Seperimeno Me Anchos

A story about though love perception and the search for a way to spread happiness as a reason for existence. Reflecting on many facets in a dramatic way, combining music as a 'feeling' supporting the narrative. Alternating between reason and feelings, from completely lost to insane strictness. Trying a lifetime, to subjectively implement the defintion of treu love, through aternating experience. Fulfillment of an impossible definition. This book is meant for readers with a heart, a passion and resistant to some drama.

Drame Déconseillé aux moins de 13 ans.

#romance #love #drama #life #music
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Dynamo's and Bolts

-- Music: Vasilis Papakonstantinos - Sfentona (Slingshot) --


I image this world as a big dark ball, dripping shadows in eternity. Tiny twinkeling lights wandering around, uncaught by even the highest skilled romance detectives. I'm waiting for the angels to stop crying for my faith. I remember the day I evicted pain from my heart and soul, so many ages ago. I could barely recognise myself after all those years of self-suffering. How can a heart be pierced with some metal unknown on Mendeleev's period table. The one that sticks there and ruins all what is left, even though the core reactor was indestructible.

An old lady, one of the twinkle kind, has learned me what life is about. It's a subjective definition evolving through the ages of expressivity in all its liberty, in all its captivation. And today, I know I'm not a writer, nor an artist, nor anything meaningful in a plastic world; highly frustrated and full of disperse I started a story, which hopeful helps a little lost twinkle and gives meaning to an unrecognisable world. I would want all lights to stay alive in this world, as there are needed, much more than anyone can image, but I do know that. I searched for love, and I keep searching. Growing much more confused as I used to be.

I want to initiate with the dynamo's and the bolts, the pieces I scrambled together after loosing an enormous amount of chess games and hitting my bike against a car on my way home. Or maybe... let's wait the explanation of direct current and commutators, and preferable alternate back to where it all started.

Before the end, the silence resembled with the biggest love ever seen.

I was born in a small meaningless town at the Mediterranean sea. A doctor ripped me out of my mothers womb and as he wasn't a Spartan, he wasn't allowed to throw the hardly breading imperfection of a dusty mountain. The first breath was a first reaction for what scientifically is explained as The shock, coming out af a warm nest to a cold 'world'. A first struggle to survive in blindness and full of unhappy noise. I heard a whisper, it sounds like an angel singing to me, if they ever existed. I couldn't perceive light and pleased with my blindness, I just wanted to eat towards my growth and fatness. Maybe I wanted to have a smoke, a coffee and some chocolate; the holy trinity of my personal addictive chain. Years flew by, dangling bees surrounding a warm nest and harvesting 'honey dust' and gametes involuntarily. I was around eleven, and my childhood girlfriend, living in the same neighbourhood, reflected on my mind as the most beautiful angel I've ever met. Secretly I was in love with her, although I didn't get acquainted yet with the definition of love, a blank piece of paper with just the immersive explosion in my heart (although the heart is not the only physical organ impacted). She was the reason to get up in the morning, or even late at night, on our nightly escapades. Don't worry, this was a safe place to grow up. No kidnapping, no freakiness in the dark. We just needed to be aware of wolves, bears or other hungry of frightened 'predators' on the mountain hill. Eviction to all 'red riding hoodies'.

This world was our home, our reality, the synthesis of birth and death drawing curly lines which we labeled as 'life'. We can make a parenthesis on 'Ifandokosmo', it's a greek word used for the world of illusion, but why calling this illusion if reality can be poured in bottles of illusion and illusion can improvise reality.

The summer sun was hot those days.

I was living with my grandmother, teasing her in the afternoon was my favourite occupancy. 11 years old, ready to put my pre-mature footsteps into life, perceived like walking in a swamp after a rainy afternoon. I called my grandmother 'yaya' like all greek youngest, it was a word of respect and family at the same time. Yaya was late 80's an has lived a mysterious live in the eyes the pubering 'me'.

She never said so much, she never showed too much emotion, nor anger. She was, what happened to be 'in' those years, extremely balanced. If you could look into her soul, you would see bursting volcano's of fright, niagara-like waterfalls of sorrow, fantasy woods of happiness and crying words of loneliness. What was she mysteriously beautiful and wise. She's so present in my world, my 'ifandokosmos.

