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[le-corbeau-doux]

Pierced

It is hard to describe something that is external, yet part of you as a whole. It is hard to describe something that you were sure you would never attain, yet it is now standing in front of you. It is hard to describe something that makes you question every deeply embedded, most probably harmful thought in your head, yet reaffirms the ones that are most valuable. 

But I will try. 

Having been a child who was left to his own devices, I grew to become relatively strong. However, I never let myself embrace the illusion of being complete. I knew that I would keep growing, forming, breaking and rebuilding. I knew that my perception of the world, no matter how rigid and sure I am of it in the moment, would inevitably shift. Maybe in a year, a month or a week. Maybe every year, month or week. Or perhaps within just one second, just as it happened in this story I am about to tell. 

A sandstone building, a tenement flat within one of the nicer areas of Glasgow. A dimly lit room, its walls riddled with inspirational quotes that are barely legible in the lighting. A symphony of racing hearts and turning stomachs. Two bodies entangled within an extraordinarly soft and white duvet that belongs to neither of these people. The temperature of the room is absolutely fine, yet every breath taken sounds shaky. Words that can change and ruin lives are on the tip of the tongue. It took one second to feel like the world turned on its head upon these words being muttered.

So then how do I proceed? Long years of being held up by the support of an extraordinary group of people, yet ultimately only relying on myself not to fall. How do I proceed upon learning that my walls have been stripped away unbeknownst to me? 

A wall crumbles under the gaze of a pair of green eyes. A pair of gems that reflect the endless beauty stretching far and wide within the soul of their bearer. Another wall topples upon this man patching up wounds of a lifetime so effortlessly. Making me feel as if there is nothing up my sleeve that could stop him from caring for me. The next barricade turns into dust upon realising that I wear no masks, I put on no acts and I engage in no deception - be it positive or negative - when I feel his presence. 

Having a battered heart sieged in such manner can indeed be terrifying. But these walls did not crumble and fall loudly. They were turned into paper, peeled away ever so gently until I was exposed once more, vulnerable and at the mercy of someone I struggle to find an imperfection in. Except this time, for the first time, there was no hurt. 

It is hard to describe someone who radiates a personality that most people in the world only read about in books, yet here he is. It is hard to describe someone who feels real and tangible yet touches your soul in the highest form of abstraction too. It is hard to describe someone who is the pearl of the world’s oyster, yet refuses to see his own invaluable worth.

I am healing. 

[le-corbeau-doux]

A long breath out

I have been refraining from pouring all of this into letters. It has been boiling in me for weeks and my usual belief of being able to handle it seems to have failed me. I take all the pride in my introspection but now it seems to have been a broken tool. 

But here I am confronting all of it. I have finally decided to act upon wanting to let go. Because that has been a desire gripping my neck and clawing at my stomach every hour of every day for the past weeks. I did want to let go. I do want to let go. It strikes me differently this time though, I did not feel like I was making progress.

Tonight I am saying goodbye to you Sergio. I have said goodbye to you multiple times, but this time I have to say goodbye to something that hurts me a lot more than you ever could have hurt me; the thought of you.

I have realised that this wild infatuation that has been poisoning my weeks, my mental health, my thoughts, has only been directed at the picture that I have made up of you. This wound festers. This image gets distorted in a way that I sabotage myself with illusions and delusions that take the form of you within my mind. 

