There is so much silence to be finally enjoyed. Christmas is over and I have only now started to celebrate it. To celebrate. There is so much to celebrate sometimes and I always forget to put my fancy clothes on. Wait, fancy is not the word. Fashion is not my word. It’s their world and I want little to do with it. I have this long green velvet dress. I have this large green sweater, a red velvet bag, red lipstick and these black and slightly golden chunky heels. I take walks in this deserted place, as deserted as all the things I have chosen to leave behind. I have chosen this house instead, this garden, these clothes, him and her – we’re three and we’re happy. January. This is the time when Christmas trees are thrown away, expunged from our houses. People leave them in the middle of the street: dry and lonely Christmas trees. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a country filled with these trees. They stare at me and I stare back. I try to walk past them. I try to build a past out of them. This time it was different. That’s why I waited for Christmas to be over. I made this red head band so you can see it clearer. How ridiculously rigid your ways are. How this head band makes no sense after the winter holidays have passed. Still, I decided to wear it. What does it mean to you now? How does it look to you now? I see the head band, I put it on and it makes me laugh. I don’t want to cry over you anymore. I am pointing fingers while bursting into laughter. There’s nothing wrong about red or green. There’s nothing wrong about winter after all. Maybe I just miss snow. There’s nothing wrong about trees either. There’s everything wrong about expecting love to come out of the tree or house you so carefully decorated. My hair is not light or yellow anymore. I smile more often when he’s taking pictures of me. I am not afraid of the darkness anymore. Not in my hair, not in my mind or in our house. I remembered how darkness used to be about me as well. It came naturally. So I let it spread now. Over my head, over my knees, over your silly trees, over the dirty, poor streets, over whomever it meets. Over the snow that has not yet started to fall.
Text written by Raluca of The Daily Tutli-Putli
She’s a type of friend that’s really hard to find. See the twin post on her blog, HERE.