Victim Material

 

So many strange characters arrive in this town.

victims looking for their next agressor,

mothers who fucked up their sons and sons who’ve been fucked up by their mothers,

invisible orphans clinging on to amorous breaths and inadequate whispers,

men and women at that certain age when every interraction is either neutral or a battlefield,

toxic daughters going through that awkward stage when they have mixed feelings towards their fathers,

first cousins once removed strangely attracted to each other,

overprotective parents suffering from the “empty nest syndrome”,

peculiar individuals walking backwards…

and then there’s us. incomprehensible.

the ambivalent anxious meeting the avoidant.

both unorthodox,

one deaf woman and one blind man previously impregnated with each other.

both terrified, of course.

subjective,

the secretive and the liar.

two – not even fanatic – Michael Jackson enthusiasts and that’s about everything we have in common.

both victimising, because it’s easier.

both politically correct and, in the meantime, hating each other.

neither of us knowing what the fuck we’re doing.

both vexed, apparently.

both unable to let go, but for different reasons.

both volunteering, but for different reasons.

both expecting something in return, for some reason.

perplexed.

instable.

vigilent.

obsessed with weight gain and fighting over the phone.

somehow intertwined even at times of separation.

always unsyncronized.

dependent.

an asian man and a european woman, always starting an argument on the central line.

a “head in the clouds” and a “much too disciplined”.

bipolar.

attractive.

both craving for chocolate, but actually missing the point.

an obsessive compulsive and a mess.

“Just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her”. The worst type of boy – a great fucker.

an emotionally disabled and a…better yet, two emotionally disabled.

a right handed and a horrible left hand writer.

circumspect.

confused.

taking turns getting angry.

troublesome.

broken.

not talking for weeks.

both carrying scars, bruises, issues and shit.

both yearning.

both lacking something, so we try to overcompesnsate.

worlds apart.

unprepared.

two introverts, both unreasonable.

 

and we don’t know it yet, but we’ll get severely damaged. repeatedly. until there’ll be no more flesh left.

we’ll even suffer multiple concussions. mostly you, though. until I will permanently unsee you. until you will no longer hear me.

until our bodies will no longer remember the other’s scent.

this town will soon do this to us.

 

so let me pretend I’m happy alone, in other cities, not having kissed you.

let me wear my green dress and my small, brown bag smiling, like you haven’t changed me.

let me unbreathe our nights together a little longer.

let me unfantasize about you.

let me underestimate you, like we never fought.

let us unmeet again, on this street, in this town, one year later.

but next time, let”s change clothes and maybe I could be the agressor.

 

Pălărie Maisonette,

Rochie verde, no name

Curea maro, no name

Cizme șireturi, vintage

Geantă Orsay

Șal trandafiri, vintage

Colier insecte, no name

Green Eyed Kisses,