‘Are you OK?’ he asked with an intriguing worry in his voice, looking gently at my hand pressed on my heart. ‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to sound too distracted. The ache, separating my heart into imaginary pieces in the least expected places, went on for a couple of weeks. I never really understood why it hurt. He took a step in my direction, then he hesitated to approach me when I gave him a look. Although it is nice of him to care as much as he does, I wish he didn’t.

He smelled like fresh Norwegian apples, the boy next to me. Wearing a black leather jacket and black pants with some wine red paint on, it was fascinating to watch him putting his head in between his hands and bending down to his knees. He seemed to be full of sorrow, the way he slowly played with his curly, black hair, and like a disturbed art student, in a fascinating matter; fresh and dark, totally enjoyable.

As she was a university student with a promising career ahead of her, it was difficult to imagine her wanting to become a mother at that age; too young, too wild and too much in love with her own restless soul. But that is what she said, ‘I am trying to get pregnant’, over and over again, every time closer to getting all teared up, yet she never lost the serious tone in her voice and never, not once, shed a single tear. She was so sure she wanted to carry his children. ‘They will be blond, you know’ she said, ‘just like him’.

That year was her line, the line that departed her from innocent happiness.

I have been thinking and talking a lot about our human instincts lately and I can’t help being fascinated by my inner voice who instantly pushes me toward some people and keeps me away from the others. Yes, the others I like to call them, because they are the ones who awaken some sort of a protective attitude. This evening was no exception.

“Were you born here?” the cab driver asked with an accent I had a hard time understanding. After a few seconds of silence I said “Yes, I was.” He turned to give back my credit card and went on “Let me guess, your mother is Asian, right?” I gave him a furious look, hoping he would back off. But he didn’t. Of course not. He had a strange, intimidating look in his eyes, while I couldn’t wait to get out of the cab. He made my Turkish blood run like crazy in my veins and I knew I could explode any moment if he gave a slight a sign of trying to touch me. I am so sure he would give it a try. Our short conversation didn’t matter, but my instincts made me regret getting in his cab the second I got in. His energy was enough to scare me.

I usually have to concentrate on walking straight, it does not come naturally to me. Somehow, as strange as it may sound, this is also an allegory to how I walk through life. Running, on the other hand, is what I am able to do just perfectly, if you can put it like that. In real life, in my daydreams, in my dreams at night I run. And I often picture myself running like crazy in the woods, craving Nature’s embrace, always wanting more fresh air, almost as if I have a hard time breathing. The dream never ends. I keep running; in my mind, metaphorically, in real life… I keep running toward something, anything…

…everything to be just like
The stories that you read but never write

The Raconteurs

This is what I call the beauty of pain. It makes it hurt like hell.

 I’m not really into astronomy, but this image is quite interesting, don’t you think? I just forwarded it to some friends and acquaintances who are more than slightly interested in astronomy and wanted to share it with you as well…