Thinking of you, part 1.

gramatika na nuli.


He wasn't like HIM. Not a bit. His taste was different. His smell unfamiliar, not quite sweet-scented. Body beautifuly (but not too much) muscular yet simply different. Once I've tasted the perfection, it was hard not to compare. Appreciation of similarities was subconsciously blocking my mind and put a stop to my attempt of simply enjoying the moment. Not that there was much to see pleasure in once the tough realization hit me like the a ton of bricks. No one could compare with HIM yet lips of another man were sofly brushing mine in the flaccidity of a candle behid the blue glass window of the mini bar. The dim azure light reflecting around contours of his tender movements, comforting me even if just a little. It reminded me of my first time so I decided I'll go for recommence. Forget the precedent technical know-hows. Just pretend. Though I'd rather just tell him to let the passivity go to hell and make him fuck me raw, I knew I would end up overweening under false pretences. I would find myself in attainability of my climax, firstly growling and finaly screaming out a name that would not belong to the person who was buried deep inside of me, searching for his own release as well. God knew I could not afford such a thing to happen. It wasn't for the fact that maybe the guy which I lead into my bed wouldn't come back and labeld me as a disgusting pervert. Let's make this clear. It may sound harsh, but didn't give a shit about him, which was a serious problem since I needed someone with whom I would found a connection, give a fucking damn for a change. He was a very promising candidate, at least for the sexual pleasures that is. But no. That wasn't the reason for which I couldn't shout my beloveds name. It was for the cause that I was well known around this place called world. Fame. Something that I, nor anybody else could change. A decision I made as a bearly fiveteen year old boy. Six years later, I am here; embraced with arms that are not from the person they ought to be, trying not to moan the sweet sounding, short name of him. The taboo I was trying to overcome.

We had this conversation once. Not a long time ago. Me and HIM. About if it was narcissism. The conclusion was that it was not the matter. That night I told him, that he was everything that I am. That's when I wrote our song. We had our quality time. Just talking. Not some deranged, wild sex session. Real fondness and affection. And I knew from that day on that we'll go together everywhere. Even into the night. When I showed him the scribbled italics of my handwriting, he went quiet and I got scared. Scared that maybe he didn't have the same sensation. I asked him if it was okay and he replied with a question. »Do you realy feel this way?« When I decisively confirmed the unfinished lyrics, he told me a sentence I will never in my life be able to forget. "You're not only evrything that I am, but everything that I am not, which is exactly the reason why I love you and one of many things that conects us, so that we can always be one, no matter how far from eacother we are, or how deep we fall." These were his precise words, the missing text. »Gabriel,« I managed, controling my toughts for a second or so, my rough voice waking me from my reverie while moving my lips from his slowly. »I told you to call me Gab,« he smiled. I knew Gabriel for a week or so. Since the day I left from home in anger and confusion and decided to get drunk in a fancy bar downtown. Gabriel happend to be shooting some snapshots there for a photographic competition. Don't ask me about how we came in contact. I only remember that I orderd way too much rounds of tequila, that I realy liked his jawbone and ended up waking in his bed with his light snore in my ears. I didn't even recall him telling me he was gay. Neither did I recollect telling him, that I was not gay, but neither a virgin. As complicated as it realy is, he would've mistaken it for intoxicatment anyway. Founding myself with a never bigger headache, in a highly unknown bedstead with my insides tearing down in regret. That was the worst of it all. After a few days of no phonecalls form my other half, I became aware of the fact that HE was randomly fucking every girl that would past his way. The only interrogation still weighing havily on my mind was if he was doing it because of some unknown rage towards the situation or whether his own amusement and pleasure. »Gabriel sounds better,« I broke the silence with a true statement. He laughed and somehow I came to think he wasn't going for my money, or fame, or publicity, although I quickly reminded myself that something like that couldn't posibly happen. Sure, I don't know much about him, only that he has a sister and that he's a model, who is working a part-time job as a cameraman. Maybe some other small details. But even if it was true and he really liked me, he would be the one to end up suffering in the end. My heart was namely given away even before I was born.

