I put on sunblock daily despite of the weather – it’s just how defensive I am, regardless of appearances. I brush my teeth at least twice a day; I understand 5 languages but speak only a few. Music is the language I understand best, but best undressed, best on a bench, in the park, at 7 AM waiting for the bus while the sun shines dimly over, best when I’m in love.
The best kisses are in the car, while waiting for the green light on one of the busiest boulevards. The best feeling is that something is going to happen – it pulls you out of dullness like a pig is pulled out of the mud pool. Best winter nights are in the pub where the light is dim and you know the bartender so you’ll get happily drunk. Best company on lonely nights, you ask – books. Sunburnt skin tastes the best.
Wanderlust will strike at most unexpected times, and that’s when you’ll pour watercolors over the people you meet, mostly in the colors of distant places where you want to go and of unexplored corners that you miss.
The painting will always contain a splash of turquoise because you always, undoubtedly miss the sea. The best songs will have chased you through sunny days in your headphones and drunken nights in loud places, from drunken mouths, filthy mouths; you’ve sung these songs while craving chocolate with someone who finally does deserve them. The best skyline will always be the most familiar. What you should long for and constantly fight for is authenticity – it’s like raw flesh left in the August sun, it stings your nose so you know it’s there, you can’t miss it.
The best stories to tell your children will be those about whom you once loved.
And the best men are, actually, the worst – I wouldn’t believe it either if I wouldn’t be feeling heir claws reaching from inside out, through my skin, trying to get out of my soul, even after all these years. And the worst will make you shiver from your core like an earthquake, shaking the majestic planet that you are and tear down whatever walls you have built through the years with such devotion no one would believe you if you’d tell the story. The feeling of being safe – it’s what you’ll crave for every night, but it will be torn apart and sprinkled like snowflakes over the two of you, while spinning in the roller coaster that you both hopped on that midsummer night.
What you should always know is who you love; it’s sometimes the easiest and sometimes the hardest thing to tell, but it brings you right where you belong. And you’ll know you love him because at night, you look at his face half-squished, stretching a smile on the pillow, and even without your glasses, you can still see him.
Submitted to ArtParasites by Iulia Ariton