Room for sale

My room needs some renovation. The ceiling has got lower and lower. It's too narrow here as the walls are trying hard to smash me between them. The windows have turned into mirrors. When i try to look out to see the cheering brightness of hope i can only see myself. I am not moving and i wonder if i ever have, i have stopped inside the self portrait of expectation. I need to stop looking because i already saw what is out there. I need a change of scenery, i need a new perspective. I need to wake myself up from this sentimental dullness, from this wintersleep that has buried too many lilac smelling summer eves.

I don't want to wait for one hundred years of loneliness for a kiss of a prince. I have to do it all myself. There is no prince and a princess and a happy ending. There is only me and an endless amount of possibilities. I can't have my life on a leash while sleeping. I used to lock it in a bird cage but it turned out to be a bad idea.

My room needs some complete repairs so i was thinking maybe it's too pricy to fix it, maybe i just better leave the whole room, close the door behind me for good and throw the keys in a fountain of good luck. I need to have my room for sale and move on.

The Journey

I have been gone for half a year, half a year travelling in distant countries, drawing stars to the foggy window glasses of the bus and smiling quietly. Finally i had the chance to leave and i left, holding a one-way ticket against my little nervious heart that was bouncing anxiously inside of me. I left in search of home and a place where i belong to but instead i found out that even though the world looks so small on my old worn out atlas it can still be surprisingly hard to let your tired feet rest before the darkness falls over you. Even though i learned to paint a smile on my face and make it real, even though i found more and more leaves of joy on the road i was strolling, i still didn't end up to the gate of the one ultimate home where to stay and live happily ever after. I came and i left, i said hello and i said goodbye, i shook and waved my hand. New faces and voices flew through the rooms of my memory leaving songs behind them that are still echoing on the walls. I lived on the road and finally understood that maybe this is where i belong to. Maybe i belong to not belonging anywhere. Maybe my real home is to be homeless. But doesn't that also mean that the whole world is my home?

In one morning

I used to think that everything turns out to be alright when i grow up. I used to think that the moment i am living is only a big waiting room and all i have to do is to sit down and wait for someone to call my name. Thinking of the future made me feel so optimistic, it made me feel i can conquer the mountains and swim across the oceans to catch the shooting star of my dreams. I was blinded by the colors of the rainbow, by the vision of better tomorrow in the distance of time.

Then, in one cold winter morning i woke up and realized that this is tomorrow. This is tomorrow and it's just the same as all the other days of my life. It's not brighter nor darker, not colder nor warmer. I am not braver than i used to be and i have no more idea of anything than i used to have. I am just the same fanciful girl wandering alone in the same riddle of life. I am still inside the glass that has been turned upside down.

In one cold winter morning i woke up just to realize that tomorrow has come and gone.

Paper doll

I am a paper doll and it makes me frustrated. It makes me bitter, it makes me turn my head down like the flowers do when the sun has disappeared. I am the lonely blue girl in the background of an old photograph. I am the little bird that never learned to fly. It fell down from its nest and now it's down there in the grass, looking at the lilac sky and wondering how it would be like to be carried by the wind.

I would rather disappear completely than be a doll made of paper. I feel so ashamed of my paper limbs that i try to hide in the shadows and cover myself with lots of clothes. I try to be invisible because i don't want them to notice i am nothing but only a nostalgic decoration, only one breakable moment in someone else's childhood. I feel like i should give them explanations. They might start asking. They might think i'm weird. And i wonder why they didn't miss the train but i did. Why is it me standing in the empty station, waiting for the train that never comes? Did i break my wings before or after falling from the nest?

I sigh and i stare at the emptiness. I only want to be real. I want another train to come and pick me up so that i could sit down and travel to the merciful unknown. I don't want that children's paper scissors can cut me in thousands of miserable pieces.

Missing

I have been missing someone and something for all my life. There is something that makes me empty inside. A piece is missing. It ran away and never told where or why it left but i know it wants to be found because it leaves messages behind. Very short and little messages whispering about beauty and realization. Stories about peaceful and silent blessedness. I pick up these signs hidden behind the corners of clouds. Petals on the winding road. The missing piece wants me to follow it. Maybe, after a long and burdening journey, it will lead me home.