»Gabriel?« I repeated, before my brain had the chance to carry on with the flashbacks that were begining to shape. »Yeah?« came a voice from above me, piched higher than I was used to. I opend my mouth, but didn't realy know what to say. Maybe saying his name was a mechanism to keep me in conection with the reality. I cursed my state of mind for playing tricks on me. »Can we… Just take it easy?« I questioned, surprised by the innocent sound of my voice. My eyes were researching his face when he decided to kiss my parted lips. »Sure,« he whisperd and pressed a smack in the corner of my mouth. He stretched out to his left and reached for the small bottle of KY on the nightstand. »Thanks,« came my alomst inaudibile response. I bit my lip and leaned on my elbows looking down my body. He tore the small golden wrapper of a durex condom open with his teeth and spit the scrap out of his mouth. I took the rubber and slided down between our frames and sliped it on his hardening member. I swallowed hard and it was audibile enough for even Gabriel to hear it. »You ok?« he asked silently. He must had noticed the slight shaking of my arms too, as he put one of his hands ontop of my palm and squeezed delicately. I gave him a nod. »Fine. I'm fine,« I assured him and raised my eyes. »You know, we don't have to do this if you're not feeling like it. It'll only hurt more if you don't relax,« he told as-a-matter-afactly. So I did tell him that I wasn't gay, but left out the virgin part. I felt prowd for not being that stupid, even in times of pure desperation. Tears started to form in my eyes and I couldn't quite put a finger on why. I felt like all my strenght left my limbs. »I realy need this,« I said in a low voice. He gave a sign of refusal. »I don't know,« came his hesitation. »Well I do. Do it. Don't delay it any longer or I might be able to change my mind. I need this. Please.« He sighed and noded once and layed eyes on my chest of a quick moment. He licked his lips and drew me closer to him, so I sliped down the sheets. He lifted one of my legs, so the back of my knee rested on his shoulder. "This is just not right and you know it. We have to work it out somehow. I think we need to take a break. From eacother that is. 20 years of being together, our whole lives of being together… That realy got me fidgety. Let's just… I don't know. Try to work it out somehow! Somehow different." The dispute playing in my head on repeate was reminding me that I was doing the right thing. Being second best to HIS everyday fucks was tough enough to undergo, yet he tought I should be told off too. HE changed so much in the last month.

Yeah, we took it further three weeks ago. I was sick of ragging and he was too. But because I was the one who was the first to suggest to go further, I was obviously the only one to blame. Because I was the one who kissed him first, the iniquity was found only in my intentions regardless the fact that he kissed back, even more powerfully. Although he was the one who agreed with it and the one who could prevent from puting his dick into my virgin ass. The teasing and the touches were not just fooling around anymore. What was he thinking? That I'm one of his foolish, yet extravagant groupies? No. No, no, no! I was more that that… Wasn't I? »Am I hurting you?« asked Gabriel anxiously, when seeing the salty droplets running out the corners of my eyes. Two lubed fingers slid out of me ever so carefully, leaving me empty before the realisation of fulliness even hit me. »No,« I objected. »It's just… Touch me. I need to feel you. Please. Make me come.« If HE is having HIS amusement, than why not me? HE is hard right now. I can feel the desire for his release in my cells. »Fuck me,« was all Gabriel needed before he placed himself infont of my hole and slowly but stadily pushed inside. My calve pressed to his sweaty back in an attempt to stimulate him, to go all the way in, no stops. He was fully seated on me and my imagination escaped out of control. Suddendly, Gabriel was long gone. I felt like I was the earth moving around HIM, representing the sun. My own sun. So hot. Bearly on reach. If you get too close, you'll get burned. And there might be a chance you'll never be coming back from the neverending heat. »Move,« I orderd to the being above me. He painfully, however gracefully pulled out and pushed back in. I gave out a cry, a mixure of the burning pain and the infinite longing to feel more. I opend my eyes and looked up. I didn't meet a pair of brown orbs, entirely identical to mine, but the smoky blue ones that belonged to Gabriel. I can't help but wonder what HE would do if he were him. I kept thinking about what we would do. Together. Looking into eacothers eyes. Somewhere between Gabriels steady pushes, I felt my body go numb. How come it hurt less when HE did it? Why isn't he here? »This isn't right…« said the silk tenor of my dominant lover as I felt the sudden emptyness in the lower part of my body. I gave out a yelp when he slowly pulled out. I remained on my position, short winded. Breath gasping. Embarrassed.

