So it starts with a girl. No, not the classic lovesick Juliette in her desperate longing but an artist, a poet, a loved one, a daughter, a good friend and an old soul. Every night she puts on her favorite beat and starts swinging her head, drastically from side to side in perfect balance with the movements of her body, to get rid of this dreadful headache. Trying to silent the sound of the blood pumping, pumping up to her brain carelessly screaming with all it has got LISTENLISTENLISTEN! She turns up the volume and starts jumping successfully, she's smiling now, she's barely breathing now. The oxygen is escaping her, trying to make some sense of this insane jumping. No oxygen wants to crawl into a tight brain with only denial inside. It's not something pretty, it's not something fun.

And there it is, her body get's really irritated by this selfish behavior and decides to fail her, completely, again. So she wakes up on the floor feeling week, dizzy. She blames the loud music, it's never loud enough. So she sits down in stillness. The room gives her precious silence and she can hear it. She can see it there, behind her shaking eyelid. The perfect sanity. Her own peaceful mind.

As the emotional tears starts running down her pale skin she welcomes the craziest of thoughts that has ever been thought buy a sane human brain; What do I have to do to go insane?

In all seriousness she lets the thought develop and grow bigger. The tears starts loosing emotion and decides to respect her need of stillness in this moment of realization. And this tiny moment turns into hours and then into steps and eventually into actions. Soon it has been weeks of acting on this very moment. She tried everything, from brainwashed religions to paranoia. Fully committed she tried to place it all in her head, replace what was already there. She craved it, wishes from the bottom of the heart. Erase my memories. But nothing would. It was always there. In God and in every emotional distress she possessed. Memories of the darkest colors, grief. After isolating herself from the world and ignoring the loving hands around her offering to help carry the burden, she gave up and stepped in. A few years of ignorance, they still welcomed her with open arms and said similar to what took you so long?

 

Conversation with mother.

• There's nothing like the smell of home and the feeling of Christmas spirit.

• It's nice to see you smile my dear.

• Mother? Why did you never teach me about the wonders of the heart and the way it breaks?. I would have been more prepared and spent less time looking for answers.

• Preparing children for heartaches? It would create a world of perfectionists, don't you think?People trying to control pain. Heartaches are suppose to set you out of balance and in wonder. Sometimes we need to lose ourselves only to find the way back again.

• Is there any love without heartaches?

• It's rare I guess, but what is a heart that has never been broken? It's like a person who has never seen the rain or poetry.

• I wish I could believe in the world the way you do, mother.

It ended with a smile and touch of hand. The heart has to break wide open sometimes so that new light can come in. Brighter and stronger, for lights of the soul needs to be kept fresh just like vegetables or milk products, only with a much longer aspiring date. Our light grows old, and when it does we need to replace it. Sometimes love breaks us open, sometimes boredom is asking for a change, and we listen or we welcome the dark days to linger above us. Her very first heartache.

 

I was once 20, walking the streets of Paris as if i was one with the city. As if we would never move from were we stood. Once I had lovely friends form all around the world who felt the same as me, who were so diefferent from me. I made them laugh and they made me think. I loved more than I ever had before Paris came along. I loved people, places, I loved this boy. He used to make my life bright and new. I wish I could see our relationship as a movie, cos there's so many moments I have forgotten already. It scares me to think what I will remember when I'm older. This paris boy showed me sides of myself I had never seen, I feel selfish when I think about him cos all I can hear myself think is that i want more. So much more than what I got of him. I want everything and I never want it to fade. How long will I be able to linger in the memories of my first love? In paris and all that came along? At this point I am forcing myself to be greatful, successfully pushing all these selfish thoughts out from my head. I know Paris is in my heart, in my soul, in my lungs, in my fingertips, in my steps, in my voice and it has to linger there forever.