-- Music: Melina Kana - Milo Gia Sena (I talk about you)


As usual we ate in the late afternoon and after my tiny personal food-fest, I counted the minutes to see my Elsa back. I was convinced, She was the woman of my life, at this age, my certainty was greater than all existing cigarettes being smoked on one day. Smokey sure, my persistence was in-calculated, and when explained in terms of speed: to fast to manage and to impossible to contain, to contra-verse with the dusty roads under my feet. I smell jasmin in the air, I feel a flittering chilly wind through my curly black hair and imagined I could fly up until the appartement where Elsa lived, managing my way through the balcony windows. 2th floor, it must be possible to fly that high with the physical structured laws we live with, defeating gravity with a smile.

Impatiently, I opened the blocking metal door, hearing a squeezing noise, never registered in any anthology, given me access to the great hall. The hall was smelling like dried calamares, but my imagination have made a palestian yard of this extended doorway.

Stairs are build to be taken 3 steps at a time, ancient Greek knew that well, building, while pouring sweet wine into their veins, the Parthenon. A door appeared with the number 29. The number guiding me towards my heavenly princess. Knocking on the door was priceless, so I knocked more than twice pushing eagerly the door like I wanted to embark the castle leaving my horse prominently at the gate.

Her father was watching the tv with a tsipouro in a small table next to him. I don't remember, my focus on the search for my beloved woman. I hardly could say a 'kalimera' when I disappeared un-politely in the kitchen seeking my beloved as my adventures are at its (happy) end. Maria, Elsa's mother showed me a smile of which Mona Lisa would be jealous. My eyes where crying questions towards her.

"Elsa went with some friends to the river side, I'm sure you can find her over there, my crazy beautiful boy"

"Thank you Kiria, i'll see her there", my words selecting carefully and un-doubtfully polite.

Elsa's father, Petros, poured over his glas, sputtering some angry words to God knows what or who, his beverage running from the small table onto Maria's handmade carpet. When Maria was an angel, Petros surely was the devil in-disguised.

"Look what you did you small stinking bastard" was the last sound-wave my ear reached before I was flying from the steps heading for the river-side.

Heartbeats in my chest, not from running; a smile on my face, not from the sun, the flowers and the beauty of nature... Running off the street I passed the local bakery, smelling the parfum of carefully prepared bread. Elsa's oasic image appeared already from far away. She's the girl forged in the well of beauty, in a beast-less world, where princesses are covered in flowers and bathing in honey tasting milk. The princess who should have been locked up high in a tower, far away from men.

Her eyes where green and endless like the ocean, her faces was beautifully shaped, long light-curly dark black hair branded with subtle wave from Mediterranean wind. Her lips were forming a natural smile, with a smooth pink contour that will state happiness for all-time. Her neck was looking light-brown, inviting you to kiss her all day and night. Her body was young but had already the early sentinels of beauty without limit. She was the kind of women everybody would love, but nobody discovered that yet, but me. I kept myself believing I was the first, the smartest in the ability to 'see'. Feeling myself like Indiana Jones, fighting for his precious treasure, not willing to reveal it to the world and rather keeping it to himself,... although i realised that would be impossible.

-- Music: Juliette Armanet - A la folie (to insanity) --


We had that kind of telepathic convenience, she felt me coming, and upon a rather noisy distance, she turned her head, looking at me. Her smile was fulfilling a prophecy, defining perfection and revealing ultimate beauty. Her eyes saw literally through me, from a distance I tried to approach, trying not to fall in the borderless heaven of her eyes, if so I would be lost in paradise and for that it is no time yet.

"Kalimera glyko mou", in greek you say 'my' when your friend has been somehow cross-bordered your personal territory. She owned me and I'm sure she knew. How difficult is it to know you're ment for each other, and trying not to show it, in order to protect mutual emotions.

We would have a difficult life, full of harmony and joy, and full of trouble and miserie around us.

"Elsa mou, I was looking for you!"

"I know, this is why I came to the river", she said with a teasing curve upon her mysterious lips.