On a two way road.

Bdim. Včeraj ob istem času sem že vse vedela. Včeraj ob istem času še nisem… Recimo temu bila v takem stanju kot sem danes. Danes je huje. Danes je praznina večja.

Čakam, čeprav vem, da je preteklo že preveč časa. Ponavadi računam povprečje časa tvojih poslanih sporočil, veš? Včeraj je bilo 7.6 minute.

Vem, da nisem prejela tistih zadnjih besed. Mogoče bi pomenile življenje. Vem, da je neumno, pa vendar še ne spim. Nekajkrat sem že ugasnila in prižgala računalnik.

Medtem, ko sem se včeraj tresla pod odejo, danes berem. Berem in ne neham. Najprej berem spomine. Neumne pogovore. Nato pa tiste tvoje zapisane besede. Zgodbo napisano v tretji osebi, čeprav v njej govoriš o sebi. Resnično zgodbo, kar je še bolj smešno. Vajini imeni. Nespremenjeni. Taki kot sta. Vedno, ko preberem znova, mi je bolj šaljivo. Vrjetno prav zato ne boli. Ker ne dojamem, da je realno. Zakaj je zaupanje med nama tako veliko?

Moja postelnjina še vedno ne zazna vibracij iz telefona, ki si jih tako želim začutiti. Morda se tebi ne zdi nič. Vem, res ne bi nič spremenilo. »Vse je že fucking povedano.« Ampak meni bi pomenilo vse.

Tudi, če bi bil še en brezvezen oprosti. Tudi če bi bilo le še eno neumno vprašanje, če te sovražim. Ne morem te sovražit, čeprav bi te morala, hotela. Pa saj to tako že veš, zakaj potemtakem že dvanajstič v zadnjih dveh dneh to vprašuješ? Naj ti pa povem slabo novico. Če bi bil to film, bi te gledalci ne imeli radi. Vsaj, če bi videli tudi sceno tiste sobote.

Hočem misliti, da si le naivna oseba, ki je tudi sama žrtev. Mogoče temu tudi je tako. Delno. A nikakor v celoti. Razmišljam, kaj bom rekla jutri pred drugimi. Da mi je nekaj mi je padlo v oko, najvrjetneje.

In spet ugasnem in prižgem računalnik.

Preprosto ne morem spati in loteva se me vročica. Minute tečejo in sprašujem se, če ti je res tako zelo žal. Zna biti, da ti je res. Ampak ne za svoja dejanja, ne. Žal ti je samo za posledice. Končno je prav tako, veš? Navsezadnje nisem jaz tista, ki je rekla, da med nama ni bilo obljub. Všeč mi je definicija tega, kakšni bi bili tvoji občutki, če bi bila jaz na tvojem mestu in obratno. Če bi bila jaz tista, ki bi ti povedala vse to, kar si ti meni. Nevem kaj se ti prepleta po glavi.

Pomislim, da bodo v kratkem med nama spet ti kilometri. Kakor bi bili oni krivi za prepad.

Hočem, da se vrneš nazaj.

