jutranja

Postelje že dolgo nisem tako zelo preklinjala kot včeraj. Tako velika in tako prazna je bila brez tebe. Pogrešala sem te. Sploh tvojo vročo kožo ob katero bi se navadno privila. Všeč mi je kako sladko začne dišat ko se potopiš v sanje. Težko mi je blo zaspat, ker nisem slišala tvojega globokega umirjenega dihanja. Želela sem si naslonit glavo na tvoj prsni koš, ti pustit da me božaš po laseh in poslušat tvoj srčni utrip. Pa ne gre to več.

Komaj sem čakala da me utrujenost potegne v spanje in zato v sanje, ker sem vedela da te bom sanjala. In sem te res. Pa se ničesar drugega ne spomnim kot samo tvojega smeha. Tvoja podoba, kako se mi prisrčno smejiš, je ostala z mano še vse jutro in me držala pokonci kljub nenaspanosti.

Oh kako zelo čakam da pride večer. Čakam da prideš k meni in me objameš, da se bom počutila bolje. In vem, ko bova zvečer ležala v postelji, ko bom privita ob tvoje lepo telo čakala da me popade spanec, bom srečna. Srečna ker boš nekaj trenutkov spet pri meni, ker boš takrat spet ves moj.

Do takrat pa…
… nestrpno te čakam.

*cp*

  • Share/Bookmark

Nespečnost

Ja, insomnia.

Ne znam več brez tebe zaspat.
Niti gospod Medved ne pomaga.

Pridi sem.

  • Share/Bookmark

614

Nekje med potoki slanih solz in pričetkom bliskajoče nevihte se mi je zgodil totalen breakdown. Potem je zmagala trditev, da sem velika punca in da imam dovolj. No, nisem imela dovolj, pač pa je bilo dovolj. Lahko bi jokala do jutra, ampak to ne bi ničesar spremenilo, s tem ne bi ničesar dosegla. Zato sem preprosto zaspala v tolažečem objemu, ki pa mi iskreno, ni kaj prida pomagal. Zbudila sem se tam kjer sem zaspala. Na tleh torej. Zjutraj ni nič manj bolelo. Pravzaprav je bilo tisto kratko slovo še en švicarski nožek v srce. Ne dovolj da te ubije, pač pa dovolj da povzroči resne poškodbe in da resno boli. Men se pa ne da šivat luknjic.

Najbolj smešno je, da se s tem kar se dogaja v resnici ne bo nič drastičnega zgodilo. Nič takega česar ne bi že doživljala. Nič novega, nič strašnega. No, pa ni čist res. Zame je strašno. Jst nočem delat tega koraka nazaj. Ne morem kar brez jamranja in stokanja prekint svojga plesa sreče in sestopit iz zvezdnega prahu. Pri vsem skupaj me najbolj mori prav to, da sem že naivno verjela da mogoče je pa človek le lahko v miru srečen in da včasih pa to res utegne trajat. In zdej? PHA. Life is like a penis. It get’s hard for no reason. :) Zdej se bo treba pa k seb spravt in na novo naučit kako se da bit srečen z malimi stvarmi in trenutki. Heh, sej nekateri pravjo da so mičkene stvari velik bolj priročne. Škoda ker so se meni že od nekdaj zdele samo odveč.

Ne vem kaj je bilo težje… gledat kako bašeš cunje v ruzak, al gledat tvoj speči obraz zjutraj vedoč, da bo še trajal preden bova spet jst pa ti brez ovir. Še nekaj dolgih let. Nekaj izjemno dolgih let. Potem pa bo. Potem pa bova. In potem si bom nabavla eno veliko macolo in bom z njo tolkla vse in vsakogar ki se bo vmešal. Od problemov, do ljudi. Do takrat si morem pa še okrepit mišice na rokah, da jo bom lahko dvignla.

Tut to je 42. Ampak tokrat mi še posebej ni všeč.

see you soon.

  • Share/Bookmark

Pogrešala te bom

Naivno sem se navadla na tvoje objeme vsak večer pred spanjem. In naivno sem mislila da bo tvoj poljub zjutraj postal rutina. In zdaj, ravno ko sem se naučila kako te moram zjutraj pobožat, da vidim tvoj nasmeh, ko sem se navadla da postelja diši po tvoji mehki koži, ko sem se naučila vsak dan na uro v pričakovanju kdaj prideš domov, zdaj se mi bo vse to vzelo. In vraga, kako me to boli. 