"We should go to the town center and have a walk in the park, I have news for you from my family", I trying to say those words without shivering voice, preventing her noticing my un-portraited feelings.

"We will, and you will buy me a frappé, like last time", she smiled again, and she knew she had me were she wanted me to be.

We walked away from the river, at the west side of the river the new hospital was under full construction, just like our childhood and with resemblance of Stephen King's 'Kingdom Hospital'. We walked upon the hill, passing by my grandmothers house, en walking down the street towards the main road leading to the center. The street was named upon 'Ohi day' of the Greeks towards some kind of Italian dictator, apparently the 28th of October 1940. Just before we come upon the main road, we had our school, a small park and our church which we frequented every Sunday, desperately hoping we had some celebration of a well-known Saint and eating prosfora (small pieces of bread after communion in the orthodox church). Walking next to her made me forget all that fakery and materialistically matters, it wasn't the first time, but I constantly reflected upon those precious moments. I never want to create habits from beauty, if I did, what loss would that be for me in this fading beautifull world. Being able loving the one you really want, over and over again, is my destined goal in life.

Birds are singing their own rudimentary songs, cockroaches (not the Brood X cicades kind) were wispering presence in the bushes and the sun was blessing our walk with an incredible heavenly warmth. We were talking about the latest news in our 'hood'. The backery across 'yaya' was complaining upon governamental decisions, making the price of bread cheaper. Stavros, the baker, asked me lately if I wanted to help him bringing around halva in the neighbourhood. Halva is a pastry of sesame and honey, very heavy, very sweet, but compelling in taste when you degustate it with a greek coffee in the late afternoon. Stavros didn't have children, his wife Eleni tried to confort him in all possible ways trying to provide him with a son that could never reach existence. Trying to bet on seduction before and after he starts working during the night.

Stavros wasn't a man of patience, so I knew my decision must have been taken already upon presenting myself hoping to gain his dignity for the gesture.

Elsa was complaining about her father. He is an alcoholic; he was always shouting towards her, telling her she would be a nice hooker if she grow up, at least at this point he could become rich anyway. He was the father who should never have kids, who should get educated and confronted with himself.

"It's always the alcohol that transforms his feelings into words, mam is afraid he will never stop. She's really trying the best, but I don't understand what's frustrating him so much!", she said it looking towards the dusty road, as if her words have the same temperature of the ground beneath her feet.

"His goals were not as expected, maybe you should talk him through, try to convince him that life has brought him presents, which he must cherish", I tried to comfort her with my young, unexperienced council. She knew I was trying and she appreciated that, but i knew my solutions were never waterproof, to far away from reality and to unrealistic in execution.

"He should visit a doctor, a doctor will be the only one helping him with his mental disease", she suffered speaking those words of frustration, followed by some light-weight curses.

"I would like to help you through this Elsa, I really would; ask whatever you need if support for you or your mother is needed", again my words are way of the earth. I was naive and helpless in my own way.

"Let it be, i'm happy you're here for me; you make me realise life is beautiful and you surely try to succeed in bringing our childish dream to realisation".

"Forget your worries for now, look around, we have made it that far", I tried to smile while pronouncing those words. She notices my effort and avoidance, but she smiled me back, her eyes were deeper, the green in her eyes were like heavenly light and she stopped walking, putting her arms around my neck, and kisses me on the cheack. Her lips, touching my skin, became divine. I asked to myself if there's a way capturing this feeling and sentiment, trying to persist that in my memory for eternity. I never succeeded in that, I could never pertain those moments without a pervasive preservation date.

I felt life streaming through my vains, my blood was boiling of loving particles, and the contrast in my eyes was elevated trying to focus on my shivering hands. And if you would think that I described everything... I better try not to continue talking about her smell... divine in all scents. A scent coming over me like a whisper in the darkness, asking me for my heart, asking my to burry my sorrow; a whisper that will follow me through decades, asking me to give back, what I have been given; the whisper of her scent, lilly's, yasmin and roses, eternal flourishing in a blooming heart. I discovered my passion for scent, the scent as a translation of books, through the perception of love.

-- Music: Elli Kokkinou - Erotas Einai (It is love) --


9 Juillet 2021 20:08:33 0 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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