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Dor... de moarte

  "-Am crezut ca nu mai vrei sa vii! ii spuse ea cu voce tremuranda si cu mainile unite la piept.
    El nu raspunse, isi lasa geaca in cuier si se descalta de pantofi.
   -Ti-am facut de mancare in caz ca nu ai mancat in oras... iti pun in farfurie?
   El se opri sa aprinda lumina si privi gol spre holul ce ducea in dormitor, ofta si se indrepta spre bucatarie.
  -Inca esti suparat pe mine? Stii ca nu am nici o vina si ca as da timpul inapoi, lasa-ma sa iti pun sa mananci! se opri in fata lui dar el trecu prin ea.
  Pe masa din bucatarie e poza lor, poza de la nunta, de acum 10 ani, iar in spatele ei e un vas in care sta cenusa ei."

                                                                  Dor Amar - 2014


  1. Dragostea eterna. E un sentiment puternic dar n.o lasa sa.ti fure viata.


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The last light

The last thing she said to him was a name, a name for the light.
She vanished into the darkness, leaving him alone in the last gasp of light.
There is no air in the other side, no time and no memory.
How can you search for yourself when you don't have a taste of your own irony!?

The presence he once felt was lost in the place of no name.
Where the light has no game.
No storm to clean up after he is gone.
Where the tears are for no one.


"As I am shaking under the idea of you loving me still, after all this time that we have been away from each other, I am trying to light up my cigarette and forget about you, like I did so many times.
I try to keep all the emotions away, but they are deep into my existence, in my blood, in my dreams and they define me as I am. My shadow of a person, small and unfulfilled, in pain and lost!"


It was dark and warm, not the feeling I once had, not the comfort I once imagined. It was more real than the books I read and praised, more in the moment that the moment itself. I was scared as I always was, but this time a part of me was brave and lived for that split of a second, for that moment of closing my eyes and letting him kiss me under the falling snowflakes.
    I knew then as I know now how wrong it was for me to do that, but it seemed like my imagination was something I could touch, and I had him.
   Looking back at that moment seems like looking in a book, reading a story about a girl that loved a boy that existed in her head, but the boy was real. The boy still exists, but the boy is different from what she thinks he is.
   Is it selfish to look at a person like that? Taking only the parts that you want a person to be?

Dor Amar 2014