Ode to funerals of the days without love ( Archived) (10)

I was stuck in a moment of no true meaning.
My own paces did take me forward but I passed ground with lesser value.

I didn’t feel it back then, because there was nothing bad to be felt. And there still is nothing bad to be felt about them days back then.
It’s a matter of simple observation, only.

There was no gloom in my posture, no sorrow in my eyes, or sadness of any kind for passers by to behold, passers by who - now it seems - mostly went as unnoticed as little as they noticed me. To the beat of a waving hand in a vacuum mist we moved beyond one another without even realising that we did.

It was, only happened to be that kind of time when a day passed by like it was an hour long, when they disappeared as rings on some water you throw a stone into out of plain boredom, with a slight bit of hope that beauty would magically be behold from the childhood image of what then to us was water making art, now nothing more than a surface slightly and for a brief moment disturbed.

I simply roamed.
There was no lust in me, nor was there any worry of lust forever lost. There was no desire, nor a feeling of desire forever gone and not even a blurry hope up ahead.
I was not dejected in any way, but I was without much cause, I was searching without knowing I was doing so, I was like a man on a mission but without a plan.

It was like that song, when he sings, in such a powerful voice above that haunting single organ tune he sighs out the words…
….”I was punching in the numbers at the ATM machine… I could see in low reflection a face staring back at me”…

Someone alive, but not living.

See, I could recognize being alive, but simply did not feel full of life, I only was, existed, was being another statistical figure, another mobile phone number in a directory, another ring-tone most often resounding between walls of alone in a too often dully lit home, and is a home really a home if it’s most often not shared with someone, or when you bother not light it up enough because who’s there to share that light with anyway?

I was just another head wet of rain under a sky of grey, yet one more who the angels looked down on from time to time, them struck incapable of resolving or understanding what they saw as a man with every possibility to live a life to his fullest, but he didn’t.

But the angels up above, they carry the light and yet sometimes they don’t see clearly.
The angels up above need not worry about me. Never should have.
I was never under some spell of grief. I was only not where all of us deserve to be, always, which is under the spell of love.

I was not searching for her, how could I?
I didn’t even know I wanted her, needed her.

Someone like her is not to be found. Someone like her, fortune grants, and the angels up above, I know, view me now in a very different light, because my own very special angel suddenly arrived one day at my doorstep, knocked and asked whether this man would want to love her, and I return to that powerful, magnificent praise in that same song I played for her once, and even though he didn’t intend to make it a love song, I am doing so, because he sings what I feel, and oh does he sing…

…”It’s not that if I believe in love, if love believes in me… …oh believe in me… ….At the moment of surrender, I’m falling to my knees”

I’ve surrendered to her, she know this,

Before her, I was content, but not filled with joy, fine but not delirious, knew everything about love and what love can bring, but not very keen on being desperate to go look for it.

/Cont.....

I saw a little documentary, Swedish, about a woman, 83 years old she was, and determined with every fresh breathe of inspiration with every single word she uttered, that by god, she said, a widow, that she did not want to live alone, she wanted company, and so she took to Internet dating sites to try and find someone.
83 years… young… she was!
The whole thing ended with her being filmed from behind, stood under a summer sky out on her balcony, with this retired captain of a cruise ship, and then, all of a sudden, them two being stood next to one another admiring the scenery, she puts her hand closer to his on the balcony rail, and then puts it above his, gently caressing the top of his hand.

A very definition of love, that is.

My has mine.

At the moment of surrender, which I speak of above, I am not weak, oh it is the very other way around. It is that moment when a man, falls to his knees, with clenched fists held straight up high towards the sky, with straight back and face turned to the sun, closed eyes, he shouts happiness to whatever gods of love might be up there above them strings of small clouds, he exhales:
- Life is beautiful!

Have you ever been on a crowded subway station, then jumped onto that train, and sat where people through tunnels of dark gaze out towards a vivid rough black nothingness roaring past? Have you seen the reflection of their eyes in the side windows, and have you ever wondered what that blank look might bring a kind of an empty when it reaches home?
To an apartment where no one waits to greet, where no one approaches to embrace, where no one has made a meal, or where not even someone living far away who is loved is to be called on the phone?

I gaze into them side windows, daydream, about moments I’ve had with her, all the moments I wish to have with her, and all the moments I will have with her.
Not all blank stares into a window are of the sad kind, some are a heart longing, a heart taken on a journey so much further than a manmade machine ever could, and when I, myself look into that side window, when I loose myself into such a moment, I loose myself in her, the scent of hers, that laughter, voice, wisdom and so much more.
Isn’t it ironic how I could be travelling through the dullest kind of passage, but yet I’ll be in the most beautiful place.

Tomorrow, she’s coming home.

She's only less than 20 more hours way now!

Less than 3 hours ans she's in my arms!

Plesat ce mo u primacoj i skakat cu na krevetu od radost uz glasa Tose.

Nije sala, pitaj je sama ako nisam ja skako na krevetu uz nasu muziku kad je ona prvi put bila tu.

Zivot je kratak, i treba se uvjek neku mladost dozvolit.
Moja je skakat na krevet uz muziku radosta, kad mi draga lezi na jastuku, i smije se...

Neka je sa srecom

Yes, she most definitely have to stay home from now on.