The day I’m honest with myself.


I’m walking slowly in the cold, light rain. It’s grey and a bit windy today. It doesn’t scare me, I’m not even considering stopping. There’s nothing out here to scare me.

I can’t stop looking at the couples that pass me. I envy those holding hands.

Their warmth, maybe, it could even be their comfort.  I don’t even know, really, what it is that I envy.

I read an article last night, it was shared on Facebook.  It talked about infidelity and it was written by a woman that had chosen to be single, like me. I don’t even know why she had bothered with it.  All those people that choose to live like that, telling themselves it’s all alright…I don’t even bother. I wonder  if I’ll see her at my destination.

I never run away from rain. I love water, it washes my face, my thoughts, my soul. It’s life.

And I need a bit more of it, please.

I step on the cobbled  stone streets, downtown, walking through bars and cafes. I feel like I am in Paris, seems like 2008. Yet the air is different  and maybe so are the people.  My heart starts beating faster as it knows  what’s coming. I feel it heavy,  like a heavy longing to be true.

To just be.

I can’t run away from myself. No matter how hard I try, I never make it. So I thought I’m just going to accept it, go the easy way around.  And share my secret with someone. I can’t keep it for myself anymore. It’s more than I can bear, really, it makes me feel sick, it drains my energy, it haunts my nights and it doesn’t let me sleep. I can’t even run anymore, not to mention doing my insanity training.

The only way I live is through my work, it’s the only thing that disconnects me and lets my passion flow. It’s where I forget myself and discover  a new world. Yet I know that I need to share my secret.  I can’t become addicted to my work, I’m more than that. I want to become more than that.

So I keep walking. I like this street, I think it’s my favorite in Bucharest. I enter the small iron gate and step on the stone stairs. Its courtyard is quiet, like always. I push the small front door and I slip inside through it. The atmosphere is calm, dim light and with nobody around. I can even feel it how it’s calming me. My tears feel safe enough to burst out, I just can’t hold them anymore, I collapse, down on my knees.

And just let it flow. Cry my soul out. It’s this place that makes me feel at peace enough that  I can let my  vulnerability surface.  So  I start whispering my secret, my shadow, my fears and my deepest desires.

It’s my soul that’s looking for someone to confess everything that it carries. And I stay like that for some time, I don’t even know for how long. It just matters to let it flow. I want someone to know me exactly as I am, without the fear I’m going to scare them away. What makes my heart skip a beat and what makes me furious, how I am when I become furious. What motivates me and what makes me collapse. Even though it’s pretty obvious what does that. :))))

I don’t want to think it’s too much for someone to handle, maybe I just haven’t met the right one.  I pray for the strength to keep walking until I will. To resist being myself until he’ll find me. Sometimes the masks get me so tired, I just want to quit…they think I can satisfy with okay.

I can’t have an “okay” way. It’s part of my own personality. It’s black or white. Grey is for calm weather, when you withdraw in the mountains before a fireplace. It’s either sunshine or storm. Both have amazing colors to paint a masterpiece.  Nothing ever developed or evolved in comfortable conditions or without constantly adding passion to it.

I can’t betray my personality. I wouldn’t be me after that,  I couldn’t be able to laugh or meet the people in my life because I wouldn’t recognize them anymore.  So I let my tears pour, like the clouds outside.  Wash my soul, let the light shine. Slowly, find its way back to me.  And give me strength.

I lift myself up in the dim light and I notice that I’m still alone here.

I wonder where do all the other people go in the day when they’re honest to themselves?



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