Invisible bruises

The most painful bruises are the invisible ones,

because they never fully heal

and you never fully recover

On a sunlit day such as this is,

we could just be beautiful, immune to deaseases

and forgive all

  

Two first kisses:

We arrived late and there were no more empty chairs so we sat on the floor. I’d never seen that room so crowded before. And then the lights went off and the band started playing. I could feel his eyes staring at me, piercing through me in the semi darkness and his hand trying to figure out the limits of my body, pushing me to him. Our lips touched and I melted. We both really wanted this. He was in control, there was nothing I could do about it. We kissed. Madly, passionately, with our eyes closed and our fingers running through each other’s hair, his hands caressing my neck, my head spinning, the nearness of our bodies, exploring each other for the first time. By the time Larry Franco Quartet had finished playing “Estate” I was enamoured with a man who called himself “Superantistar”, a misunderstood, unhappy man whom I was never supposed to fall in love with in the first place.

  

Our little encounter didn’t last long. I continued to stalk him for a while, after we’d stopped seeing each other hoping that I’d find something that could help me get through to him, trying to decipher the lyrics to the songs he listened to, perhaps I’d find a clue about us there; how he felt, what he wanted, if I ever was anything more to him than a “funny girl”, as he used to call me. I still think about him sometimes, wondering if he ever found some kind of peace and a little bit of love for himself, wondering what it would be like to see him again, if we’d still have anything to say. And although his memory is fading, we’ll always have Julien Laureau’s “Slow motion” and I’ll always remember him as “the one that got away”.

And then, there was the George Enescu museum on Victoriei Bd., this beautifully preserved Cantacuzino Palace dating from 1901, with a small but elegant concert hall where the walls and ceilings were painted depictions of a blue skied Heaven with white puffy clouds and white little angels holding branches of pink blooms, playing the harp or the trumpet – still one of my favourite places in Bucharest. And there we were, among the first to arrive and curious to climb the stairs that would lead us closer to the ceiling (well, maybe just me). The lights were dim and we could barely see anything, mostly following our other senses. I heard him call me with a voice that sounded strange, tense, a litlle high pitched. I came to him, I could feel the tension growing between us. I knew what he wanted. I think it took him a lot of courage to do it. I was in control. And then he reached for my mouth and I gave in, we kissed slowly and lost track of time underneath the blue skied ceiling. He held my hand all through the concert, but I was floating all through the room. And his kisses had kept me floating like this through many rooms.

  

  

After four years he started cheating on me with a rather insipid, blond haired cliché girl – I didn’t hold it against neither of them then (well, maybe I did a little bit), I am not holding it against them now. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway between the three of us.

And then I didn’t want to feel anything for a while, although there have been a few new experiences and even a revenge one night stand along with the next morning’s remorse, which got me thinking I’m not the one night stand type.

I don’t remember much about that day in particular,

I might as well have been oblivious, enthusiastic

and a little thirsty – as I always am.

Or perhaps only drawn to the things I couldn’t understand entirely.

Wishes were vague and limits were uncertain,

It wasn’t raining

And then, the most peculiar thing happened:

he came to me and stayed.

  

Through all the times when I was nothing more than fear and memories, through all the times when I was aching for his kind of love without knowing it, through all the times there was no one else who could have understood me, through all my insecurities and wrong choices, through the worst of me he was there, patient and pure, believing in me, lifting my spirits, drying out my tears.

He still is. 

“Grandma’s drape” dress, no name

Red négligée, Jolidon

Leather belt, thrifted

Shoes, no name

Clutch, no name

 

Green Eyed Kisses,