Ja vem, tako je prav. Ja vem, to ni konec vsega. Ja vem, da to med nama ne bo nič spremenilo. Ampak kljub vsemu me boli srce, ker vem da bom zvečer mogla sama zaspat. Ker vem da se bodo omare spraznile, da se bo spraznila moja soba in da bom prazna tut jst. Prazna, vsaj nekej časa, preden se spet navadim živet sama s sabo. Nič več poljubov na ramo. Nič več skupnega pitja kave. Nič več smeha in vseh teh nežnosti in pozornosti. Nič več objemov in ščipanja in lovljenja. Nič več tebe. Nič več. Ko se vrnem iz službe bom sama. Sama samcata. In danes se bom protestno zavila v kot postelje in celo popoldne spala z gospodom Medvedom v objemu. Mogoče bom tut mal pojokala… Kot da že danes ponoči nisem dovolj jokala. Povrh vsega pa sem morala še pazit da te ne zbudim, da ne boš videl. Ja. Težka noč je bla. In še težje jutro če smem priznat. In se mi zdi da ne morem dihat. Tako ogromen cmok mam v grlu da se bom zadušila. Čakam da mine ta dan. Da ga bo konec in da začnem od začetka, kot da se mi nikoli ni nič zgodilo. Po drugi strani pa me je neznosno strah, da bo jutrišnje jutro še težje. Še bolj boleče. Da se bom zlomila, ko se bom sama zbudila…

Sej ti želim da bi ti šlo čimbolš dons. Pa ti želim da bi bil fuuuul srečen. In vse sm prpravlena potrpet za tebe. Tole je še minimum. Ampak res hočem da veš…  Res me bo bolel ko te ne bo več tok bliz mene. Res… res te bom pogrešala. 

Hvala za ta čudovit mesec pa pol. Komej čakam da znova začneva. Lubm te.

  • Share/Bookmark

A valentine question.

How many times can a heart get broken, before the pieces become too small, for you to be able to glue them back together?

And this is how the light went out…

Okay, maybe it wasn’t so much about Valentine… but there are hearts involved, aren’t they? :)

  • Share/Bookmark

a man at the bar – III

Three or more songs pass by, when he senses her looking at him. He turns to the floor but she had already run away from the guys she was dancing with. She doesn’t want them anyway, he knows it.  He finds her standing outside on the garden, slowly smoking a cigarette with her sexy lips. Because she doesn’t look away, he takes his glass and walks his slow badass walk directly to her. She inhales deeply and insolently puffs the white smoke into his face. He struggles not to blink despite the smoke; he tries to stare at her eyes without showing that she moves him.  He knows darn well, that she likes to be treated like the last piece of garbage on the street. She likes men, who act like she annoys them.  He learned to pretend he hates her.

So he looked at her with a numb stare. She puts on an arrogant smile and says shamelessly: ” i missed you.” That destroys his mask, a smile unintentionally creeps onto his face. He just stretches out his hand and pulls her closer by her belt.  He whispers: “Aren’t you a naughty little bitch today?” and pushes her against the wall.

Her seductive smell melts the ice in him, he kisses the soft skin on her long fragile neck. He hears her words, replying him, but he is too drugged out from her body to pay attention to what she is saying. He presses his body against hers and feels the tension building up in her. She breathes in deeply and pushes her nails into the skin on his back. She bites her lip shaking her head in disbelief. He reaches to kiss those sweet lips of hers, when she pushes him away with brutal force.  He knows she meant it, he can read it in her face – stay away, it says.

He almost whispers softly: “the fuck!?” A deep sorrow is felt in his voice. She turns and decisively walks directly to the bar and orders two glasses of whiskey. He follows her slowly, you can see by his walk that he is crushed in his core. They look mutely at each other. He notices her eyes, they are dark green and sad.  He wishes he could hold her, he could comfort her, but he can feel the invisible wall she built around herself.

The silence is becoming unbearable, she drinks up with one swallow and says: “You know i… well, you know that i… fuck.” She pauses, takes a deep breath and says: “i can’t.” She gets up and in quick steps runs out of the bar. Hate. He hates her with all his force and anger.

He shakes the glass and the ice cubes clank silently. “Why? Why the hell did i wait for her?!” That is a stupid question. He knows why he waited. The hate for her is nothing compared to love he feels inside. He waited for one look from her eyes, for one smile from her mouth, for one touch of her skin, for one second of watching her walk, for one breath of her hair and for five small words meant just for him. It was worth waiting. He drinks up too and gestures the waiter for another one.

As he shakes his glass, he might seem absent in his mind flow. This time, he is. He’s diving into the moments of her stuck in his head. A small tear flows down his cheek; he wipes it off and makes a sip.

