A partial moral inventory leads you to believe you wouldn’t do anything. Seeing him now isn’t the point. The point is what might have happened if you’d known then what you know now. Nevertheless, you imagine running into him. You imagine what he looks like with gray hair. He isn’t actually old enough to be silver-haired, but in your mind this meeting is in the future. You wonder if he’s fat now. You think you’d probably still find him attractive if he is.

You wonder again, out loud, why he never asked you out.

You get mad at him.

You remember he did the kinds of drugs that made you uncomfortable and that he kept this from you, that you found it all out later after he dropped out or transferred or disappeared. Every single one of these thoughts occurs to you while you are driving alone. You sing songs to him from the car radio. You wish there were a word for what he means to you.

You decide he must be married by now. You wonder if he got over his drug problem. You wonder, if he loved you so much, whether he would’ve gotten clean for you, if you’d known to ask. But you already know the answer.

You hope he changed for his wife. You hope he has a wife and that he’s been sober for years. You hope he has kids and a big house and that he takes his family on drives up the mountain. You wonder what he said to you, that night in someone else’s room, when you forgot to listen.

_______________

Jennifer Levin is a writer and editor living in Santa Fe, NM. Her work has appeared in The Iowa Review and THE magazine and is forthcoming in Freight Stories. She holds a BA in creative writing from the College of Santa Fe.

preluat de aici

http://www.readtwelvestories.com/levin1/



100 000

O cifra seaca in sinea ei. Un numar de privitori ai CV-ului iubirii. Mai exact de ‘priviri’.

N-as fi crezut sa se ajunga la numarul acesta, cel putin nu asa, in ‘pozitii’ initiale, momentul zero perpetuat la nesfarsit.

Ca sa parafrazez doua titluri oricum cunoscute, n-as fi crezut si nu mi-am dorit ca “Jurnalul fericirii” sa se transforme in “Memorialul durerii”, pentru ca orice vorba scrisa aici ma doare si e greu de asternut, greu de simtit si greu de trait.

Sintagma asta preluata de la tine de CV al Iubirii e o povara mult prea grea pentru mine, o duc in mine pretutindeni ca pe o epava…tu esti catargul de care m-am legat Iubire, eu…biet Ulise pe care tu il ‘vezi’ inconjurat si ispitit de sirene…daca ar sti bietele sirene ce ancoreaza in portul asta numit Speranta …ele spera si cauta…cuvinte frumoase pe care sa le auda spuse ce cei pe care ii iubiesc, nu de la mine, eu nu pot vorbi in locul lor si nu le pot tine locul..

Priveam o secventa dintr-un film ,cred recent, despre Iisus, in care Maria Magdalena il ispiteste cu cuvintele “Vino, patul meu e rece” la care Iisus ii raspunde “Inseamna ca inima ta e goala”….

Probabil ca si inima mea e goala sau mai bine zis golita de sperante,multe desarte… tu cauti aici alinare si atat, si tu cauti cuvinte frumoase care sa-ti incalzeasca sufletul…dulce iluzie Iubirea mea, daca tu nu ma cauti si nu ma vrei pe mine, vreascurile din care iti aprinzi focul vor mai arde o vreme…si atat.

Te saruta cel care te iubeste , te-a dorit si te doreste…mai mult de 100 000 de ori si de priviri si de cautari de cuvinte frumoase…

Saruta-ma

Saruta-mi dorul ars de steaua

Ce am mangaiat-o-n lipsa ta

Cand pe pamant va fi doar neaua

Si-o floare de…nu-ma-uita