Superhero duty: the means justify it all

Face to face, I look into his eyes and exchange no words. Here we are, at the end of the world, breathing heavily and exhausted from the fight of the century. The city is destructed and people are scared. I am not winning, nor is he. We just stare at each other and breath.
I have to kill this man and save the humanity.
The duty is clear, how to do it is something different.
I will kill him and end his regime of terror and suffering. I will kill him and end with it all. Children will laugh, moms and dads will hug. The cries this time will be of pure and utter happiness and relief. The world will live in peace.
Will it though? Will it be over? Can I kill a man? Will I save humanity? Do the means justify the goal.
My heavy breathing intensifies and it is hard to breath. I am panicking. I have to do it but, can I? Do I have to do it? I…I…. I run…..

Floure

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Give me a minute

How did we end up here is beyond me. I once hated him. Or so I thought. I knew there was a feeling there that made me erratic and anxious to the point that my chest hurted. I thought I hated him because that is the natural reaction to someone’s bullying and dismissal. I thought I hated him because there was no other feeling to have in such a situation. I hated him because there was no reason for his behaviour but pure and absolute hate towards me; and so, I hated him.

Time has passed and I wished it would be more time so our relationship would be ridiculously justified by the passing of the years, as if all that time would say: things have changed. But the truth is that in a short period of time the feelings remain the same though we might not call it hate. I still feel erratic and anxious, and my chest still hurts, for him.

My dad is holding my hand the best he can, he is as nervous as I am but at least he is not shaking. I am dressed in white, pretty flowers in hand and traditions and superstitions hang on my body. My best friend is a few feet ahead of me, talking to the children and somewhere further away is him.

I take one step forward. Another. One more. Another one. Countless more. And I feel his hand on mine, I see a little glow in his eyes and a gulp down his throat. This is a moment in life and last night, when we were apart, we promised that we cheriss this moment for the rest of our lives, no matter what, this minute counts.

I feel his hand slowly, deliberately caressing my skin from my hand to my waist. My pulse in raicing and I don’t understand what he’s doing, but if this is what he wants, me, his bride, won’t say no. He takes half a step closer and pushes me to meet him halfway. He presses his forehead to mine and breaths happily. I look up at him and quickly wipe that traitor tear and smile at him. His traveling and active hands take my face in warm embrace and he gets close enough that only me can listen him whispering “give me just a minute”.

Like that, memories flood me of all the times that he has said that, and right know the meaning is more evident to me than ever before. He said it before our first I love you. Struggling with his speech, he just took a deep breath looked me in the eye as he hold me close. After a minute of feeling us, there was no need to say it but he still did it.

Before I met his dad, he hold me safely in his arms and said “I’m here, you can have a minute”.

When we told the world about our love we fought the painful shock and surprise as best as we could. By the time we got to the cab hand by hand and sat, he said “I think I need a minute, love” and so I crawled to his lap and hold him tight.

Now, on the day of our union, if he wants me to be close, connected, being one with him, that I give to him. I give him all my minutes.

Better than silence – In the rain on a day when it poured down on me

Pluuff!!
Loud the chair hit the floor. And so did I. My legs were unnaturaly facing north, chest up and down as it struggled to breath in the sock, pain and embarrasment. This was one of those things were if it is going to happen, is going to be in a crowded place, like now, and as noticeably as possible, like now.
I stayed there waiting for a helping hand, a soul crashing reaction or for me to be effectively swallowed, along with my chair of course, by the artificial ground. But none of it happened. Just silence. Many stares and silence.

Yay, I’m back!!! I just finished an exam and it wasn’t good may sweet lord Wordsworth forgive me for incorrectly analysing his poem and so I needed to cheer up.
I woke up this morning to a weirdly quiet house and thought about how awful it is when you fall or do something embarrasing in front of everyone (like showing up naked 😍) and wondered if there is anything more painful than the laughs that follow. Silence. I think silence is worst than any word. When someone ignores you, when you cry and there are no worths of comfort, when something happens and you get no explanations, when you say i love you and you don’t get an i live you too, when you are trying to reach that person but you cannot anymore. Gosh, let me laugh noisily, soundly, dramatically, extravagantly, embarrasingly, obnoxiously. Let me laugh and kill silence.

Floure

I saw it, I cried

It came to me in a rush while I was sitting in a bus on my way to life. The bus crashing and an object of unknown origin perforated my lung. I could not breath but I still could feel my body elevating and falling hard somewhere else, bruising my ribs, and then at the sound of the bell, my head hit the ground and my consciousness left me scared and alone. Next thing, I was in unsufferable pain and doctors were unsure if I could make it.

And a tear crossed my sorrowful face, not for fear of death but for the fact that at 21 I was, indeed, dreaming of my dying.

