Dear Juliet ...

So I guess the fact that I am sending you these words,  tells you, that I do think about love. I think about it a lot, too often maybe, but what can I do ... Love is my muse and I do not want to imagine my life without this warm feeling inside. Feeling that makes me feel so alive. I have loved and have been loved so many times in my life that I really should not fuss about it. Actually, my life has always been fulfilled with LOVE. So I guess I got used to it. Maybe I even developed an addiction. Am I a love-addict?

Dear J, let's get to the point. As you have probably already assumed,  my midnight thoughts about love are actually about... Partnership love! Soulmates. Twin-flames. You name it. Oh Juliet, all great love stories do not end like yours did, do they? Because if they do, I am in a huge dilemma. No one wants for  their flames to die in agony to fulfill the absolute feeling of unconditional love! What would you do if Romeo was still alive? What if you would discover, he was not that special after all? Would you still stick with your decision and still see him as your hero? Would the magic be gone? Would Shakespeare have to write a sequel and call it 'Another one went down'? I guess we will never know.

You are probably waiting for my question, since that is what women visiting your wall in Verona usually do. Well, I do not think I have a question for you. Not the one I would not have yet the answer myself. Love should be simple. It should be a moment of magic and everything that follows that moment should just prove, that we have been right from the start. Right? So why do we fight for it constantly? Why do we stumble and fall, cry and pick the pieces every time something does not go our way? Maybe because we are not just characters from a book ... Our destinies are not in writers hands. We write our own stories. Does that mean we love to suffer from time to time, adding some extra drama to the timeline of our life that should simply be about enjoying the moments?

You are lucky Juliet. You are not fighting against the walls people build around themselves. Right the opposite! You use the wall, that beautiful piece of architecture in Verona, to make people open up to you. Pour their hearts out and stuck their stories on the wall of love. It is kind of funny, now that I thought of it. We are ready to pin our hearts to the wall, but we are often not able to climb the walls of the ones we love. Maybe we should not try to climb it. Maybe we should just open up, make a daring step, spill our colorful hearts on other person's wall and make it beautiful with it. Like people with their love letters do to your wall in Verona ...

That is exactly, what I will do dear Juliet. I will paint the walls of the ones I love and care about. Who knows, maybe that way they will not be ashamed of their walls anymore and will proudly show it to the world. It is worth the try.

Thank you Lady J! I am sticking this letter between the 3rd and 4th stone in the 5th line from the bench. I hope you will find it one day and write me back. Because it is never too late for love. Right? Right.

Sincerely,

your Shia <3

p.s. Inspired by movie Letters to Juliet. Thank you Hollywood.

The Day I Lost My Yesterday Because Of My Tomorrow

I was clinging onto my yesterday for a long time. I was hanging from the edge on my hands only,  till my nails start to bleed. Drops of blood were falling towards my heart, that was beating in a sad rhytm of lost moments. The second the drops reached the very center of my heart, they turned into tears of happiness. Salty and sweet at the same time. 

The today's beating of the heart suddenly started to say goodbye to all of the yesterday's heartbeats. It hugged them, kissed their warm cheeks and wished them all the best. Heartbeats waved goodbye and started their journey towards another heart in need. They will keep yesterday's heart in the nicest memory possible and look back at it with a smile on their faces.

Today is the day I lost my Yesterday Because of my Tomorrow. But the Love stayed with me. And it always will...

Ne morem ...

... sedeti pri miru.

Ne morem poslušati svojega dihanja. Ne prenesem pogleda na nebo.

Ne morem sedeti pri miru ...

Ne morem se spoprijateljiti z rutino. Nočem postati kot Oni. Ne prenesem spominov ...

Ne morem sedeti pri miru.

Ne morem zapreti oči. Nočem vedeti vsega. Ne prenesem razdalje med ljudmi ...

Ne morem sedeti pri miru.

Grem.

BEBA

Ko ima človek po dolgem času preveč časa, začne razmišljat. Ponavadi se mu po glavi sprehaja mali milijon neumnosti, dvomov in vprašanj glede stvari, ki so že zdavnej passe, ad acta, finito ali kakorkoli že hočete. Ponavadi.

