Tuesday, November 17, 2009


“Come on, please. This is a good one.”

Couples fox-trot in a kaleidoscope of bright colours, of bare shoulders, of black or white dinner jackets, and sparkling jewellery.

“I don’t dance.”

His words fall like pieces of wet felt, a tiny, insignificant smack on the terracotta floor.


The music swirls in the supple waves of her hair, tickles her shoulders, goes down to her ankles, lionesses in the tall grasses, quivering with the anticipation of the rush. In her mind, she is away already. Only her soul struggles with the chill threatening to close again the fragile breach that the music opened in her prison’s walls.

“What’s the point?” he says.

How exasperating the act of pounding against opaque walls of inertia, of indolence, of plain ill will. A hopeless sea, crashing against an immutable shore, never destined to erode it.

“What’s the point of breathing?”

“Life, that’s the point of breathing.” Annoyed.

Oxygen taken to the cells by the blood. Carbon dioxide coming out. An exchange. Nothing poetic about it.

“Music is oxygen for your soul. Dance carries it.”

“Cut it out.” His voice is like a brick. “Not for me. I don’t have any use for such nonsense. Besides, we’ve discussed this before. I do not dance.”

Anger bubbles inside her.

“I can’t believe it. We didn’t even dance at our wedding.”

She notices him then, the way a mariner glimpses a lighthouse in the darkest of storms. Her heart stops, then flutters. A handsome young stranger, watching her. Surely willing to dance. She can see it in his serious eyes, in his rueful hint of a smile. How easy it could be. How impossible. Take his hand, lean into it, feel its warmth, its tender guidance. She dares another glance. He is right there, watching her quietly, the tiniest frown darkening his brow, the tiniest smile narrowing his eyes. What would she do if he came to her? Asked her to dance? Took her in his arms? She looks down at the sparkling silver, at the immaculate tablecloth.

“You’re crazy. Would you stop mentioning that stupid thing?”

The knot of regret and frustration is swelling up in her throat, menacing to reach the lakes of her eyes, to overflow them.

“But it’s true,” she says. “It ruined everything. I should’ve realised then…”

The stranger is still watching her, his gaze almost soothing. She desperately longs to be cradled in his arms.

“You’re overreacting, as always.”

“Why the hell are we even here?” Too pale a comfort found in a coarse word, when she would really like to scream.

You wanted to come. Finish your food now. We should go. This noise gives me a headache.”

No, she cannot leave now. She needs to prolong the illusion if only for another moment. She can’t possibly discard there, like a dirty napkin, this dream of absolute happiness. She needs to float for a while longer in the cocoon of that stranger’s regard, to feel… She wants to…

“Hurry up! We paid the nanny till eleven.”

She stands up mechanically, her legs suddenly leaden, the swirl inside her nauseating. She knows it’ll swallow her soul. Again.

As they walk out, she doesn’t look at him, the handsome stranger, for she knows that if she does, and if he's still watching her, she might, she will do something desperate, and she’s afraid to shatter this perfect dream.

Not yet. One day. Next time. Next time.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Thank You, Fireblossom!

I received this award from Fireblossom, a new friend in this remarkable blogosphere, whose personality and whose verse are as flamboyant as her name. Thank you, Fireblossom! I am deeply honoured.

The rules are: post seven bits of trivia about yourself. (That’s scary!) Then pass it on to seven people. (That I kinda like!)

So, in totally random order, I give you:

1. I keep a notebook – an old elegant notebook bound in red silk embroidered with arabesques of gold – in which I write the titles of all the books I read every year. It is a precious thing to me for it helps me recall moments in my life, and more than moments, feelings and nuances… I remember how I was when I was reading such and such book, what season it was, if I was content or sad… At the same time it brings me a feeling of anxiety or hopelessness when I see how little I can scratch of the vast surface of literature.

2. I’m in love with a certain vampire. ’Nough said. :-)

3. When I write, I fully immerse myself in my story. It’s so “bad” (or good!) that my pulse quickens, my vision blurs, my breathing becomes ragged, my head spins… I wonder what I looked like if anybody were to see me.

4. During my university years, I smoked. Not much, probably not more than ten cigarettes a day, mainly less. Strong ones though, mostly Camel. And then, a few years later I abandoned it. It was easy. One day I smoked, the next day I didn’t. I admit I was a bit disappointed. What? Can’t I even keep an addiction?

5. I love all life and believe that everything that’s alive has a right to live.
One day, as I was driving through a new development zone, where all natural life has been disturbed to make place to a bunch of overgrown houses, I saw a snake trying to cross the road. I can’t even think about it, let alone write about it. It was already halfway through the other half of the road when a car coming from the opposite direction just crushed it. My heart cringes even now, so many weeks later. I know that countless tragedies happen every minute all over this world, but it doesn’t mean that that snake’s is less important because of that.
Did I mention I’m a vegetarian?

6. Baroque music is among my favourites. Bach, Albinoni, Telemann, Marcello, to name just a few who take me from the peaks of joy to the abysses of despair, and back.

7. I like to drive and I like to drive very fast. I like the “high” that I get from this speed… Unfortunately, watching out for cops takes away some of the fun…

And now I get to pass the award on to other people. It wasn’t easy to decide upon only seven names. Some of you have it already, and if you don’t want to do the meme (again) that’s all right, but it’s just my way of showing how much I appreciate you. All of you are fantastic writers and amazing blog friends.



please pick up your award.