You, the gem that confronted me almost immediately when I arrived in this alien city. I had not known many people and despite all the excitements, I was scared. But you did ask me out on a date and I was genuinely looking forward to it. You are beautiful. You bear the resemblance of the ideal partner that I had been picturing whenever a friend asked me with a devilish smile on their face: “So what kind of guys do you like?” I grin a little bit when I imagine your hair falling over your forehead. I get a bittersweet taste in my minds when I imagine you laugh at something that I say; your smile is astonishing. In my head, you were the boy from Spain, the beautiful, exotic little town of Santo Domingo. The boy with three degrees in biotechnology on his way to create ground-shaking innovations for this world. Someone who asked me to give him massages because that is the kind of boyfriend he was looking for. A person, tall enough for my unreasonable expectations, someone strong enough to make my heart beat in that weird pattern when they embrace me; legs crossed over each other, all four of them in your bed. Unfortunately, I imagined what an amazing couple we could make. I was interested in the paintings you had made, in the rants that you gave me about your managers being annoying in your store. I wanted to show you Budapest and I wanted you to show me Bilbao, Faro, Lisbon. I get butterflies just from seeing that mysterious profile picture you have on the one platform I could reach out to you.

Because in the end, only I reached out to you.

In reality, you are everything that I had just listed - yet nothing like it. Because there had been a malicious filter in my mind. I only let these things take root in my brain instead of looking at the whole picture. But that is me; the hopeless romantic cutting off his friends trying to take care of himself while writing a giant monologue about his pain, in his bed, with fairy lights on around him. Pathetic? Absolutely not; vulnerable and real? Yes.

Truly, you are a man who is 7 years older than me, yet unable to figure out his emotional landscape. Somebody, who could remain completely rigid in spite of all my rhetorics being put to use to convey the feelings and aspirations that were swirling and raging around within me. Somebody, who can only text back with three words out of which one is usually “Hah”, A person that does not actually have as much chemistry with me as I usually thought; not once did you care about my stories or show a glimpse of curiosity towards a world that was in me; a world I was ready to open up and show you whenever you would have wanted. Your sense of style is lacking, you live within a bubble of your routines and ideals, you pretend to embark on life with the mindset of ‘carpe diem’ but all you do is desperately try to figure out how to trigger the wanderlust that you otherwise only fake. You do not know what city you want to live in within the next month and you completely failed to successfully pass the bureaucratic battle of applying to a university; despite having three degrees already. (Not as helpful as we thought, huh) You were fine with being the only one who had an orgasm. You were fine with leaving me on one side of the bed and rolling over to the other. You were fine with throwing breadcrumbs at me and then expecting me to float within this fake limbo that you had created for your own comfort within the chaos in your mind that was birthed by your inability to figure yourself out. You ignore a picture of me now that would have made you send me the drooling emojis weeks ago. You text me when you are drunk that you are in the same club as I am then proceed to treat me like a stranger for the rest of the night. 

You do not appreciate me. That is your mistake, Sergio. There are only so many people out there who will appreciate you in a way I was ready to do so. 

And this is fine.

It is time for me to realise that I am surrounded with a multitude of people whose loving embraces envelope me even when there are 7 borders stretching between us. It is time for me to realise that you do not deserve to have this much space in my head. All these people around me make me realise that I am my own, whole person whom I have started to appreciate more than I will have ever appreaciated you. I do not care about any thoughts that start with a “What if” anymore. This is over, you have walked out the door, but it is me who will turn the key and then throw it away. I will only get better and better at being me and  just you watch where I will be at the age that you have already attained.

Just you watch me, Sergio. The raven’s claws leave their mark. Whether you admit it or not. 

This time it is goodbye for good, because I am now stripping all the power from your fake image that was created in my head.

It flies free. And should its flight stagger occasionally because of the winds you still send in its way, it will not stop getting farther and farther away from you. Little by little. 

It flies free.

Goodbye, Sergio

[le-corbeau-doux]

