Your heart is like a broken open window .Wind and cold – they go in and out, your feelings battered, turned upside down.You mostly dream about food, vile offerings of people you no longer want to see. They eat, for them it is always a feast, for you – it tastes like prison or a scary asylum.
I walked and walked and walked. I stopped and posed. It was cold, I could only feel my nose, my ears, my calves.
People die right beside me on the street, their dull conversations sentence them to death instantly, half-dead,half-moving, they buy away their lives – how could a burgundy sequined item bring them rapture, I wonder.
I have grown tired,my feet glitter in the dark, but it is not my usual joyful glow. My soul glows in the dark lately, it’s true, but to shame you, to show you how you only buy and show and pose and label , to show you the “hopeless emptiness” of this place.
I have grown tired of chic-rock and studs and spikes and black and red and violet and burgundy and sequins and glitter and blue and boyfriend coats and again spikes and studs and leather and must-wear-must-haves. I do not hate any of them, I am just tired, tired of the lights that always shine at Unirea Shopping Mall, showing us the beautiful lustrous girls,wearing carefully tailored, carefully designed clothes that speak by themselves, no, you do not need an actual conversation with the girls wearing them to know they are well-dressed.
I only buy and show and pose, I know.
And there are times when I start feeling sick, I almost cry, almost feel like ripping my clothes off – the bravery of showing your body, your bones, stop covering yourself, start wearing yourself inside out and leave all the fabrics and patterns aside and just start living.
Second-hand clothes piled all over the room, they look cheap and deserted, they are waiting for me to pick them up.
I could just burn them and buy new, shiny ones. Or I could just pick them up, pick myself up, place myself carefully on hangers, tuck myself like the wildest animal print shirts and stuff myself in the already stuffed drawers and wait for some beautiful thin girl to pick me up, wear me for a while – for a day, or two – for a lifetime – like those clothes you always wear even if you’ve just bought new ones.
Listen to Metallic Falcons
Photography by Doru Moraru
the skirt is a gift from Ela