Loneliness, fear and myself

This is an essay which I wrote for a friend’s homework, I hope you’ll like it:)
I haven’t written in a long time, and I decided that I have to post something, even if it’s only a few sentences. It’s so strange reading your own old posts!

Loneliness. Fear grows fastest while you’re alone. Raindrops are pounding the windows harder and harder. The Sun hasn’t risen today at all, only the light-gray clouds which were suffocating the day and which never gave the Sun to rise have appeared. I am alone. If I accept these raindrops as my friends, what else have I to fear of except them alone? Maybe just the loneliness and the uknown in the emptiness. Loneliness and I are sitting and listening to the raindrops and the wind which is pushing them agressively onto my window. I am afraid they might come in. Fear is starting to scratch the door of my room. What are we exactly afraid of when we are left alone? The thin dark hand, demonic eyes and death coming with a scream or maybe even the silent spider walking on our back? And why aren’t we afraid of it when we have a company? Because we are afraid of the Loneliness itself, but we do not want to admit that. The time we spend on our own wakes up inside of us the fear of the unknown, more precisely, the fear of ourselves. And that means that we actually do not want to know who we are, and to get to know ourselves. The wind is starting to shake the windows, I am standing still, anticipating the following – windows are suddenly opened, the raindrops under it’s strenghth are falling on my face and clothes and they are getting wet. I am now alone and soaked. Raindrops are not my friends anymore. Now I know that I am wet, and my biggest fear has come true, I see my own self.

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Elastic Heart

He entered the house and was expecting to see her waiting for him. His perfect little Anna. Her white, pale face, soft skin and big brown-greenish orbs with long lashes and full lips which always smile to him. A packet of white teeth showing behind the smile. He loves her with her brown long hair and long fingers with always perfect done nails. They both worked a lot and it wasn’t like before, but they love each other don’t they? Does he know what she’s thinking like before and vice versa? Maybe that’s the key problem.

He entered the house and right behind the corner in the hall way she was standing at the door at the end of it. She was leaning on the door with her hands crossed and a soft smile on her face. He smiled back as always. She would usually grin back afterwards but not so often lately, not this time. He took her face in his hands and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. She was smiling but not looking at him anymore. He sensed the mark beneath the foundation
“What happened?”
“What do you mean? Nothing”
“Who was here?”
“No one”
“Tell me what happened!”
“Nothing!”
“Who was here?!”
The first thought that ran through her head was “you” but she remained silent.
“Oh God, why are you dong this?”
Minutes ago she was pouring more drink in her glass, thinking about him, she wasn’t sure was she drunk or not, what made her drunk so much, was she angry, insane. They both just needed a break, the time to go back, to take a trip somewhere far away, to look into each other’s eyes. They still loved each other, if they didn’t they wouldn’t be in this situation right now. So she was pouring drink after drink, smashing a glass at the floor at the end, falling down in tears. Their dark-purple sheets, big bed, perfect view, everything she, they, have ever dreamed of surrounded her. She picked it up and covered a scar that glass has made. Everything seemed perfect.
He went to the kitchen
“It seems that another glass has been broken, like we had more of these” he said and turned to her. She put her hands at her back-pockets and started walking
“Probably, maybe it’s the housekeeper”
“She wasn’t here today”
“Maybe before..”
“What is happening? Why are you doing this to yourself? I can’t stand looking at you like this!”
“Well then don’t look at me” it hurt so bad to say this but what else was she left with? They were only hurting each other.
She came into the kitchen which was connected with the living room with only bar separating it. She poured more
“Stop it” he grabbed her hand while she only grinned.
“Don’t do this” he repeated while she took the glass and nonchalantly went to the living room.
“No more drink for you! Where is the rest?” He threw away the bottles he saw. She walked into the kitchen and pulled another one. He took it away and threw it as well
“Why are you doing this to me? To yourself? We said we wont ever drink and this is… what night in a row that you are drinking? I won’t let you get hooked on this shit” he pushed her away into the living room, his face inches away from hers, the window wall behind them was spilling one of the most beautiful city views, but like that mattered nothing to them. She just laughed a bit
“Are you drunk?” He asked her as she looked away and laughed through her nose. Was she drunk? Who knew that?She was numb and drunk all the time. If it wasn’t alcohol, it was him.
“I’ve got an elastic heart” she said. He knew very well what she meant by that. Her pace was slow, just like a cat. She had dark-blue jeans and a plaid shirt a bit unbuttoned, she took her necklace off. She walked barefoot and took the glass, proceeding to the bed were she sat. He climbed the bed as well and sat beside her
“You won’t ever drink again!” He took the glass and took the last sip of whiskey, throwing the glass at the wall, smashing and falling into million wet pieces. He took her by her head with one hand, pulling her hair a bit, their lips parted and wet from alcohol. Seconds passed before they smashed their whiskey lips together eager for each other, for the taste of their lips and alcohol on them. The kiss was passionate and heated, she put her hands in his hair, pulling it harder each second
“Is that clear?” He asked taking breath. She nodded her head
“If I ever see you drinking again I don’t know what I’m capable of doing” as he said the last sentence they both looked at each others eyes. He has dark, chocolate-brown eyes.
“I basically trust no one” she whispered
“Don’t you trust me?” He asked
“How can I?” She asked with worried eyes as tears escaped them
“But you are mine. Have I ever failed you?”
“Just don’t let me go, no matter what, don’t ever let me go. If I run, chase me, if I back you off, pull me closer. Reassure me and tell me that I am not right, I beg of you”
He kissed her, now with even more passion
“..never” he said through the kiss
“Let me go” she said
“Never”
He pulled her even closer
“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” She asked
He didn’t say anything, just deepened the kiss
“I love you” she said
“I love you, more than anything”

