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No more lies
by Katerina Charisi
2015-12-21 09:32:06
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It is not a good day this one. Christmas is coming. I can’t feel the spirit, but I do feel the sadness it carries with it. A loneliness; different than others. The feeling of been alone in an unfriendly, unknown world. A world that never was home.

I’m looking from above the speedy lights of the cars. Passing by quickly; leaving thin lines of dim colours and I wonder. Where did you go? Bright stars are shining behind curtains. Glowing Christmas trees. It’s Christmas that is coming and my life that goes away.

ly01_400Our lives were just two balls of fire rushed one into the other, flying in the speed of light and passed by so fast that there is nothing any longer to be seen …except a dim trail of dust. Our love vanished into thin air like a shooting star that no one shed a wish for.

Little Paul. My childhood’s only best friend. My childhood’s only friend. My mother. The only one who made me understand that it is possible to hate and love someone so much. At the same time. The woman I tried so hard to be the best I could and it was never enough. The not enough of me that made me hate myself. Hate me so much that I made it a pendant and wore it around my neck. That small I became. So small that I swallowed me. So small and insignificant, so negligible that I forgot me. Was that so indifferent my life? Was that so invisible my existence? That I never managed to be so important to someone that would keep my image alive and never let me disappear?

The man in the picture, that I know I once loved… But I know nothing more. And Emily. An old friend, part of a lost life. A forgotten life. The ageless woman that invaded my forgotten and peaceful life and stirred it up. That’s all I know. That’s who I am.  Nameless, timeless, an invisible bystander. Looking, listening, touching, feeling and … I cannot remember.

It seems that this Emily is the only one who cared enough for me. Kept me alive in her, so she can now visit me. She is the only one to keep me alive in me. But I didn’t want another woman to be that one. It should be somebody else. There must have been someone else; the love of my life.

Her tricky hints that make my mind revealing scattered memories. Her puzzling stories of her life; a life that at some points, in some mere details, seems to be confused with my own. I remember things and I write down stories, I try to catch up with my own thoughts but there are times I don’t know which one’s memoir I’m writing down. Which one of the two of us I try to keep alive. Which one of the two of us is still alive.

A life written down with shaking hand in a pile of papers.

Tears blur my vision. And I see behind the dull glass the white world. The real world. Snowflakes. Swirling, dancing around the trees, flying, kissing my window and die as they melt, like tears. Like the tears that run down my eyes. Living world. Death in my heart.

Who are you Emily? For real this time! I yell at her but I only blur the window with my breath. The window that sometimes becomes a mirror. And I see in it, I see through it, I see the woman I know I am now, but I also see a woman that I know I was once. And then I see her too. And I’m not sure she is even real. If she ever was.

I want to yell that I hate her. I want to yell at her, never come back. I was a forgotten soul before she shows up, but at least I was calm, peaceful, satisfied with my austere life. I wasn’t asking any questions, I had no needs to understand, I had no feelings for the people in the frames hanging on my walls. I was who I was. Living day by day, accepting the fullness of my time in this world, waiting for the night I would sleep to the eternity… Almost calling for this night to come sooner. But then she came and a small, lost part of the old me, sensed this wish of mine and revolted.

It’s been quite a time since she invaded my room and my thoughts for the first time, that I need her now more than I need to go. And I hate her for that; because I hate this feeling. I hate wanting to live since I know I don’t have the time. I am old; too old to make thoughts about the future. There is no future for me; there is an unchanged, stationary present and the past. Only the past chums old age. The account.

Only that I don’t have a past to do for my account. But that’s okay. At least I wouldn’t have missed anything and no one. And then she came. She came and made me start wanting my past back. But I need time to gain my past back. And I know I have both past and future to worry about. For I could accept leaving this world without a past, that I wouldn’t miss anyway because I wouldn’t remember. But I cannot leave this world having a past like scattered puzzle pieces. It would haunt my soul eternally. It would never let me go in peace.

I am afraid you came too late, Emily. I will not have the time to put all these pieces together. And if I am not going to make it, I will hate you with every dead cell of mine; with every seed of my dusty soul. And I will haunt you eternally for that.

I don’t know which one of the two of us is still alive; I can’t tell which one of the two of us is real. But I know one thing for sure. Since you decided to come to me without me wishing for it, then you better hurry. You better help me make it through.

Enough with the tricks! Enough with the hints! Enough with the gifts through the skylight! Enough with your scattered stories that have no time and no place. I am ready to face you.

I am coming Jinny. You better be prepared well.


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