Jaz rada razmišljam o preteklosti. Ne vedno. Le takrat, ko dobim občutek, da sem neko stvar že videla, doživela, občutila in prebolela. Takrat začutim ob sebi ljudi, ki jih nikoli nisem poznala. Največkrat je to moja babica po očetovi strani, Beba. Izjemna kreativka, ena prvih slovenskih modistk, tako talentirana, a hkrati nesrečna... Ne vem, zakaj se vrtim okoli nje. Prebiram njene spominske knjige, z nežnostjo si ogledujem njene stare molitvenike, z žarom v očeh si natikam njene čipkaste rokavice previdno, da ne bi moji nerodni prsti naredili luknjo v preparel material.

Božena Tuječ, piše na prvi strani potnega lista. Papir diši po starem. Švica, Nemčija, Češka, očitno je tudi njo nekaj vleklo v tujino...

Bila je svetovljanka. "Izredno lepa in markantna", jo je opisal legenda med slovenskimi fotografi Stane Jerko, ko sva sedela na kavi sredi Ljubljane in občudovala njene slike, ki so nastale malce po rojstvu mojega očeta. "Poleg portretov družine, sem slikal tudi kar nekaj njenih klobukov. Imela je prefinjen občutek za stil in pri njej je pokrivala kupovalo kar nekaj ljubljanskih gospodičen." Božena ali Beba, kot so jo klicali ljubkovalno je delala klobuke. Ne kakršnekoli, temveč klobuke, ki jih je nosila celo sama princesa Margareta in prva dama tedanje Jugoslavije Jovanka Broz... Še vedno nekaj modelov čaka v kleti, skrbno spravljenih v škatle na priložnost, ko jih bo nekdo primerno ovekovečil ... Vključno z rokavičkami ... same čipke. Imela je tako drobne roke, a zato toliko večje prsi (nekaj pa le imam po njej :-)) ...

Ko sem pred dvema letoma iz gole radovednosti brskala po stari skrinji sem našla dolg čop iz pravih las. Izkazalo se je, da je ko je bila nekje mojih let, nosila umetni čop. In da je bila stvar še bolj strašljiva, je bil čop iste barve kot moji lasje ... Ko si ga danes včasih nadenem se spremenim v drugo osebo. V drugem času.

Večkrat razmišljam, kako lahko pogrešaš nekoga, ki ga nisi niti poznal? Jakob, eden tistih, ki razume te moje ekscentrične izpade in ne zažene panike, ko prekinem pogovor in se zaderem: "Deja Vu! To sem sanjala, v tej situaciji, natanko isti sem že bila in vedela sem, kaj boš odgovoril!" je verjetno še najbolje razložil, kako se počutim, ko razmišljam o Bebi. Žal mi je, da nisem bila del njene zgodbe. Da nisem imela priložnosti preživeti časa z njo. Da ji nisem mogla zaupati svojih načrtov in da mi ni mogla reči, da se ji zdi, da me razume in da se je ona nekoč počutila isto.

Beba je bila edinstvena a menda precej nesrečna ženska. Večkrat slišim, da ni bila ustvarjena za tisti čas in da preprosto ni mogla biti srečna ... Zaradi kontinuiranega nespametnega ravnanja s svojim telesom in utapljanjem žalosti v različnih substancah, je stara komaj 52 let, umrla v drugem nadstropju Gastro klinike v Ljubljani. Ko je pred dvema tednoma moj oči ležal v isti stavbi le nadstropje nižje ... Sem doživela deja vu. Deja vu, ki se nikoli ni zgodil, deja vu, ki je prišel kot opozorilo, da je čas za spremembo.

Še vedno mi v ušesih odzvanja stavek Bebine prijateljice iz mladosti, dubravniške gospe Enje, ki je medtem nažalost že pokojna... Nekega večera je na terasi hiše, ki je stala ob naši vili na Krku, medtem ko sva s sestro, obe še mlečnozobnici, mlatili domače piškote in mencali ker naju je zaradi žab vse srbelo, počasi in z žalostjo v glasu rekla: " Ko bi le bila vajina babica še živa... Oboževala bi vaju. Vedno je govorila, kako si želi vnukinj. Bili bi najlepše oblečeni punčki daleč naokoli ... "

We're fine ... Beba pa tudi verjetno. Upam da je, tam kjer je, srečna ...