"What shall I bestow upon you when I do not own anything but my words?"

Today I spent all afternoon with my parents, my sister and her daughters. Yes, I am very attached to my family and I cherish close relations with them. We share our time, our good and bad moments, our actuality and our past  But, today a strange moment happen and I was not prepared for it. A moment of travelling through the time; going a decade in reverse. My mom brought out a sheet of paper after the lunch. It was a song I wrote to her 10 years ago for her birthday and she wanted to share it with my 10 years old niece. 

The song was written by hand on a blank sheet of paper from notebook. 

I do not remember writing  process, neither poem's existence. I do not remember my mother reaction when I gave her a peace of my soul written down with my left handed, difficult for reading writing style. I do not recall particularly that birthday of hers, except the fact that it was November 18th, 2005. I was in a high school back then. As any teenager, I was more focused on my inner world rather then on my reality. To be honest, in that time, books were my reality; most likely depression as well, even though I never saw it to be an issue when I was living my episodes or periods. 

She asked me to read it to my niece, because no one can read my handwriting; I always wrote exclusively for myself and I never made a copies of my work. I remember the moment when 4 professors tried to read my final essay at the high school, because they founded my handwriting to be very complex. Eventually, they understood that  the context I wrote was better then expected, so I was awarded with the higher recognition - to be naturally gifted future writer. The same belief followed me through the collage, but my highly developed self-criticism put a shadow on my possibly bright future of becoming a writer; I would call it a curse rather than a natural gift, but regardless how is marked, living with it and despite it is the only way which remains. 

But when I took this sheet of paper, when I saw my handwriting, when I looked at personal note addressed to my mother, I simply started to cry without any control. I read it for myself, choking in my spontaneous tears, trying to read it fast, so I can take some air; trying to get down from the roller-coaster of my constantly present melancholy, with the same intensity even after a decade, trying to tame this overwhelming sorrow within me. 

So, I found some strength left to read it out loud to my niece, whom hugged me when she spot the tears in my eyes. So, I am reading and my hands are shaking, my soul is breaking and my heart is growing in the same moment. It is ode to my mother and I do not want to sound pretentious, but with the decade of distance, I can say it is well written; deeply melancholic and honest poem. 

And I am reading it so everyone can hear me. My mother cries too. Why do you think I end up to be so emotional? It is a personal heritage from her and my full of love childhood. 

The one verse is repeating in a good manner and it sounds something like "What shall I bestow upon you when I do not own anything but my words?"

While reading it, I start to understand that a lot of things happen within 10 years, but nothing what matters has ever changed. 

You say you love me, but you do not, my love.

You say you love me, but you do not, my love. 

Love cannot be squeezed into one word or defined using only language, simply  because it does not belong to language. Twist your head around, It's all around you,  All is full of love. I will not try to define it, I am not a fool. 

I love words as much as I love love, but I never believed that for me or for anyone else is possible to frame complexity of love into one word, regardless the language we use. Off course, I have tendencies to describe feelings, to get a little bit closer to understanding of my inner world. We are humans and we intent to be in control, but beauty of love is in the fact that it is our of the reach. It is divine feeling and completely intuitive. If you know why you love someone, you probably do not love that person. 

Do not say you love me, because you do not. We are not lovers, neither friends, even we strongly feel both. You will protect me, you said. You will help me and be there for me! - I have heard from you many times, while we were drinking and smoking on the balcony feeling confusion of our heartbeats and coldness of winter's nights.  But you are not able to keep up with your words. You are exiled from your dreams and feelings. Today I am your friend, but tonight you will love me again and be jealous while I am kissing the other man. I will sleep in your bed again, alone, while you will spend the night on the couch. We will have puzzling fight and feel bad tomorrow, texting to each other: "I am sorry!", but thinking: I do not want to lose you. 

Then, you will start to date a girl and insist on my presence there. We are friends, right? Then you will kiss her, but stare at me. And I will drink more and laugh harder, trying to make it easier and less awkward for all of us.  I do not want to witness your deeply superficial relations, but I am doing it for some sick reason and I pretend not to care. I do it because I understand what you do not. I understand why you think you love me. 

You need me to be the person seen with my eyes. You love the version of yourself created in our most intimate moments in the crowed places during the long, confusing nights. That is what it is all about; we manage to create our own universe in presence of others. We establish addiction of other ones presence, but we did not talk about it. 

If you ask me we should never talk about feelings; we should only feel and follow it. We should let it inspire us! Allowed it to take us where we cannot go all by ourselves. We should follow our intuition and let ourselves go. 

Anyhow, tomorrow we will only be friends. 

 You do not love me, my dear, you only understand that feels right to be near me.

 If you would love me, you would not have to say it, but I would still be able to read it. So, you are drunk again, right? You love me, but it is too emotional, than too sexual and eventually too complicated. Love is never complicated, believe me. Love moves galaxies and transforms weaknesses into the strength.

It is a strong force, stronger than the sea.  

You say you love me, and I believe you. 

I knew it before I heard the words. I believe you, because I feel you. But again, if you think you love me enough, I will prove you wrong. Because, babe, love makes you brave, it makes you foolish, but it does not makes you being friends with someone. 

Thank you for your love, but if you are only ready to offer me learned version of love, than I recommend you to learn how to love someone else. 

Love, hera

Beyond the words

We all felt at least once that would be good to be anonymous for a moment. Some of us tried to escape from everyday life by making some big decisions over night and moving to some foreigner country. The brave ones decide to follow their dreams and to live them. Others tried to seek for their hidden stash in their imagination or in the physical transformation. It sounds exacting to change a style, a gender, a job, a partner or a city. But what about the situation when you cannot escape? When you are prisoner of your body, of your mind and of your environment? What about those people who cannot go anywhere because they are trapped in this world which does not understands them? There is a lot of them, but they cannot related to each others. Majority is not comfort for them; they do not seek for company. These individuals are living in parallel universes. This life is trivial for them. What is behind the surface is what instigates them. These introverts are self-sufficient.To those whom decided to proceed with reading, be aware of hidden madness and deep confusion between the lines. Be aware that only believers can see within themselves. The biggest truths we do not speak, we feel them and we wrap them in shiny paper made of words. Words are like a sea shells; they cherish and hide the meanings made of your experience, longings and beliefs. I adore and despise the words in the same time. From the beginning the words had the meaning beyond, and for me they are like endless movements in my mind and in my soul. I dig worlds with words. Now I am hopelessly trying to understand the absence of words, trying to communicate without them, trying to enter the world where words does not have a meaning, only the echo.  I am longing to understand how to express all the meanings I learned until now without using the language. I need to enter one world which fascinates me; I want to break free and to understand wordless world of my daughter. In the same time, I am trying to keep my world made of words open for her. The words cannot be simplified due to existence of layers added through someones experience. We are constantly adding the meanings to the words, we fill them with ourselves. First, we learn words with our mind, second, we experience the meaning of words and only then we can claim we understand. So, I decided to maintain writing on English, which is not my mother language. I am trying to break a language barrier in terms of understanding. I have to find a way to approach to my dearest person in entire universe; she does not care for words, she only feels what is beyond them, while I am feeling through the words. I remain incapable to express my feelings in the way she finds to be understandable. She lives in her bubble called Autism Spectrum Disorder and this is the beginning of the long term journey.