Thank the heavens

Ogur’s bones felt like icicles trapped within frozen flesh. He had already gotten used to constantly shivering while sitting on the barely stable tree stump in the blizzard. His back muscles were tense, grasping onto his spine ever so tightly to keep his posture rigid and stable against the bites of frosty winds and occasional stings of the snowflakes. He looked at his friend, Oleg and with a look that they had exchanged, everything was understood. “I’d kill for the mighty rays of a desert sun, ‘tis I tell you…” Ogur hissed through the winds, forcing the shaky words out of his mouth through his gritted teeth. “You’d wish for a goddamn ice storm if the sizzling desert’s sands were biting at your soft ass skin, and ye know that!” Oleg didn’t even look at him as he spoke. His words made Ogur snicker. But then ultimately, he smiled and lifted his face at the swarm of treacherous, wild, frozen drops of water. “ 'Tis good now, Oleg. Thank the fucking heavens for saving me from the scorpion’s sting that could’ve 'appened while traversing the endless dunes.” Ogur laid down into the snow and tried to guess how many hours it would take for the blizzard to completely envelope him in the suffocating, white blanket. “I’m one lucky bastard, isn’t that right?” He asked. Maybe from himself, maybe from the entity in the sky, who he thought the storm had been sent by, or maybe from Oleg. The latter did not reply anymore. Thank the heavens, his prayers did not go unanswered! He froze to death only in a matter of minutes, right after when his friend had become one with the temperature as well. We all wish to be as lucky as them.

[le-corbeau-doux]

You are me

So the door is open, as are you. Your person is susceptible to any event happening on the outside now. This event, that fast approaches, is an inevitable rush of liquid that is of a color so dark that you can not tell whether it is purple or black. Somewhere inbetween. It rushes inside the open door, and now you are supposed to determine whether it will advance deeper inside of you. Could you stop it just outside the door? Of course not, it is already inside, spreading and splashing around the first room available. It swirls around while you work on your inner debate, until it becomes ever so still. You know it is something terrible, even if it is seems docile for the moment. Its dark surface functioning as a crystal clear mirror in your mind now. You can see your reflection only if you get close enough to the liquid to smell the stench of terror and pointless agony. Funny enough, that smell is all too familiar and sickeningly sweet. So could you stop it within this first room of your mind? Of course not, your debate has subsided and you have inevitably decided to let it flow deeper inside of you, filling every innocent crevice in your brain until you feel like your veins are about to pop with your newly lilac blood. You are very conscious in spite of your stomach cramp, in spite of your field of vision (inside and outside) narrowing down, in spite of desperately trying to find an inch of your body that had not been tainted yet. You know that accepting this liquid's dominance was completely optional yet you feel like it was a decision of a mind outside of yours. Yet yours. Should you just lay there and wait it out? Could you just wait it out, paralyzed and clinging onto hope that seems to be all too slippery because of the black (purple?) substance that covers it. Could you? Of course not, this one doesn't flow anywhere anymore. It will be a part of you, it will build into you, just so the stench wouldn't be as unbearable the next time your face is about to touch pain. But it will be unbearable, won't it? Of course. It only doesn't hurt when you are temporarily your own color again. But getting used to it only makes you take up more of it. Yeah the liquid doesn't hurt anymore, you're not scared when you stand at the door again, awaiting the tidal wave to flush you inside. But the next time you look into the mirror, you're not sure whether you're purple or not.  Were you ever purple? Of course not. Are you now? Of course.

[le-corbeau-doux]

Welcome Post

Thanks for stopping by, whatever your reason is. Let’s pretend that I’m not speculating on these reasons as I’m typing it. It’s also funny how I imagine specific people reading this as I type. Maybe that’s you.

Either way, I have created this blog to exist as my safeplace because nowadays I often catch myself wanting to vent a little bit. I have always found comfort in writing and this would suffice greatly as my little sanctuary. You’re welcome to tag along obviously, but I wouldn’t draw conclusions about me solely based on the things you read here. If there is something that confuses you or you would be interested in elaboration, just hit me up.

I’m mostly going to write for myself though so if one day there would be an international audience present here, I would just like to clarify the fact that I might sometimes post in Hungarian. Some stuff roll better off the tongue in different languages. So once again, I’m probably not going to be able to please people with the texts and occasional pictures found here, but that was never my goal. However, if anyone was ever interested in the most secluded crevices of my mind, have fun around here. 

Everything is open to interpretation