Da pustiš, da ti vzame še vse tisto, kar še ni. In pustiš vse kar je tukaj za sabo. Ker, saj veš… Med nama ni bilo obljub. Če se sprašuješ, ali s s tem strinjam, bom rekla ne. Ampak ti nisi jaz in jaz nisem ti. Sprejemaš svoje odločitve. Samo ti veš, kaj hočeš storiti s seboj. Če se hočeš popolnoma prepustiti. Samo ti veš kaj čutiš, čeprav praviš, da še tebi to ni popolnoma jasno.

Nočem, da se vrneš nazaj.

Nevem sploh zakaj. Vrjetno, ker vsaka moja noč ne bo več minevala v razmišljanju, da mogoče razmišljaš o tem, če razmišljam o tebi, ampak v razmišljanju, da že dolgo ne razmišljaš v svoji postelji postelji ampak v... Razmišljala bom, če res počneš vse te stvari, ki nočem, da se prepletajo po moji glavi. Ker sem jaz tista, ki hoče biti tam s teboj.

Dela mi slabo, čeprav nisem jedla. To me živcira. Počutim se kot v filmu. Niti komadi, ki so me prej pomirjali, me ne pomirijo več. Ravno to je od vsega najhuje. Še vedno brskam po seznamu glasbe in iščem. Premikam se. Naprej, nazaj, naprej nazaj in tipkam. Počutim se izčrpano, čeprav nisem storila ničesar. Skoraj cel dan sem preležala in gledala v strop. Razmišljujoč. Ja, razmišljala sem.

Vem, da sem ti nekoč rekla, da ne razmišljaj preveč. Da vsaj enkrat za spremembo ravnaj insinktivno. Sedaj obžalujem. Oprosti da sem ti to kdaj predlagala. Ne bi smela narekovati tvojega življenja. Po drugi strani pa, če ti je to všeč, potem s tem nikar ne prenehaj. Ne bom spreminjala dejstev svojih dejanj.

Nikoli, ampak res nikoli ne imej take izventelesne izkušnje, da pozabiš na bolečino. Razpraskala sem si nadlaket, pa sploh ne vem kdaj. Malo peče. Vrjamem, da še zdaleč ne toliko, kot je tebe ob... Saj veš… Tistem. Ampak več ne bom rekla, da ne bi kdo kaj posumil. Potem bi namreč najebala ravno tebe in nočem te videti v solzah, čeprav ti vsaj eno privoščim. Bo delala družbo mojim.

Sprašujem se zakaj sploh jočem.

Tista oseba, ki bi bila, po tvojih besedah tako zelo prezirana, če bi jo s takimi očmi, kot jo vidiš sedaj ti, videla jaz… Ne poznam je, pa vendar se obrnem za vsako, ki se mi zdi da bi ji bila podobna in jo proseče pogledam. Ne prezirljivo, niti jezno. Samo proseče. Mogoče prestrašeno. Saj ni v njeni krivdi, vse to dogajanje. Je le nevidna prepreka, katera menda ve za mene, ravno tako, kot jaz vem zanjo. Samo, da je stvar tako zelo drugačna v njenih očeh. Sprašujem se, če se bova s to osebo kdaj srečali. Sprašujem se, kaj mi bi povedala. Sprašujem se, če bi me sovražila, če resnično ve vse.

Se tudi ti vrtiš pod nekaj plastmi oddej, brez obleke in se treseš v misli, da ta tvoja oseba misli na nekoga drugega? To bi pomenilo neskončen osemmiljardni kotnik. A ne drznem si reči, da bi bil ljubezenski.

Spet prižgem in ugasnem računalnik.

Z dlanmi si manem obraz in se tiho sprašujem zakaj. Najraje bi ti storila isto, videla tvoj odziv. Pograbila bi nekoga. Ne bi mi bil važen obraz. Niti staz. Saj bi bilo tako vseeno. S tem bi stvar vodila do popolnega uničenja. Razlika je med ljubim te in rad te imam. To sem morala prestajati kar nekaj časa, vsak najin pogovor. Veš kaj hočem s tem povedati, kajne?

