The story without a start, without a finish(sau cum te-am placut de prima data)

He was that kind of a guy. Quite shy, a little bittersweet. But in the end everything he was didn’t matter too much. Cause he would simply collapse it all with his smile. His hair was a little bit of chocolate and a little bit of a glass of wine gazing in the sun.  But his eyes,  oh… his eyes.

He was a mess. He loved tattoos, music and well… love. He didn’t understand God, it was a little bit of an abstract idea which he’d like to discover someday. Besides that, he wanted to live his life. Live every second, maybe, so the idea of God would kinda’ limit his options.  Well, at least, that was his point of view. He loved to cook, and he realized that he wouldn’t mind doing that for the rest of his life. His patience was growing day by day, to the moon and back. And mixed with the love for music he could spend weeks listening to every song in the world.

And I was. And she was. She was a lovely mixture of heaven and hell.  A dancing star in the morning. She was everything and nothing at the same time. The rays would dance through the red strands of her hair and mesmerize every human being that would pass her on the street. Glancing at her you wouldn’t say she’s quite a storm. You wouldn’t have known when she hit you. She had power in her words, spoken or unspoken. She’d make your heart fail in one second. And that was the meaning of perfection for him. Dazzling beauty.

They didn’t have a start. It just was there the whole time. They didn’t end up happily ever after, that’s the reason they don’t have an ending. They are just “them”.  They used to smile at each other without anyone seeing them, even though the room was full of strangers with white masks. They used to hold a look from time to time. They used to say “hi” when passing by each other. They used to stare at each other assuring that they wouldn’t see each other. It would’ve been a crime if they’re eyes met. They used to punk together. Because sometimes punk it’s just better than rock. They used to pretend that nothing was happening, even if the world knew that the spark turned into flames.

It might sound to you like a cheesy love story, but it’s not. You might think that I’m going to picture you the way they’d make out it the restaurant kitchen when everyone was gone, but no.  It’s just the story of a girl and a boy who thought they were meant to be, but they never tried. She thought she’s too good for him. She though it wouldn’t work.  She though the differences between them would be so obvious. She thought that she needed something else, someone else. She though that he wouldn’t ever look at her like that. She couldn’t imagine a single word beside “hi” addressed to her. She assumed she’s no good for him. She assumed. He craved for her. Every piece of him shouted to her soul. He was lost in her. He was lost in the immensity of her kindness and complexity. He did wanted her. He wanted to believe there was a chemistry between them that no one could ever perceive. But he also thought that her eyes will never see good in him. He was just a trashy guy at the end of the day. He didn’t want to ruin her perfect, clean world with his dangerous, messy life. He just let her be his sweet torture, sweet grief. He would just listen to her long speeches with different people. He assumed. Taking risks was never his thing. Taking risks was never her thing. They didn’t have an end.

This story still hangs in the air, still waiting for people like me or you to write it again. In the end it will die. And so does your love now. And so does your world now. And so do your dreams. But they can resurrect. Resurrection is your only hope.  Resurrection meant love. Resurrection of your secrets, dreams, passions, mind, hope means love and taking a risk to adore the unknown, the unpredictable, the misunderstood, the unloved and the unbelievable.

He was that kind of a guy. He was a mess. And I was. And she was. She was a lovely mixture of heaven and hell.  They didn’t have a start. They didn’t have an end.


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