But, why do you care? After all, he’s just a man at the bar…

  • Share/Bookmark

a man at the bar – II

Every single fiber in his being started shaking as he saw her silhouette walking into the bar. She was wearing that bohemian long black skirt and a long plait over her shoulder. He knew instantly that this was what he was waiting for all night.

She walks slowly towards him; he can’t miss a single dreamy move she makes. Then, she looks directly into his eyes and smiles at him. He feels the sensation of being totally lost but yet fulfilled, satisfied and somewhat happy. Lost in that feeling, he notices, she will walk right past him… And she does. He turns his head and follows her, with his eyes only. He sees her going straight to her friends. He turns away, a little insulted, and drinks up.

He makes a small motion with his finger to the waiter and gets another drink. Again, he studies the content of the glass. He tries to convince himself that he has no reason to turn around, he doesn’t have to look at her, he mustn’t seem desperate to her… He takes a yellow straw and pokes the ice cubes in the whiskey, trying to think blank.

Suddenly he feels a touch on his back; it sends shivers down his spine. He straightens up, spots her, seeking for a cozy pose at the counter, with the corner of his eye. He says nothing; he just lifts his eyebrows a little in expectation of a conversation.

“What’s up?” she says. “Nothing much. As always,” he murmurs lowering his head, as he is trying to hide. He can’t look at her, he feels like she is drilling into him, directly into his soul, into his deepest secrets… Nevertheless, he can still see her nodding her head a little. Then they just stand there, while silence grows and fills up the space between then. She reaches for his glass and drinks half of his whiskey, then puts it back. All he can think about is how bitter sweet her lips must be now. He wakes him up with words “Dead end, again. We certainly are full of them.” She smiles, turns, and slowly walks away, straight to the dance floor.

“Stupid stupid stupid…” he thinks to himself. “Why didn’t you say something, you idiot?” He can’t go after her. He’s too proud for something like that. So he is to wait again… And lord knows it’s hard to wait.

He watches her sleek, beautiful body dancing in the rhythm. He loves the curves of her back as she moves. She looks so wild and sensual, but yet … she is approachable and not threatening. That is probably why other guys dance around her like she is their only desire. He hates to see that. It awakens the killer in him. So he turns away and dedicates his thoughts back to the drink in his hands.

  • Share/Bookmark

a man at the bar – I

There he is. The same like every single day. He stands at the bar looking like some film gangster. It’s not the dress that makes him this way, it is the pose. He’s leaning per counter so proudly, like he owns the place. And his attitude makes u know he is special. He looks exactly like he’s the most important man in the bar, and all the others are just nobodies he has to deal with all the effing time.

Yes. There he is. Like every single day. He stands there, with a glass of whiskey in his big hand. He always turns it and shakes it around, so the three ice cubes are clanking silently. He might seem absent in his mind flow, but the truth is, he is only waiting.

Right in the middle of the sounds of indie rock, on which he is trying to concentrate, he finds a thought. He ignores it at first, then he lets it out. He murmurs in his beard: “Why do i even wait?!” He lowers his eyes first, and then his head. He looks at the ice cubes melting. That means the whiskey will thin out any moment now… He sighs deeply and looks around himself briefly. The looking has no bigger purpose, because he knows damn well, he won’t find what he’s looking for. It still disappoints him a little, so he sighs again. He waits some more.

He hates to be left alone like this. With a glass of some strong drink and the simple thoughts that are killing him. It wasn’t always like this. There were better times. Or at least he thinks so. That was so far back in the past, if became foggy and sometimes, he isn’t quite certain if it had really happened, or was it all just a dream he made up to make his life easier.

A man bumps into him. That interrupts his mind flow and awakens him. He straightens up and turns to the man slowly, with a killer look in his eyes. Dangerous as hell… Until he realizes that the man is drunk as can be. “Just another idiot,” he thinks while turning back to the counter. He shakes his head in disapproval and prepares to drink up.

Then suddenly the air changes… or so he feels. He lifts his head and sees how the door opens. His breathing pauses.

  • Share/Bookmark

ob vznožju najine gore….

YouTube slika preogleda
Ta pesem so sanje. Moje sanje. So sanje in so spomini. Najlepši, najbolj sladki, čuvani kot najdražji zaklad.

So spomini na tiste dni, ko sva se skrila tja, k vznožju najine gore. Tam sva lahko le jaz in ti. Tam se skrijeva v male, tople sobice in zadihava tisti svež, nepokvarjen zrak. Primeva vsak svoja bremena in jih zabriševa skozi vhodna vrata. Jih bova pobrala na poti domov. Tu jih ne potrebujeva. Tu se lažje diha. Tu se ljubi in čuti in uživa. In se živi tako, kot bi se življenje moralo živeti. Polno. Ob vznožju najine čudovite gore.

