Nothing really ends



Wake up at 8AM, words go through your head – it’s the most beautiful poem you have ever heard. You decide not to get out of bed and write it down. It will come to you again, the  same words that will  put you to sleep eventually.

Wake up at 12 AM – a light headache and a hunger that only a disturbed sleep can bring.

Noises – workers laughing, teasing each other, piercing holes through your walls,

 the sound of their machine helping them go up eight floors,

the young girls next door listening to the same song about someone who is giving it to someone else

because this last someone is asking for it and will most likely enjoy it.

You used to smoke cigarettes just to have something to write about.

You used to break people’s heart or let your heart be broken just so you can

sing things like

Nothing really ends,

you lost that feeling, darling

dearest friend – the end.

You cut your hair just to have something to pine for. You cut your hair so you can touch your neck , your ears – effortlessly feeling the skin underneath, the same skin that gently covers your skull, that gently covers your brain, that gently covers your mind, that gently whispers thoughts you sometimes do not want to hear.

I like songs that begin with a “she something” – they all tell stories about a girl walking in someone’s life,walking on heels or flats or boots, dressed in black or blue or pink or velvet or who wears nothing at all beneath a trench or a white fur coat. A girl who either smiles or cries,who shouts or whispers,who hurts or is being hurt. Who loves or is being loved, who left or is being left. And I imagine her to be me – all the time, every time.

Or I imagine someone more like her, a girl who sings while a sleepwalker is trying to wake up in this strange silent movie made almost one hundred years ago. And I am trying not to keep my woolen hat on just because I got a haircut I happen to love. It’s too cold for that in the dark room, sitting next to the door. At the end of the show this other girl smiles, she is wearing something that somehow makes her sparkle even more. And I wish it hadn’t been over.

Close your eyes, slowly.

I am in high school again. There is only me and my four orange walls and the screen, Yahoo 360, and them.

Listen to this

and then this

Pictures taken by Paul Lupaşcu

2 Comments Add yours

  1. kittenhood says:

    love that place! I insisted on visiting it when I was in Buc this spring 🙂

    1. It is one of the few truly beautiful places in Bucharest. The light or the absence of it at night,the tables and the bar, the music,the people and the drinks.Not too loud. People – not tacky, but brave, not obsessed with what they wear, but stylish. And the bathroom is so nice as well,with the disco ball and magazine cut-outs.

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