Upam samo, da tega ne prebere tvoja oseba. Oziroma ja, kar naj prebere. Ampak naj si misli, da je vse to le fikcija. In če ji bo vseeno jasno, zakaj se gre, potem naj pa svojo jezo spravi name, ne pa nate.

Ker še vedno drži ta moja ena in edina resnica.
Raje vidim, da trpim jaz sama, kot pa da trpiš ti.

Mogoče pa sva si s to osebo bolj podobni, kakor predvidevam. Vprašanje je, kdo je nočna lučka, brez katere otroci ne morejo spati in kdo tisti komar, ki se okrog nje vrti in nemo opazuje kam bo pičil. Iz kje bo pritekla kri.

In kri teče..

Ali najine neumnosti s tem odpadejo? Tega si ne želim. To je ena redkih stvari, ki naju je držala skupaj, pokonci. Pogovor je tako ali tako vedno zahajal v to eno smer, če ni tekel v tisto drugo, o tistem enem in edinem človeku, ki je bil najin skupni interes. Res nočem, da to izpluhti, čeprav je vrjetno tvoja želja obratna. In jaz jo spoštujem. Ker virtualno varanje ne pride v poštev. Glej ga zlomka, kdo to pravi. Tisti, ki se prevaranega počuti, pa se ne bi smel.

Ker obljub med nama ni bilo.

Sedaj vem, kako se počuti, tisti najin skupni interes psihično. Ti pa veš kako se fizično.

Ne skrbi, počasi bom zbrisala vse. Vem, da tako hočeš. SMSji ne obstajajo več. Sledili bodo pogovori preko spleta. Počasi bodo tudi tisti pravi le težki spomini na brezkrbno preteklost.

Prekleta naj bodo vsa nadalnja naključna srečanja.

Da ne pozabim. Se spomniš večera, ko je v tvojem SMSju pisalo, o nekem maščevanju? Vem, da je bilo mišljeno na drugačen način, ampak sedaj naj ti ponosno sporočim, da je tvoje maščevanje doseženo.

Vem, da ti je mar vsakega datuma, vseh prekletih obletnic, ki se ti zdijo pomembne. Pozabi jih. Vem, da to hočeš, nekje globoko v notranjosti. Ne sprašuj, če to hočem jaz. Moj odgovor bo vedno ne. Le stori. Bom že jaz uredila, da tudi tisti, ki so bili nekega popoldneva tudi napisani, zbledijo. Da bodo tudi tisti vrezani v les, poravnani z ploskvijo.

Bom že jaz poskrbela, da bo vse skupaj le čudno prijatelstvo z dopustki.

Ker na prijateljstvo lahko vseeno še upam, kaj ne?

Še vedno ti lahko stojim od strani. Kot sem ti takrat, več kot leto nazaj. Takrat, ko tega vsega še ni bilo.

Your lipstick... His collar.. Don't bother Angel... I know exactly what goes on...

Deep within me.

Zakaj se je nekaterim ljudem včasih tako težko postaviti v položaj drugih? Jaz sem se brez problema postavila v vlogo tipa, ki me je pred nekaj minutami vprašal, če avtomat na železniški postaji meče ostanek kovancev. Tip, ki je bil nedvomno gej. Po tonu njgeovega glasu sem ugotovila, da ni dominanten v razmerju, po H&M vrečki, ki jo je nosil v roki pa, da je moj današnji stil popolnoma zgrešen. Vprašala sem se kakšno življenje vodi, ko so mi v glavo stopile slike iz nedavno pogledanih večernih poročil. »Normalni ljudje«, ki po zidovih pišejo »smrt pedrom« amapk v bistvu sami živijo v zatiskanju oči, zaprti v svoje omare. Ne le kot bi jih bilo strah razkritja, temveč življenja, ki za tem pride. Kot bi jih bilo strah ljubezni. Le iščite svojo Narnijo. Mogoče bo prišel dan, ko boste odkrili da je za čarobni svet treba samo odpreti vrata, ne pa tavati v neskončni temi po želenem odkritju, ki ne bo nikoli nastopilo.


