It Will All Make Sense In The Morning

I am in the process of writing a new story called "It will all make sense in the morning". I would like to share one part of it. It is not finished but as soon as I'm done, I'll post it all here. I can't reveil the plot of the story yet, I'll just have to make you wonder for a while.

Cold breeze brushes against my face as I lay in my bed. I close my eyes and drown into a dream. The dream is waving its path through delusion into my head. I notice the reflection of heaven. Doors, shining in gold, are wide open and I enter without knocking. White clouds are spreaded in the sky like pure white sheets across a silk bed. I stare at the glorious cloud resembling the shape of an angel. With its puffy hand it signals me to come closer. My feet are still and I can’t move. I feel the blood rising in me as I stand on invisible path. Path made of crystal sand, one’s eye can clearly see through it. My spirit rises from my body and I look at myself below. In a white dress I am standing silent as if I were Michelangelo’s statue. “Come, come closer”, I hear a voice. Suddenly, my feet dance in motion and I make a soundless step…then another. The door behind me shuts slowly and I stop for a brief moment; my eyes observing an illusion.

Beautiful One

This is another one of my stories. Enjoy!

Night like a clock is slowly but surley ticking away. Clouds are breaking off the sky; lightning is tearing it apart, just like this silence. I don’t know if I ever told you that I love a storm , especially when it comes in the right moment like this early morning…and the drops of rain fall straight into the sea.

Do you rememeber my darling; we were still young back then, young and naïve. We didn’t dream of the days that passed by, we wondered about those that were to come and be our forever.

The city was big back then, a lot bigger. From end to end the day walks, old people used to say, but instead we were different and we wanted little bit of space. Somehow personal and cynical, selfish, just for us.

The world, just like today, was stupid. The war was bad, people were dying all around us, and nobody knew anything. Everyone had weapons except our countries , our people, you and I used to believe. We read together, remember my darling those old books from my half empty shelves and poetry that you used to read to me by Mark Halter. Remember the sea, where the salt can be tasted, and the smell of yellow flowers;we never even knew the name. We made things up just not to stay away from each other…..rememeber?

I always asked you what Halter meant when he said “Im tired of everything; she threw herself in the river, the most beautiful girl from England!”

Shakespeare was dumb, you would say, but do you rememeber how we like that Hamlet and all other stories except Romeo and Juliet. They were not our style. Do you rememeber my darling how many times we turned your room into a stage and actors were you and I, audience as well. We thought that out love was the only one, the biggest one, we thought that’s what happenes to everyone when they fall in love, and life is long, the path isn't straight, it's dangerous just like that street on the corner of my house, where accidents used to happen all the time.

You name is still the most beautiful to me. Your lips were soft and tasted like fresh oranges. I still can't believe that this is you, that after 20 years we are at the same place the same beach tasting the salt of the sea and smelling the fragrance of those yellow flowers. We thought that we would never see each other again because our people had weapons too, my people and yours. They forgot about you and I, about love, about everything. We saw when the boots command how head has to take the steps. You are telling me how your daughter has a man that takes good care of her, mine does as well, but don’t tell her how people are good, and how we are the best, just don’t …tell the truth.

If they just told us the truth…..oh my darling…

Close your eyes and draw some lines on the paper of our memories and don’t kiss me like back then…what would people say? You saw how they stare at us.

Gustav Klimt - The Kiss

MORTAL LOVE - BEAUTIFUL ONE

Red Rose

I wrote this story a few years ago and  I would like to share it. It's about a man's intoxication with his beloved. Enjoy!


“Softness is the petals of a rose
Sweetness is the flavor of your lips
The beauty of your eyes, of passion
Turns my heart into those, the petals
Of a rose.”

On this table there is a red rose. I need a cigarette. Intoxicate me, please. I listen to some odd noise coming from far away. I lost myself in some spurious thoughts, shivering in fear just when I think about it. I see her again. In a dress made of smoke, she’s coming towards me. She’s bizarre and I never know what she thinks. Her eyes are mysterious, her lips are a secret. I don’t want to yearn for her. I don’t want to hate myself for wanting her. I just cry. Give me a cigarette, please. It’s hard for me to walk throughout the day. Bitter and dishonest. Love is not on my side. Love is distant and she doesn’t care. On this table there is a rose, withering. Somebody is approaching me through my nightmares. Some person. What is it this time? Who? Rose flickers in the sight of this wonderful woman. She’s crawling through the fresh grass and poisonous bush appearing in front of me. I cry, again. She’s sliding silently, toward my face with her mouth wide open. I’m terrified. I see her tongue coming out. It’s long and soft. She licks my tears away. That brings hope but it will be gone almost immediately, I know. I am a rose and I shake from sorrow. I notice her again in a dress of smoke. She’s smiling, holding me closely and I don’t know what this means. I’m on the edge of madness because of love. She gives me some unusual kiss. Again, I’m not sure what it meant or if it was a genuine kiss. What does the whole thing mean? I’m a rose, contemptuous and shivering and I need ease. Some feeling went through me like lightening strike me. She lets go of me and starts observing, altering her face expressions. Goddess, a dream, beautiful dream that you desire and delightful being you want to touch and smell that makes you curl from sadness, pleasure and excitement.


“I am a rose”, she repeated after me.

“I am a rose”, she repeated quietly, sobbing.

We are roses. We shiver, and we probably will never be one rose. All that’s left is fascination, some twisted enchantment. That’s probably the lack of nicotine. Everything is someplace where we are not, far away. A place we left, destroying all our possibilities, we will never come back to. At least not like this, in this form. Her picture slowly becomes visible, somewhere. Mine as well. Smoke. I need smoke. I need her, now, more than ever. Maybe everything is a lie but that doesn’t mean anything, I need that. That’s what’s essential. I am a rose. We are roses. Frightened. Shuddered. We are smoke and poison. We are gloomy and desperate. Lie down and don’t ever leave.

By Me