What Makes Me

I recently read a story about how what we read becomes a part of us, and it got me thinking:
That would so perfectly explain the fact that people who read more are generally better people.

But, most of all, it got me thinking about myself and the books I've read. Did I get my courage from myself, or from Lady Katsa(Graceling, Kristin Cashore). Is my strength really mine, or is it Aragorn's(The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien)?
Am I determined because of Alice(The Solitude of Prime Numbers, Paolo Giordano). And does my curiosity come from the Little Red Riding Hood?
And I wonder: Is my crazy side really from my mom's side of the family, or is it all from spending too many afternoons with the Mad Hatter(Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll)
Am I motivated because of my dreams, or because of the rhymes I see every night before I close my eyes(Svetli grobovi, J. J. Zmaj).
Am I smart like Sherlock(Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) and funny like the Weasley twins(Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling)?
Am I lost like Lucas(Lucas, Kevin Brooks)?
Will I find my way like Dorothy(The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum) did?

I hope so.

Cicmila

The Reflection

You see yourself in the mirror every day

But what you see is not true

And no matter how much you want your eyes to be brown

They're not. They're blue.

And cuts don't stop bleeding

Just because you want them to

They heal with time

Just like your thoughts do

And why are we all taught as kids

That money is worthless 

And then are encouraged

To make lemonade stands and deliver daily press

And how come they tell us

That books are suppose to be comprehended in a certain way

If that's not how I understand it,

And those are not the things I heard the writer say

How come that on a freezing December night

The only bus that is not going to come on time

Is exactly the one we are waiting for?

It should be called a crime...

Or some people call it karma

They say that what you do always comes back

But you still do stupid things

And all you think about is do the punishments stack.

Cicmila

Words

I can't help but wonder why some words are more complicated than others. Or how one word can change the other. A ring is just a ring until you propose with it. Then it becomes a lot more. It becomes a symbol.
Still, you can't compare a ring to a banana. And say that you're all out of bananas and nobody will care.
But try saying that to a monkey...

So words are different to everybody. For me, the word "raven" brings tears to my eyes because one of my favorite childhood pets was a raven. But to someone else, it's just a black bird.
And I have a picture above my mirror that would take me about a 1000 words to describe, but to someone else, it's jut a girl in a white dress.

And you might say fairies are just for fairy tales, but I see them every night in my dreams. So for me they are real.
...Same goes for dragons.

And people say there's no word more complicated than "love", but I'll give you one:

"Word".

Cicmila

Forgotten

I'm standing on a bridge, looking at the water. I'm holding a chain with a ring on it. It's swinging so close to the water, so close to it's story's end.
It makes me think about every memory that get lost. Every important message someone forgot. Everything just gone...
Like the water under the bridge.
It makes me think of fallen soldiers who died in meaningless war and battles. It makes me think of loving grandparents forgotten in institutions. Of artists that never found their way and that are now swimming in small circles, like fish in a bowl.  Of forgotten toys left to collect dust in an attic, while they were once the only thing that protected you from the monsters under your bed.
Makes me think of dry rose petals, ripped bookpages and forgotten languages.
Makes me think of stories never told, lost in thoughts. Of bartenders, now old, who once dreamed about becoming spiritual leaders.
It makes me thinking of melodies that pop in our head, but disappear before we get the chance to remember them.

I put the chain with the ring back safely around my neck.
Maybe I want to hold on to this memory for just a while longer.

Cicmila

What would you miss if you...?

Think of the things you would miss the most if you were blind.

 - For me, it would be raindrops on my window. And a smile on people's faces. Also, Id' miss the autumn leaves. And the spring flowers.

And if you were deaf?

 - Music. The sweet sound of one note sliding into the other. And... the sound of someone saying they miss me. And only for a second, I'd miss hearing the wind in the trees.

If you couldn't speak, what would you miss saying?

 - "Sorry". And I'd miss the choice to say "I love you", and "I wish things were different". 

If you could not smell?

 - My dad's chocolate bread when it's just taken out of the oven. And the morning after a rainy night. And orange. I'd miss the smell of orange...

If you could not touch? What would you miss?

 - I'd miss... touching my hair. And silk. And I'd miss the tree bark. The way it lives under my touch.

And if you died this very instant, what would you wish you've lived?

 - I'd wish I had the chance to say my last words to the world. And I'd want to see one person. ...Or two. And I would wish I was more brave. That I had lived without the fear that stopped me from doing things I want my whole life. Yeah... And I would have loved to see the world, not being afraid of how people see me. 

 How do you feel now?

 - Sad. Because I still don't have the courage to do what I want. But I feel I'm a bit closer. I think I'll get there.

Enjoy life.

Cicmila

Lust - Confession #1

I confess.
Lust.

I grew up in a small city. I am a catholic. I was a good daughter. I didn't have any siblings, because my mother died when she gave me life. I like looking at her picture. I look a lot like her. My father is a good man. A farmer. Just, loyal... He's a good man.

I went to a small school with a class of twelve.I had the best grades. I studied for hours every day while my friends were out partying. I was the best of the best, and my dream was to go to a big city to study.

My school gave out one scholarship every year to the best student. That was my ticket out. So on our graduation day, I sat confident that I had achieved my goal. Then, the principal called out the name of the scholarship award winner.

The mayor's daughter.

She went off to the big city, finished the prestige college, and I stayed here, and became a teacher, convincing myself that that is what my mother would want me to do. My dad passed away, proud of me so much that he would raise to the sky every time he would see me.

The mayor's daughter lived my dream in the big city, working on top of a skyscraper. Once, I went to the big city. I was walking past a restaurant when I saw her. She was everything I dreamed of being.
That was MY dream she was living!
MY life!

I WANT IT BACK!

...so I took it.

Unlike You

There's an ache in the back of my head

But I don't mind

I didn't go out of line

It reminds me that I am not dead

Unlike you.

I see you every day, walking around

But your eyes are empty

It's like your soul

Is nowhere to be found.

You don't want to listen

The only words you really know

Are the ones that are written

But those aren't words you hear, they're letters

And letters can't hurt

Unlike words that beat you until you can't breathe

And leave you lying in the dirt

You can't fight back, they disappear

It's like they run away

They don't want to face you

They can't stand your fear

And you are afraid

If you're not you're a fool

And I know you're not, because once

...You had a soul.

And I can't promise tomorrow will be better

But I can hope

And as long as there's mystery in the air

And a letter to tear,

While there's faith to be burned

And stories to be told

I will fight for that tomorrow, and the day after

I will fight for you

Because there's an ache in the back of my head.

And I know... I am not dead.