Rainy Paris

Rainy afternoon in Paris, the smell of coffee and croissants and smooth jazz were occupying Anna’s senses. She is having her afternoon coffee as always in a nearby cafe. Newspapers are at her table and a little white dog named Kiwi is silent and yet full of energy, going around the table, finally settling itself on a chair beside it’s owner. It’s an early autumn and the cafe on the corner where a tree is standing wide and tall with its massive and strong branches and dark-green, and now wet from the rain, leaves, is filled with dark brown chairs and tables alike. The floor is in black and white diamonds and the wall is at the lower part wooden and white, above is plastered beige tapestry with slim and little orange and brown flowers. It looks quite vintage if I may add, and the pictures of many iconic musicians are hung up. Anna is sitting at the window, the entire wall is like a window. The rain started falling harder. Tables are set without any specific order around the cafe. In the middle of the window-wall the front door are standing tall, separating the left and the right part of it. The cafe is quite empty, there are only one or two occupied tables, besides the one where Anna’s sitting, in the darkness of it. Behind her, on the right wall the bar is set. From the bar deeper into the cafe the space is shrinking and the light coming from outside is much weaker. Anna has just eaten her cookie and is half way down with finishing her latte so she is taking the newspapers and is starting reading
“Kiwi, stand still please, steady! Good boy!” As she says that she gives him a treat and continues reading an article.
The little bell hung above the door has rung and a young and handsome man entered the cafe, looking quite confused. Anna looked up to see who entered the cafe on the tree-corner, even though she never does that. She would usually immediately look away but not this time. The young man stood his ground looking where would he like to sit the most, and when he glanced over Anna he couldn’t look away either. He started narrowing his eyes but kept coming back and looking at her, at the end he flashed a small and a very insecure smile and walked towards the counter to order his drink. Anna kept looking at him and smiled when he approached the bar. The man in shallow brown boots and jeans with a white short jacket and a black coat ordered machiato. His blonde hair coming to his chin and bangs tucked behind his left ear made him look like a young boy but his strong and tall features were telling that he is a young man in his mid twenties. When he took the coffee he again glanced over Anna with the same insecure half-smile and she returned with a sincere one. He then sat at a few tables away, across the counter and beside her, where the daylight still isn’t fading. He was listening to the jazz and the strong rain, his coat was quite wet and so was his hair, the big, dark umbrella didn’t help much, and he was looking at Anna reading the newspapers and the window. She would glance over him time to time just to find his eyes glued to her more frequently than to the street with the uncontrollable half smirk, while she would shyly smile every time, hiding a bit behind the papers, her eyes slowly shifting to the all so small letters on the way too big paper. They were both enjoying the sensation of the coffee, Paris and rain. They both didn’t notice how fast the time was passing. Anna called out for the waiter and gave him a tip. The boy and her gathered their things and got outside at the same time. They looked at each other again with small smirks and tried walking their ways but bumped into each other because they were blocking each other’s ways
“Sorry!”
“Oh I’m so sorry”
“I am going that way..”
“Yeah, I’m going that one…” they said and laughed a bit. They both walked their ways, she was going to the market and he who knows where. The rain hasn’t stopped or eased either.

Heaven! Love! Freedom! Silly, such dreams!