Dom? Kaj je dom? Dom je tam, kjer ga čutim. Čutim ga zjutraj, ko me sonce požgečka po nosu, ko odprem oči in se zavem, da ležiš ob meni. Čutim ga v vetru, ki mi mrši lase, medtem ko objeta stojiva in opazujeva najino zeleno reko. Čutim ga v dežnih kapljah, ki mi močijo lase, medtem ko me držeč za roko vlečeš proti zavetju. Čutim ga v vonju kave, ki jo skupaj pijeva na klopcah za hišo, na hladnem mrzlem zraku, zavita v debele odeje.  Čutim ga v toplini tvoje kože ponoči. Čutim ga, ko vdihnem tvoj zrak in vonjam tvojo dušo. Čutim ga s tabo.

Tam… Ko sva dovolj dolgo zaprta v sobicah, da se očistiva vse navlake in umazanije, ki sva jo prinesla s seboj iz mesta, takrat je vse kar nama preostane odkrivanje. Odkrivanje tebe in sebe. Takrat odvržeš vsa oblačila in vse maske, ki si si jih sam nadel za druge in se postaviš predme v vsej svoji resnici. Ker veš da lahko. Ker takisto storim tudi jaz. Potem se mi zdiš lepši kot kadarkoli poprej. Takrat te objamem, zarijem prste v tvoje lase in te privijem k sebi. Ne bi te mogla bolj čutit. Ne bi te mogla bolj ljubit. In če takrat zaplavava v morju odej, tistih, ki tuje, a prijetno dišijo, če se takrat uspeva preplest, če takrat uspeva zlit najini duši v eno, potem je popolnoma jasno da naju nič ne more uničit. Takrat si ti jst in jst sm ti. Takrat te vem in ti veš mene. In če naju to, popolna iskrenost, ne more razgnati, kaj naju bo?

Tam… Tam se vedno spomnim, zakaj si je bilo treba prvič zapomnit vse pikice na tvojem obrazu. Spomnim se, kako je treba s prsti drseti čez tvoj obraz, da ujamem vsako vijugo. In kako še vedno diši tvoj vrat ob jutrih, na tisti čisto poseben, čisto tvoj način. Tam vedno vem, kaj si mi rekel, ko sva sredi množice stala objeta in svet za naju ni obstajal. Spet začutim privlačnost, ki nastane med nama, ko stakneva blazinice prstov skupaj, kot sem jo začutila prvo jutro s tabo. Samo tam gola oblečem tvojo ledr jakno, da me spet odneseš do postelje. Tam se spomnim vseh jutranjih objemov in vseh odtenkov tvojih oči. Tam vedno vem, zakaj se nočem več zbujat sama. Tam vedno vem, zakaj sem izbrala tebe in se spomnim vseh razlogov zakaj te nisem želela spustit. Tam resnično in srčno vem, da te potrebujem.
Ne verjamem v veliko stvari. Verjamem pa vate.

Tam sem srečna…

Vedno mi gre na jok, ko odhajava. Morda zaradi vseh tistih bremen, ki jih bom mogla pobrati na poti iz stanovanja, morda zato, ker bo trajalo preden te bom spet tako zelo čutila, morda zato, ker bo preteklo nekaj časa preden bova smela nazaj v najino gnezdo. Vsakič me objameš in mi obljubiš da se bova vrnila.

In potem čakam in čakam. Stiskam zobe in potrpim vse napore, ki me čakajo. Vse za obljubljeno nagrado. In ta je, da se po dolgem čakanju vedno vsedeva v avto in se odpeljeva sreči naproti.


Ja, že vse odkar sva prvič odšla imam sanje.  In nič jih še ni bolje popisalo kot tale simpl pesem.

But we could live by the foot of the mountain
We could clear us a yard in the back
Build a home by the foot of the mountain
We could stay there and never come back.

But we could live by the foot of the mountain
We could make us a white picket fence
Build a home by the foot of the mountain
we could stay there and see how it ends.


Tam… Hočem to. Hočem dom tudi otipat, ne samo čutit. Hočem vsak dan pred vhodnimi vrati odlagat težave. Hočem. Eno toplo hiško zase, kjer bova ves čas lahko midva. En velik vrt z belo ograjo, kjer bo tekal velik kuža. In vsi kričeči otroci z mrzlimi noski polnimi smrklja, ki sva si jih zamislila. ne bojim se vseh tistih malih tečnih težav, ki jih to lahko s sabo prinese.  Hočem probat. Hočem srečo. To so moje sanje.

Bova kdaj?

  • Share/Bookmark