My friend Oana showed me a note I had written to her over 4 years ago. It’s written on a page torn from my notebook. And here’s what it says:
“When the talk is good and the feeling is easy and the laughter is light and the memories are many but the time is short, then you know you’re with a friend.”
Still true!
Lingering in bed, in the aftertaste of passion, warmth and good food. Making an effort to finally get up and have coffee on the terrace. Mine with a little milk, yours with a wee bit more sugar. We’d then shower and change and go out for a while. Walking, hand in hand, breathing in the Sunday air. Empty streets, laziness, quietness, sun rays and the heat.
We’d stop somewhere for a quick bite, watching a lake, any lake in this city. We’d talk about everything and anything, sometimes even noticing what music they’re playing. We’d then make our way home, dragging our feet and taking the afterglow of our lunch thoughts in. We’d stop and kiss, you’d tell me that you love me, I’d tell you the same.
At home, we’d each do our own thing for a little while. You’d be working on some project. I’d be finishing the fifth book in the Sookie Stackhouse series. We’d then drift off in each others arms and wake up later, when it’s cooler. Just in time to enjoy the evening. We’d go over to our friends’ house for dinner. We’d laugh a lot. And come home to make love. Our kind of love. All ready for a new week!
I really believe Sundays should be the best days. Fun, light, shared with the people you love. Not mushy, not sad. They should definitely not feel like the end of a week, but as the foreplay of a new one. Another week of good and bad thrills, of routine and of new tricks. So while I’m waiting for my perfect Sunday to happen, I thought I’d share it with you. Maybe it helps you make yours better 
. I am now chatting with a friend, doing a bit of work, and listening to some pretty awesome music. I’m still lingering in today’s morning. Which might not be just perfect, but it’s pretty damn good!
The strange feeling I experienced the first time I looked into Michael’s eyes has kept haunting me. I’m always in control of my body. Even when I’m passed wasted drunk, I still know exactly what I am doing. It’s harder, true, but I’m the one calling the shots. Feeling I can’t move, can’t speak, feeling someone else taking over my body, my mind just couldn’t really cope with it and kept trying to find an answer.
Thanks to Joanna Young‘s challenge, the Mission Im(possible) Group Writing Project, I found a way to exorcise my “daemon”. I wrote the lyrics for a song called “Mesmerized”. I imagine it to be a rock song. Something like the Queen of the Damned soundtrack, or something like Tea Party. Maybe even Evanescence. But definitely a rock song with oriental influences. So here goes, hope you love it.
P.S. My maker, as in the writer of the novel, has never written song lyrics either
He has frozen your body, feel the trap in his eyes
You are under a spell, you have been mesmerized
Don’t bother to fight it, they are useless, your tries
Cold shivers take over to keep you paralyzed
You cry and you scream and you punch and you fight
But the grip that he’s got’s getting ever so tight
You can’t breathe, you can’t think, there’s no word of delight
And the grip that he’s got’s getting ever so tight
Yet you can’t help but notice the promise of a smile
Let go of your worries, it will all be just fine
And you know he is willing to reach the end of the trial
Throw Nature’s tide over, share a glimpse of divine
You cry and you scream and you punch and you fight
But the grip that he’s got’s getting ever so tight
You can’t breathe, you can’t think, there’s no word of delight
And the grip that he’s got’s getting ever so tight
I remember the mad throwing and exchanging of clothes. I remember the make up suggestions and the mascara tips. I remember it took hours to get ready. I remember the long walk from where we were staying to The club. Cause it was a given, Tineretului, all night, every night!
Trying to make way between hundreds of teenagers moving in all directions. The smell of fried fish, kebab, doughnuts, boiled sweet corn, burritos, French fries and spices. People eating, drinking and laughing all over the tiny street, and a 5 minutes walk taking us over 20 minutes. Read more…
One of the first blogs I read was called Perfectly Imperfect. Published on the Blogger platform. I was reading about 3 blogs at the time. But this one became my very own addiction. I went through the archives and read every post she (Tina Romano, which was not her real name) published. And I was fervently waiting for a new one, checking for something new a few times a day. I didn’t know about RSS readers back then.
It was a blog written by a woman a bit older than me. Open minded, a little crazy, full of interesting and funny stories. I hoped to be like her in some regards later on. Her old blog turned private at a certain point. And I lost track of her writing. I then rediscovered Perfectly Imperfect. I, of course, instantly subscribed! Reading through her blog, I realized that I didn’t fully understand it back then. I’m closer to it now.
She always had these very cool taglines. But one of them always made me smile… “When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad, I’m better”.
