Ovaj textic je napisan u rujnu, prije nego sto se ijedna moja ljubavna zelja ostvarila... da malo bolje shvatim samu sebe...
I still have the strenght for our next encouter. Though your nearness makes me nervous, and your words melt me, I still have the strenght to act. I'll put on my mask and my silk white robe, and pretend. I'll spend my eternity in pretending, that I am not forever changed by your presence, that I have not been destroyed a thousand times by you already.
And everytime you hold me close, I disappear from the face of the Earth. And every pain I might be feeling, suddenly becomes meaningless.
You stand there, proud and foolish, so you can't ever see me in the vague mist in front of you...
Sometimes I feel as if you feel the same way, but I'm still afraid that these doubts are true solely in my mind. She hasn't been my favorite home lately either. I fear she's been going off more and more often to some meetings with this heart of mine, where they negotiate the weight of my love. I fear they've conspired against me, I believe they are soon to betray me.
You know... I run into my reason from time to time. I rarely bump into him in the grey, cold streets and nod my head towards him, as if I knew him. Still, it's been too long since we've heard from each other. I actually believe he might be jelaous. After all, I could always sense a certain tension between him and my emotions.
I am left alone again, like a shiverring soldier. Always prepared for war, I wage battles every coming second. For no battle is quite as tragic, nor as painful as the one man fights against himself. I've forgotten how to fight you a long time ago anyway. All I can really do is break into pieces. Like a house ornament hanging on a porch, like a sweet, feathery dreamcatcher, I am swung by the wind, and I am played by the sounds of his choice. Not mine. All I own is weakness.
To what do I come back to then? You. Always and only You. Don't ask me to explain myself, for that is something I am worst at.
Even now I know, I am not afraid of you, but myself. You are all, and my phobias don't belong to you. I shall give them to some else, to Him. I'll wrap them up in beautifully made, glossy paper and give them to Him as a false-pretend present. Maybe he decides to keep them. You know... He's very different from You. Things are so easy with him. Even the air is not as heavy... Still, how can I, when he holds me so tight, know that those are your hands wrapped around me? Why am I only capable of seeing your fingers running through my hair? You confuse me. Again.
We will meet soon. I know it. We'll see each other and laugh about life together. But what you won't know, is that I'll be weeping inside my heart. Don't worry, I'll do everything to make sure you don't see it within me. I'll even tell a lie to you. And for the most part, I can't lie to you. Just this one more time, just one more staged play for me to perform. Just one more time, so I can pretend. You could pretend with me. We could dance to the moon and put on our masks just one more time.
But don't hate me. After all, it's just love, nothing more. I know no
other way.