On the Other Side

You know that thing we all do
We obsess with things we cannot change
With things that haven't yet even come
But we know they will
Because they are inevitable

And we want to hide and not allow it to come
But we know it cannot be
So we go to the other end
And we obsess and obsess until
Our minds are tortured and we're lost
In the never-ending cycle of depression and
Fake comfort

You know what I'm talking about,
But neither of us wants to say it
You know it's that one thing
That happens all the time.

Death.

Death of hope,
Death of dreams,
Death of love,
Death of life.

But what we always forget
Is to look at the other side
And what we would see
If we just had the guts to look

Is life.

And we forget that if
Something is dying, it means that
It had lived.
And life is precious
So don't you forget it.

Don't you dare forget that
Before death,
There is always
Life.

Cicmila

Letter #4 "After all"

Dear child,
I wish I could tell you that out there is a prefect world. That everyone is always smiling and everyone is nice.That it's never too cold nor too warm. That surviving isn't hard and that you'll be ever so happy. That the law is right and everyone follows it. That you'll never be depressed and you'll never be hurt. That you'll always be loved.
But I'm sorry. This world is far from perfect. You know that when there is more souls dieing than being born. Nowadays, people don't even need anyone else to hurt themselves. And I feel sometimes, that people have forgotten how to love and to accept differences. And muscles in our face got rusty because we cannot remember the last time we honestly smiled. And that is sad.

Forgive me if I scared you. I guess... The world is not that bad after all. There's still friends who talk to each other over coffee. There is a loving couple or two holding hands, walking through the park. The sun shines every once in a while, I promise. Maybe...
Maybe it's not that bad after all.
I hope you make it.

Sincerely,

One from another time.

Cicmila

Post Scriptum

That look of his. After he told me he's sorry, but he cannot look after me. That since my mother died he's not the same. And neither am I. And that he doesn't have the money to support a child in a wheelchair. And I said "OK".
And then I started crying, because I knew I was about to lose the only family I had left. But then he started shouting. He told me I'm ungrateful and I don't understand him. He said it wouldn't be like this if I was normal.
That hurt.
And then he turned away and left. But there, just as he was about to leave my life forever, he turned around and looked at me. That look was such a controversy. Like a stream that forgot that it should end in the ocean, so it ends with a mountain.
Like a fairytale that ends badly at first, but then the true ending is revealed.
Like a tune with two endings.
That one look, so full of sudden love that he almost... forgot to say, but now remembered.
Like that one word that changes the whole sentence.
Like post scriptum.

Cicmila

Random Connections

Shards of broken glass, covered by red wine. The whole bottle was in pieces. I was still holding my glass in my hands, though there was no one to share with. No one to call a toast. The place was heavy with the memories of people who were there not so long ago. And none of my many cameras could take a picture of them now.


I close the book. I've finished it. I didn't want to read about the author. I don't care. They told me all they wanted through their characters. I lived the story they wrote, so I know them.
I didn't like the last sentence of the book. And I think those are important. It ended with her buying a pair of shoes. Green shoes. I don't like green, I'd prefer red.
But red wine comes in green bottles.


My dark green shoes are in perfect contrast with the brown leaves surrounding them. Looking at them, i wish they were a pretty picture, one people would put up as a desktop background. But I don't own a camera, I could never afford such a thing. And I don't have a photographer for a friend who would  take the picture for me. I like those shoes. They inspired my last book. Though, I was never really sure if I ended it right.

Cicmila

Normal

A normal family is one with two parents and a child or two.
Normal girls have long hair, and boys short.
Normal houses have red roofs and square windows.
Normal relationships are when a boy and a girl hold hands and kiss.
Normally you should put makeup to the point where you don't look like yourself anymore.
It's normal for girls to do everything and take off as much clothes as possible to get attention of men.
God forbid a girl speaks her mind and does anything except for looking good.
It's normal to hate books and learning.
It's normal to praise money above everything else.

That's what THEY say.

Well I say no.
I say money is dirty and I don't want it.
I'm as glad as I can be to have the opportunity to read and to learn.
I wish women were equal with men. And that we would all realize that they are.
It's normal to accept yourself as you are.
It doesn't matter if those in love are the same gender. Nor do they live next door or a thousand miles away.
Things and people should have the chance to look and feel like they want, without being judged.
A family are the people closest to you.

That's what I say.
And if you think differentlly
Then to you,

I don't want to be normal.

Cicmila

Silent Moments

My mouth is full of words. They are threatening to come out. They demand it. But I keep them silent. I say: "You'll have your chance. But for now, stay silent." 
While I sit next to you on the bridge, I think about all the things I want to say. My mind wants to explode, but I don't let it. I stay silent, yet again. I know I will never have another chance to say it, but I do nothing. The moment goes by in silence. You walk away.

The last time I saw her, I wanted to say so much. With all my heart, I was ready to do it, no matter the consequences, but I didn't say anything. I just laid my hand on her shoulder and watched the life slowly drain from her. I wanted to say so much. But words were nowhere to be found. The moment went in silence. She is gone.

I sit in the corner of my room, curled up. You come to me. I don't want to say anything, but I expect you to say a lot. In my mind are words, but not mine. They're yours. They're the things I want you to say. In my head I already hear you saying them, but your voice is not getting to me. Because you're not speaking. You sit next to me and wait. Wait for the moment to pass in silence. I get up and walk away.

It's my last chance to say what I want. Never again will I be able to speak. But the words that came and went in all the right and wrong moments have now abandoned me. Will I really spend my last moments in silence? I shed a tear. I've missed so many chances, I just didn't think my last chance would come so soon. I miss saying things. And my moments passed in silence.

Moments don't come twice. Don't let yours pass in silence.

Cicmila

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