Ura je petnajst čez enaindvajsteo. Tipu številka dva nekaj sedežev naprej zvoni telefon. Po pogovoru končno izvem kdaj približno bom na cilju. Pol enajstih, pravi. Sonce še ni popolnoma zašlo. Razmišljam o nekaterih stvareh, ki so površinsko pomembne, globoko v sebi pa se zavedam, da so popolnoma irelevantne. Gana vodi Ameriko, se veseli tip. 1:0 je. Razmišljam, kako bi blio bolje, da bi v roke vzela zvezek matematike, nadaljevala kjer sem ostala danes zjutraj in se preselila v drugi sklop učbenika. Svet je zgrešen. Kako mi bo matematika pomagala rešiti problem homofobije? Saj jo razumem, saj jo računam, saj jo znam. Ne, ne potrebujem inštrukcij, niti ne. Matematika je nepomembna, se odločim.






Vlak pelje naprej in nebo je še vedno dokaj svetlo. Nekaj minut nazaj sem se vozila z mamo v avtu. Niti besedice nisva spregovorili. Toliko o dobrih odnosih. Toliko o postavljanju sebe v kožo drugega. Stiskam malega plišastega nosoroga. Hvala mama, ker nisi vprašala kje sem ga dobila. Ne bi te hotela prizateti z odgovorom; »Za rojstni dan. Od nekoga, ki mu je v bistvu mar.«






Sonce je bilo že nizko ob zemlji. Popolnoma oranžno, veliko in okroglo. Dober kontrast z medlo sivim nebom, iz katerega so zdaj več, drugič manj padale debele dežne kaplje. Pijem svojo kavo, grizljam svoj Bountey. Bountey je od marsa, se pravi da ga ne bi smela več jesti. Pri marsu delajo poskuse na živalih. 0,60€ sem prispevala v njihov proračun. Nekega dne se bom morala za dobro sebe in človeštva odpovedati celo siru. Upam, da bo to kmalu. Nažalost pri tem še nimam besede.
Vstanem, da bi nesla lonček kave v smeti. Ne zapazim jih. Človek, ki mi je prodal karto me pokliče nazaj in opomni na zmoto v mojem skoraj astigmatičnem vidu. Zahvalim se in nasmehnem. Nasmešek mi vrne. Vprašam se kaj je skrito pod oklepom ljubeznivosti moža, ki gleda ali so noge, na katerih počiva moj prenosni računalnik obute naslonjene na sedež.

Zbiram pogum za vse kar je in kar še pride. Poskušam zdržati v mučni tišini brnenja motorja. Sprašujem se če bo bolše. Pregledujem moj ugovor zoper negativno oceno iz kemije. Prižgem si glasbo. Crkuje mi leva slušalka. Živcira me. Igra komad za katerega imam občutek, da me bo še nekaj časa spremljal. Ko ga poslušam se počutim kot v pocukranem romantičnem Hollywoodskem filmu. In fak, všeč mi je.
Čakam petek. Nek surprise party za sweet 16. Z nekimi skrivnimi osebami, ki jim ne vem imena. Pričakujem kakšnen epic fail. Mogoče pozitiven epic fail. Malo me je že strah teh igric, ki se jih igrajo prijatelji za mojim hrbtom. Pozitiven strah.
Končno je tema. Malo odtavam z mislimi v stran. K steklenici Jägra pod milim nebom na kakšnem žuru kot v sedemdesetih. Mogoče osemdesetih. Ob vodi, z ognjem. Malo oddaljena, gledajoč zvezde. Prijetno opita. Ne kot zadnič. S prijetno družbo. Malce oddaljena od šiše, ki bi si jo veselo podajali vsi drugi.





Postaja Podmelec. Bom raje izračunala še kakšno razliko kubičnih korenov z desetimi ulomki. Dovolj sanjarjenja. Logika in čista realnost. Bo, kar pač bo.

Solata.

