I love old clocks. I lie in bed, restless, craving for sleep, staring with my sick of staring eyes in the nothingness and I can hear the seconds bursting dead in black silence and falling slowly down as snowflakes and then, only then you can FEEL time. Nowadays nobody teaches the children that the clocks make that tic-tac sound because they…don’t make that sound any more, do they? What we have is numb clocks.
I love old phones. The ones with the old dials. You put your finger in the hole and dial. And the sound they make …the sound of phones, and the ringing- the ringing of “old phones”. I hate buttons. I had a phone like this three years ago and every time I heard the operator say “For ….. press 1” I always wondered why I had to have a button phone to call practically everywhere. Then I let go.
I love the scent of rain when it comes and after it’s gone.
I love rain.
And the awesome bewilderness when I see the rainbow. Every time I see it, I know that I will live long enough to see the next one and that there is time to die and it’s not now. The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky...God, I hate this song.
I love snowy nights when the snow is white and pure and crispy and radiates that magic light. The people are wrapped up in their beds in funny pyjamas and you are out, dipping feet in the white magic and you know that there is “home”. And it would be great if you know that there is somebody waiting for you to warm your frozen fingers.
I love the sea. The Black Sea in September in Bourgas*. No idiots; the marching, spitting, eating, shitting, pissing, lobsterizing themselves to death crowd has gone back to the greyness of the offices and the colourlessness of their lives. The sea is roaring in its glory and beauty again, drowning you in its greenness with its waving and dancing seaweed. At last you can hear how the waves hit the shore and see your lonely steps on the sand washed away by the next wave…as if you’ve never been there, as if you’ve never been…
I love the scent of autumn leaves and their insane colours blazing in the warm autumn sun.
I love silence.
I love my music loud. One and the same song many times till I feel full. Music is your time- your past and your now. However, it’s not your future. I hate that word. “Future?” I hate thinking about it and I never make plans. That’s my trick against disappointments. It doesn’t work!
I love the first drag of the cigarette. The cracking noise of the tobacco and the growing stronger and stronger flame. Wasn’t that the same with falling in love? Your heart cracks as the flame goes stronger. With cigarettes, however, it’s easier. You can always reach out and light the next. When you put out the flame of love in the ashtray of your mind (unfortunately we don’t have recycle bins), all you see is a miserable ugly wrinkled fag and there is no box to reach out for and light the next. How do some people become addicted to love??
I love my ashtray full. I rarely wash it. I hate sterile things and sterile people and sterile sex as much as I hate full fridges. People think they’ll live forever and death will pass them by and they stock up just in case the earth runs out of food overnight.
I love talking. Nobody listens to me but this has never bothered me at all.
I love the sight of a vodka bottle just taken out of the freezer. It’s hidden in white steam and as the glass slowly warms up those tiny drops like teardrops start their mad chase down its body to their death at the bottom. Some die young…The crying bottle of a crying man. Kill the pain. Kill the vodka. Sad, isn’t it?
I love peaches because I’m allergic to them and I am forbidden to eat them.
I love strawberries because I am even more allergic to them and they are even more forbidden. The fondness of the forbidden fruit!
I love the feeling of my hair falling and caressing gently my naked back and neck. I hate brushing it though!
I love when somebody plays with my hair. Where is that somebody? I haven’t seen him for eight years. Damn!
Sometimes I like being spoilt but only sometimes.
I love the odour of Trubu*. I love strong and memorable perfumes. However, they don’t produce it any more…
I love falling asleep in somebody’s arms. Where is that somebody? I haven’t seen him for eight years. Damn!
I love snowflowers. They make me sad. So much beauty in such a small grace and such a short life! Sowflowers should live forever but nothing does and there is snow in winter only. Their white hoods cheekily perk out of the snow quilt and stand proud as messengers of spring. They are almost as beautiful as butterflies but I don’t like butterflies so much. They are just flying caterpillars with borrowed wings. Beauty is a moment, sometimes very short. People are stupid to believe that they will always be young and go against nature, iron wrinkles, suck out fat from stomachs, asses, thighs, pull sagging skins and tits up and believe this will make them immortal. It doesn’t. It doesn’t make them better and it doesn’t make them young. Time goes back for Benjamin Button* but he was one of a kind.
I love the smell of baby’s skin. Children will never lie to you (before they get corrupted enough by the system). All grown – ups are liars. Ask a child “What time will you brush your teeth? It’s bed time” and the child will tell you the truth “I want to play, I don’t want to go to bed.” That IS an honest answer.
I love presents but not for a holiday. You know that somebody feels obliged to buy something. Where is that somebody? Damn! Maybe someday somebody will walk past a shop window and will think of me and say “She will love this. I want that for her!” It could be an ice- cream or a chocolate but you eat them. I hate being given flowers because they die. Some things are meant to stay and be in your hands as long as you breathe and after. I keep those things of mine in my treasury.
I love listening to people who can talk and who have something to say.
I love my freedom of making my own choices. Unfortunately this freedom has been shamelessly limited because of the lack of choices.
I love the feeling of being protected but not kept. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work neither because “She can do everything. She’ll deal with it.”
I love the Moon. Always. And I always look at it at night. Now I look for it even when the blinding sun kills my sight. I hate the days. I have to beware of so many things. I love the time after 10 at night. Malice and envy go to sleep.
I love with every single cell of my body exactly six people. For each of them I would give my life even if they would not have it. Well…for some of them I would give a kidney. Kidneys are important. To the rest of the people I like I am thankful. I don’t envy anybody. People in general stopped being of any interest to me a long time ago. In general I hate most people. They make so much empty noise.
I like it when in the end I am always right.
God, I hate it when in the end I am always right.
I hate being told what’s right and what’s wrong. I despise people who try to persuade me in their own truth. It’s their own truth but it will never be mine. I ignore rules and people who made the rules. Probably they had all the time in the world to create so much bullshit and they have so much time to keep a record of the violators of their rules. I have my rules. I have my morals and standards and they are very high.
I love watching movies. I hate knowing the end as much as I hate guessing and waiting.
Luckily, I know the end of the movie I am playing now. Unluckily, I will do nothing to prevent the damage of the huge mistake I am about to make.
I hate being addressed as a “wonderful person” and being loved in a “special kind of way” and treated as a best friend. I have a leading role, baby. I am not a supporting actress. I was born to be loved as a woman by somebody who…Where is that somebody? Damn!
I try to love myself. I am everything I’ve got.
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