Invisible days

There are days when i turn into invisible and start looking at people and their secrets. When you are invisible you can see life from a different perspective. You are so close to it but yet so far away. You are so close to those happy and grieved faces, those shivering and insecure souls that are wandering around the town so lost in the drama of their life. They have locked the door of their core and they are not willing to open it for strangers. If you don't have a shield around you someone can come and strike. They don't want to tidy the places of the house of their heart. Once again.

That's why people put a mask on their face when they step out from their home. They lock all the doors, close the windows and cover them with long satine curtains. They are afraid of burglars, they are worried about the property of their soul. So they walk around unrecognizably, they go to market to buy vegetables, they sit on a train looking at landscapes and they take their dogs out. But they always remember to wear the mask to hide their secrets and their private home.

When i am invisiblely sitting on the bench of a park i can see those people passing by with their houses very well locked. But if i am patient and just keep looking at them.... it can happen. Suddenly, when they think nobody is watching, they open the window and look out of it because sometimes they have to let the fresh air in. In that short moment i can see inside their beautiful and very personal house full of sparking glass fragments of their life. It makes me understand those people though it makes me feel blue, too. They have a hidden treasure deep inside of them and they just want to take care of it. Although sometimes their treasure is so beautiful that they should let more people see its glory.

Daydreams

I live with my dreams. I wake up with them, i share the breakfast with them and i take them with me whenever i go. We are inseparable friends, my dreams and i. We need each other. I need my dreams to keep living and they need me to have a being and become real. Without me my dreams were only air with no importance and without my dreams i was only a lifeless little girl lost in the silver mist. I have many dreams and plans, too many to keep count on them. Sometimes they are on a wild mood and they escape from the nest i have made for them, running and flying around my life and then i can do nothing else but looking after them and trying to put them back in order. If somebody talks to me at the same time i barely hear what they are saying. I am too busy with my dreams, too busy to listen to anyone. Too busy to travel the long way back to reality.

I have to give a life for my dreams. It is my responsibility after spending so much time with them. They would never forgive me if i just left them alone and walked away without looking back. But of course we both know that i am not going to go anywhere without first realizing my dreams. I am too devoted of them, i feel for them like a mother for her children. And in the midnight when i am looking at my dreams sleeping peacefully on my pillow i feel so melancholy because i know what i have promised. I have to free them. But we have shared so many moments together that i will miss them when they are gone, when they have grown up, flied away from their nest and i have no daydreams left to dream about.

Small world

Sometimes life and this whole world feel too limited and small. Life has certain borderlines that we can't across. Not because we were too scared or hesitant to take a serious step, but because the walls around us are too strong and high to climb over. Maybe it's enough for most of the people to live inside the walls that have been given to us, happily and safely, without thinking about the other side. The other side that doesn't actually even exist. Or does it? It's too hard to paint the invisibility or dress up the nonexistence. But for me it's not enough. It makes me too curious... too restless to keep walking when i know there are only limited number of roads that i can follow. Why can't i break the rules of the universe, the rules of the human existence? I long for doing something that is not possible. Something that doesn't exist in this world where we are walking, breathing, crying, laughing and finally dying. Something that you don't have to explain because the emotion itself is so huge that it breaks down all the words and expressions that have ever been knitted together. I want to get out. Out of this substance. Out of this safely familiar world. Out of this same old macrocosm. I am a prisoner. We all are.

Chains

People think they know me. They think they can cut me in pieces and tell how every slice of my soul works. They think they can write my name on an encyclopedia. Directions for use. They have packed me up in a box and thrown it into the corner of a warehouse. I can't move here. I need some space. But this is not written on their notebook, there is no mention about my real feelings or state of mind. They think i am dead. They have already analyzed me, cleaved me and picked up my labyrinthine heart that beats every minute. They have made their own conclusion, drawn their opinions on my forehead.

Strangers

How to create friendships when even the old ones are withered? How to have new immemorial moments, deep conversations late in the night, when the dearest people of my life suddenly seem to be so far away?
Yesterday i had a name for all the expressions on the familiar faces but today they are too strange to recognize. When i look at those people i would like to ask "Who are you? Have we met before?" I don't even know if i like these new faceless ghosts around me. But i know i miss the comforting smile that threw a light on me always when i was afraid of darkness.
I have a hapless feeling that the only people who i worried about and who worried about me will always be strangers. And i will always be a stranger for them. We will always walk side by side but it means we can never come across.