Moonlight sonata

The moon looked like melted mozzarella to my bleary and blurry vision.
Was I tired, intoxicated, or in love? Or was I sober, asleep, and alone?
― Jarod Kintz

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Moonlight Sonata

Again, his name scars the emeralds of the twilight,
relentlessly trimming the sunny crown of the mountains
and it doesn’t stop, sneaking, boisterously,
until the last blush on the sky grows dim.

I want to dig dauntlessly into the echo of crying eagles,
to rescue the moon and her colors toning down,
dying, she breathes, charging one final whisper,
Run! Run before you drown in his misty heart!

And how can I resist such music,
a cascade of honey and violins in love with
the black and white shadows of an inconsolable piano?
How can I tune out the metallic kiss of strings?

When the fire in his touch comes and crashes me
with a thousand vows, sinfully, beautifully broken rules
that walk in a gown of raindrops and rainbows, and
sweet drafts of spellbound glow. How?

I lost my name in the pungent licks of winds, once,
I gave up the scent of wild flowers, the art to smile,
and now, squeezing leftovers of intimacy and moonlight, I wish
I could bring back the sonata of his faraway love in my eyes.

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Inspired by Moonlight Sonata– E.S. Posthumus


Moonlight by Petr Kratochvil on


© 2012  Broken Sparkles


I broke all the rules for you …

“All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am…

But these stories don’t mean anything when you have no one to tell them to…”

Brandi Carlile

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♡ The Tale Of My Heart ♡



Neeraj Kumar

Cynthia Ann Katon-Alfonso


David Eric Cummins

J. E. Lattimer


for the awards you honored my blog with!

I usually don’t do award posts on Broken Sparkles, but I’ve been showered with appreciation and love, and I couldn’t leave the gesture without expressing my gratitude, so here, “I broke all the rules for you”. All of these award nominations say I should share a few things about myself … it has always been awkward to talk about myself, but …

I love white roses, red candles, airplanes and blue colors

I want to live in a place where summer lasts forever

I dislike wrinkled bed sheets and people who don’t know what they want

I wish I had the passion to write poetry like Pablo Neruda

I collect post cards, a post card from a place I haven’t been to can make me smile for days, weeks

I wish I had a job that will keep me in different countries every month

The best time I ever had was on my first trip to Egypt

I love standing on the metro platform when the trains from both directions leave at the same time

The only man that ever loved me honestly, never heard me saying “I love you”

The rest about me, you can read between the lines of my posts

These awards mean so much to me, thank you all for being my blogging friends, “no story means anything if there is no one to share it with”! As for who I’d like to nominate … everyone who stops by here deserves an award, consider yourself gifted with “The most sparkling award”, “you all make me feel like a million bucks”!

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“Breaking the rules” by Blaga Todorova


© 2012  Broken Sparkles


If all questions find their answers …

“We are earnest to explore and learn all things, but we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable …”

― Henry David Thoreau

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The minute he told me he loves girls with short skirts, I knew, no matter how sweet my face is or how smart I am, he will never see me the way I want him to. Not that I can’t wear a short skirt, I probably can, but I think long skirts are much more alluring. Call me old-fashioned, but a woman doesn’t need to have all her skin out to look appealing. The shape of the body wrapped in a long, white summer dress, brushing the molecules of the sand under the sun and the reflections of palm trees in the sea, making a man wondering, somehow, makes much more sense to me.

Nevertheless, I had my moment of doubt and anxiety after the discovery, but I am still talking to him. Maybe because he challenges my mind in a way no one had for a long time; maybe because the smile on his face is like a soothing touch over my broken sparkles or maybe, I simply am not ready to let go of the muse I found in him.

He doesn’t say much, but then no real man usually does, just enough to answer my questions and to satisfy to a certain level my thirst; but he always leaves a door open for another question, for another message, for another conversation and this is enough to know he likes talking to me. I haven’t figured out why yet, but I think I don’t want to. All want is to know him better. Questions are bruising the surface on my lips and my fingertips are dying to flood the screen with words and get rid off of all the thoughts inside my confused head.

I want to know about his dreams and the colors of his heart, what makes him happy, angry, sad, blind with love; does he think of the moonlight, how he finds the words for his stories? I want to see him walking, talking to other people, other women, sleeping, having a shower or just a coffee in the morning before he drives to work. I want to ask him a million questions and I want him to ask me a million questions back … but I’m afraid that I will scare him if he finds how much I want. Or worse, he will give me what I want, he will flood back the screen with answers and will solve all the little mysteries occupying my brain right now.

And what if all questions find their answers, what if I end up alone, again, without a daydream to provoke my senses and keep me breathing? What if, with every answer, I see how ordinary a human he is and there is nothing sparkling in his short e-mails, nothing so sweet and dramatic in two people sharing the same sky across the oceans, through the plasma world of bits and bytes?

The Killers are singing their story about runaways, innocent souls catching the last glimpse of the summer wind and I am re-reading his last message, trying to find a meaning between the lines that doesn’t exist. And I know, I won’t ask him a question today, I won’t reveal how weak my heart is, not today! Today will forever remain mysterious and unexplainable, no question will find its answer, no illusion will be added to the pile of broken sparkles…


Image by RedSheep Photography


© 2012  Broken Sparkles