We live in the world we used to cringe at the very thought of it. We live in the world which is everything except for what we convince ourselves it is. People in our lives can have ‘masks’ and so does this world, which is consisted of people with ‘masks’, have it’s own.

I believed, my friend, that the real love exists, that the freedom has the one who is capable of catching it, but as the time went by, and as I was growing up and got to know life, I realised that it is far away from the truth. I have thought of heaven sometimes, but not so often because why would youth think about death? But, I believed that it does exist and I do believe now, because what are we left do after we find out the truth and the cruelity of life, except to have faith and hope? I live with hope that it will get better, if not for the time of this life we know, then for the time of the other one, when and if we go to that Heaven everyone’s talking about. You once told me, my dear, that we’ll have strenght and will for living as long as we believe. But what happens after our faith turns into the fear of what’s awaiting for us? Into the fear which starts to choke us, steals in in our lungs, throats and noses, slowly and swiftly, just like a gas, and when instead every new breath we take, hoping that we will breathe in the fresh air of freedom, we draw in again the deadly fear. My friend, you once told me that freedom does not leave the free spirit, but it abonded me. I can not recall back when I first became the prisoner and the slave, and even worse, who’s slave I have become. Society’s or even my own? I have started to fulfill excpectations of society long ago, to live life of the deaf and the blind majority, the stupid majority which sourounds and disgusts me. Who sets the norms and rules by which I live now? Them or I myself? Maybe I have sourended long time ago and accepted everything from them, become the part of them, just like the Albatros which sailors haunted down in the poem you had once read to me, do you remember? Do you remember all the loves you had? Do you remember me? What is love, I have forgotten. I see the people around me, lovers and the alone ones. I know what it is, but I have fortgotten already. What is this that we have? We started off as aquantancies, later friends and now I don’t know what are we. If I asked this world around me it would respond me with something I could not understand. I trust you, repsect you, have faith in you, I might even love you, tell me then, what is that? And tell me what is the freedom which is being taken away from us, right to think, having attitudes and knowledge of the real truth? And tell me, I beg of you, what is Heaven and what awaits for us, made of substances, after the Judgment day?

I am writing this letter to you, my dear, because you have always been able to give the answer to my every question, I write this letter to you as a sign that I still haven’t lost faith and hope, and as a sign that one day I’ll breath in deeply and cheer ‘Freedom!’

A Man

coffee-and-cigarettes

Today I saw an old man sitting alone in a cafe. Outside was a sunny, quite hot day, you could say it was perfect. He was sitting, as I’ve already said, alone in the shadow of the cafe, holding a cigarette in his hand, flipping it around his fingers time to time. He was leaning on a table, hands crossed. He was looking in front of himself. Jazz was playing at the back. On the table were lying a coffee, plastic bag with something square shaped inside, a pocket of cigars with a lighter set on them and a couple of other things. He was deep in thought. What could he have been thinking about? Love or a job? A book or a trip? The days that were, are, or even the days that lie ahead of him? Mistakes or possibilities? Maybe he saw a girl who reminded him of his long lost love, or his wife when she was young. Maybe she left him and he is now thinking where did he go wrong, and the moment when she told him that she’s leaving him. Or he could have been thinking about the nights when they were having time of their lives. ”What is his profession?” was one of the questions I asked myself. Maybe he’s a lawyer or a doctor? He is quite chubby and by his features I would say he is a wealthy man. By the way he was dressed I would say that he lives in that neighborhood. Maybe he is a professor on a university? Or an owner of a company? He could be an investor as well. But, maybe he’s non of those things, maybe he is just a retired man from his job as a salesman or a cook? Maybe he was wealthy enough so he didn’t have to do anything? But he spent it all so he was recalling back the old times and thinking what he could have done to prevent that. By the sweatpants he was wearing I would say he is not as wealthy as he was, or he just pulled them out of the closet. They were quite worn out. I’d say he’s 63 years old, retired not long ago as a lawyer or a doctor, you name it. The cafe is dark and wooden. He was sitting in the middle of it, alone in the room. All other guests were sitting outside. Behind him is a gallery with two tables and a bar bellow it. The cafe was open, all of the windows were opened so you have a feeling that you are not in a closed room. He was looking outside, on a small street, pavement where the tables were set and, across the street, at one of the biggest parks in the city, where children were playing and dogs were running. Trees were making a shadow here and there and cars were parked in the small street. He had black shoes on, black sweats with white stripes on sides and a shirt. When I took the last glance of him he was still sitting at the same position, looking at the same spot through his glasses.