Floure

Dante and Beatrice

Wrote this many, many years ago (I will try to cut short the cheseeness but I was just a poor excuse of an adolescence back then) yet it is still one of my favourite love story of all times – even though the reality is a bit creepy if decontextualized -. Hope you like it ūüôā

Night of the 31st December of whatever year you like: next year, past year, this year. A couple in a hill close to their city, look up to the sky where only bright stars witness their love. In his hands an instructive book of astrology. They laugh, giggle, hug, kiss and look up to the stars; to the beautiful and eternal stars. He took her there by surprise so they could welcome the new year together and alone.

Time passes by among endless conversations and cute kisses when all of sudden, he asks her:

– Do you know Dante and Beatrice story?

РOf course Рshe replies with a sassy grin РBeatrice was, so to speak, his muse. He fell in love with her as fast as he saw her though she was never his. They never shared a kiss, not a touch of their skin; only quick glances over the distance. How romantic!

– No baby, the true story

РThe true story? Tell me! Р and she snugles into his chest, his sweet breathing singing the perfect melody for the night

РNo, Dante himself will tell you Рhe clears his throat before faking the cracky voice of an old gentleman and she laughs at his sillyness.

<<The rider of death swept over the fields of my life without contemplation. He cut, pulled and destroyed, one by one, every flower of my ill garden. But after days and days of anguish, of being pulled to the floor by the sorrow of my condition, I finally found the strength of my mournful hands, got up and walked. I saw abysses sinking into darkness and evil souls wandering in dreams. Convicted fighting warriors of light who had lost their last battle in the cave of the angry come into sight. In the distance, sharp cries could be heard, slowly approaching and becoming stronger. Ghost of every kind of men diverted themselves creating vortices of pain, the kind of pain that disturbes the most horrible mind.

In this blind darkness, shadows walk or levitate on cries recorded on a eternal vinyl repeated into oblivion.  The tide sways the silenced hearts , silenced and drowned in the deepest misery. I wander, alone and without destination, taken prisioner within the walls of the flaming Hell, red dungeon of uninterrupted longings.

I do not know how long i have¬†been here, lifeless. I find no way, no river to flow, not even a light rain to hide my tears. I arrived here as exiled poet, as an idea that flies from a dry pen and commits suicide on a paper. I, the creator of divine comedy, pleading lover of my angelic lady, lover of my muse¬†who inspired sweet scented verses, lady that touched my heart with just one anxious¬†look.¬†I would like to devote more sweet and delicate words to my dear, my sole reason for existence but I can not …NO! Time loses its name, forgetfulness comes to life, body and essence, stealing¬†my soul and killing my memories without mercy or remorse, and she is no more now than a mimic of my lost imagination; I have lost her.

All that feeds my hope is to find you, keep the dream that one day you will be here , you’ll¬†come to me, that everything that flees my mind today as migratory birds return and at last¬†this senselesss¬†wandering¬†will have some meaning. What am I saying? My crazy desperation¬†deprives me of any kind of logic. You, beautiful cherub could never¬†be here, for your soul¬†embodies the highest form of purity, but still …¬†doubt does not leave me. What if I saw you¬†and my mind, now my enemy, betrayed me and pushed you away? If this is so, there would be no forgiveness for me or why I shall continue.

Damn madness that leads me down a storm of jagged thoughts that move in circles and make me dizzy!

A silhouette of bright light appears before me. Her sweetish gaze envelops me as it did the once sacred temple exit. It was long ago but I still remember when we invaded the silences with words, when we walked together a thousand metres away. Oh, yes, then we met and I now hardly recognize you because my life is a broken mirror and does not reflect anymore. Under your step life is created . Your smile creates cherry. Your look, a crazy lovers heartfelt verses. Your breath, the sky. How different now presents itself before me this hell! Tell me, who are you that your presence becomes this cold place the most perfect place in paradise?

Your eyes light up, shine, shouts of joy and yet you do not know how to talk to me. Death¬†took us away and my life was a perpetuate torture, a deep well that I never knew out, I¬†could not forget you.¬†You approach with eager arms, I depart with childlike awe. Your lips are broken lines but¬†there’s no sound or response. With an impulse i throw myself to you, I feel your breath, I¬†melt in your mouth, it all makes sense in paradise. Finally in this dark cavern I see the sun.¬†Happiness leads a remembrance to me, is so close : I LOVE YOU!>>

– I love you too

Salvation – Chapter II – Silence in the streets

<<I never had a boyfriend. I think I should be embarrassed ¬†by this confession, I mean I’m 15, not too soon 16. I feel as if I am late for something. I was once kissed. It was wet and moist, a fatal combination of both, clumsy and painful. Would it be different if I’d kissed a boyfriend? Will I ever have to do that? Should I want to do that? Mom’s calling…>>

It was sometime between the falling of the leaves and the freezing snow when my dear Lily thought about this. She was home again that lovely Wednesday, after a Tuesday in bed and a Monday of doctors. She was quite bored and several failed attempts of putting remedy to it did not but lead the way to this odd thoughts. But she did not dwell in them for long, thank god, for what soon enough a letter arrived.

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