ceas

"Opreşte trecerea! 
Ştiu că unde nu e moarte, nu e nici iubire - şi totuşi, Te rog: 
Opreşte, Doamne, ceasornicul cu care ne măsori destrămarea."

Lucian Blaga

I am not sad

“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.” 
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

zile acasa

imi place sa ma intorc acasa la ceva. la cineva.
imi place sa descui usa si sa vad o mutra. zambitoare. nezambitoare. mutra sa fie.
imi place sa imi arunc pantofii din zbor in timp ce povestesc ce am facut astazi.
imi place acasa.

acasa e rasul.
e plansul.
e starea intre ele doua, cand nu stii
daca sa spui
sau sa taci,
ca poate ar fi mai bine
sa taci,
dar parca ai spune,
ca altfel explodezi.

acasa e singurul loc in care ar trebui sa te poti intoarce de oriunde altundeva.