Week 9: Same Old

30 Jan

     So, here I am to tell you all the shortened version of the story. The story about M. I loved her, I still do. I dreamed about her. I still do. I adored her, worshiped her, built her an altar in my soul, made for her all the sacrifices we do for Love, carved her in my blood,veins,tendons,muscles,air. She was Air. She still is. But not for me.

A small poem for her-in romanian first, then translated, sanctified, hyperbolized into English.

Acelasi visator, care pierde.. si-apoi zambeste nostalgic…

Acelasi parfum, aceleasi culori din ritualul antic.

Te iubesc soptit la ureche, te iubesc atins pe piele,

Te iubescu`l ma darama, …si cu el, visele mele?

Still the same dreamer, who lost.. and then smiles nostalgically

Still the same perfume, same colours of the ritual of Antiquity.

“I love you” whispered in the ear, “I love you” felt on the skin,

This “I love you” broke me, …and with it, my dreams?

What will I win?

 

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