Poznaš nekoga, ki se ne zaveda da je zaljubljen, čeprav je očitno? Ali pa morda to zanika svetu? Sebi samemu? Ker mu je morda… Menda prepovedano?

Naj ti nekaj povem. Jaz jem solato s krompirjem in trdo kuhanim jajcem.

Pa tudi smejem se in jočem hkrati.

A ni smešno, kako nek človek pravi, da se že tako dolgo ni zaljubil? Kako vedno znova ponavlja, da ni še našel pravega/prave.

Žalostno da ne vidi, da je ta nekdo vedno ob njem. Ga spremlja. Povsod. Ves čas. Ne pomni dne brez njega/nje.

Likalnik za lase spušča čudne zvoke ob mojih nogah. Smejem se. Solata je skorajda neokisana. Neposoljena.

Moje allstarke so povsem uničene, tam na umazanem, zelenem tepihu. Take so mi tudi všeč.

Veš tisti filing, ko si popolnoma na tleh, pa te nekaj v trenutku razveseli? No, meni se je to zgodilo. Sedaj na vilice nabadam krompir in se na njem dušim. Od heheta. Od solza. Sprašujem se, če jočem od sreče ali se smejem od žalosti. Ja, tudi slednje pri meni velja. Rada se mučim, sem rahel mazohist.

Gledam posnetke, enega za drugim in se sprašujem kako ta človek ne vidi, ne opazi, da ljubi. Ne samo, da je zaljubljen. Da LJUBI. Morda me samo zavaja. Nasmehnem se. Morda pa zavaja samega sebe. Na licu še ena solza.

Mislim da krožnik pušča. Odmaknem roko in moj kazalec je poln olja. Ja, krožnik je najbrš razbit.

Ne da bi se odmaknila z roba postelje, krožnik odložim na rdečerjav les pianina. Tam je še poln kup DVDjev, risalni blok mačka Murija, paket Skittlesov, rumena španga za lase od Ute, modra barvica za oči (ki je btw pretrda in jo moram, če jo hočem nanesti, najprej za nekaj minut prisloniti na vroč likalnik za lase), aceton in deodorant.

Haha. Deodorant. Interna fora.

Aja pa še nekaj je. Soba štiristotriinosemdeset. Odprem škatljico gledam booklet. Koga imajo taki ljudje za norca? Mene ali sebe? Nas ali...?

Velika noč je en čisto primitiven praznik. Meso kruto ubite živali nositi k kupu blaznih vernikov, da bi ga poškropili z ohtakozelo blaženo vodo in naj bi uprizarjalo KRISTUSOVO TELO.

Hahaha. Veš kaj? Jaz sem solato pojedla. Naj tam gnijejo še par dni, tisti ostanki krompirja. Zdaj se bom spravila nad drugim kosom kinder jajca.

Življenje je kompleksno, če si ga ne vzamemo na lahek način. So trenutki, ko nam pač mora biti vseeno. Pozabiti na vse. Živeti sekundo.
Pa kaj bo tisti NMS. Ga boš že popravil ljubček. Izbrisan in pozabljen. Uživaj dokler si še mlad. Uživaj, dokler imaš obstoj. Kajkmalu, še prej kot bi lahko trznil z očesom, te lahko ni več.

Zakaj ljudje tega ne razumejo, ko divje in razvneto hitijo, ne da bi opazili vsega in še več. Ne se sprijazniti z življenjem. Posamezdnik LAHKO naredi spremembo.

Lebe die sekunde ajajaj…
In srečne popraznične trenutke.

P.S. Boš zadovoljen s tem kar si naredil danes, če se pod tvojo posteljo skriva morilec? Jaz bom. Ker sem mu pustila še nekaj krompirja. Ušla mu bom pa tako ali tako. Ker imam na tleh taveik ovitek od kinder jajca. Tako da bo zašumelo ko pride. Pa naj še kdo reče, da naj spravim sobo potem? Haha.

Itadakimasu.