In fashion

It was cold this weekend, a real winter that I so dislike. I didn’t want to go out and I didn’t want to stay alone either. I called the girls to come for a sleepover. That’s always nice – four of us together. In the morning we had coffee, I think my kitchen table likes the sight of us, holding each a cup with rainbow roses. Half asleep, half awake we were just having a silly conversation until one of us said:
–” Do you know girls, there’s something on the market called LOVE, they say it’s new in fashion, it’s kind of expensive and they don’t have it in stock in all shops, but if you find it and it’s good quality then you know you’ve got the best buy ever!”
–“What is it? What do you do with it?”- asked the other one.
–“Well, I don’t really know, I’ve never seen one, but from what I’ve heard it makes you feel great once you have it.”

And then someone’s phone rang and the conversation about the new item in fashion ended there. But after they left I thought: ” Love, love, love why does it sound so familiar?”. Maybe I had it somewhere at home and I just didn’t know about it? Maybe I bought it and I forgot about it? I went to the bedroom and looked around, nothing there was like something called LOVE. What if I had it in the cupboard with the clothes I rarely wear? No. Just a pile with shirts, pile with underwear and socks, no LOVE. It wasn’t hanging with the trousers and the jackets either.

I sat on the floor to check the blue box with special memories I keep under the bed and again nothing seemed like LOVE. Maybe after all I was wrong to think LOVE is something I know about. Silence and then …
“Oh, yes! The kitchen!”- I heard myself saying out loud. Maybe we store LOVE in the fridge, so it will be kept for a longer time, fresh and nice to be used? I ran to the kitchen and opened the door on the fridge. I looked on all shelves, but the only thing that really made me feel great was the yogurt with strawberries in it. Delicious the yogurt was, but … “If this is LOVE” – I said to myself – “Here would write LOVE, not yogurt”. So I left the half-eaten yogurt and disappointed went to the living room.

I saw the books and I remembered: “Yay, finally”- in some books there was the word LOVE. Here we go! This is it, it must be what they were talking about. But then how come LOVE which is meant for other people can make you feel great? LOVE in the books was for people who lived centuries ago, so again, not the right thing I was looking for. I sat on the couch ready to give up on the idea about LOVE and right in front of me few albums with pictures …
“Let me give it one last look” – I decided. Maybe LOVE is somewhere in there? Pictures of me, pictures with the family, pictures with friends, pictures with ex-boyfriends. Some woke up tenderness and care, some made me laugh, some made me miss people I haven’t seen in a long time and I didn’t feel really great, just sweet and joyful because of the memories.

All night I couldn’t sleep. LOVE was now an obsession and I spent the night thinking about which shop I will go to first thing in the morning. As soon as the time the shops to be open came, I left home. I was in and out of malls, beauty-centers, supermarkets … None had LOVE, none of them! Everywhere the same and the same answers: “Out of stock”, “We never had it”, “Out of stock”, “We never had it”. I was so tired and discouraged by the failure of all my attempts to find whatever LOVE was that I didn’t even notice how I ended up sitting on some rocks on the beach. I felt the cold air going under my jacket and touching my skin not so pleasantly. I could feel the tears trying to break out of my eyes, but I was so frustrated that I didn’t find what I was looking for that I said to myself: –“Blaga, don’t you dare cry! No tear drop will be wasted for something we don’t even know that exists!”

But tears sometimes don’t care about what you want or not, they just come and … And right then I felt a hand on my shoulder, I turned around and I saw a man, divine … –“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” – he asked. For some reason his voice, so soft, made me cry even more and all I could do was to fall in his arms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to move me away, he was just hugging me quietly, holding me tight. When I stopped crying he asked again what the problem was. I lifted my head and said: “There is this thing called LOVE, I’ve been looking for it all day and I still don’t have it and I don’t know why but it hurts.”

He smiled at me and his smile was saying “Silly you” and I felt great, more than great …
— What do you feel when you look at my eyes? – he asked.
— I feel like I’m loosing myself in a land full with flowers and sunshine is all over. – I answered.
— How do you feel now in my arms? – second question he asked.
— Protected, warm, wanting to never let go. – I heard myself saying.
— Put your hand on my chest and tell me what do you hear? – he ordered nicely.
— Your heart. I feel your heart beating like crazy.
— This is LOVE – he said. This is the LOVE you’ve been looking for, it’s inside of me and it’s all yours if that is what will make you happy!


Song mood – My hands- Leona Lewis


Image by Saber Hodson – Last Shadow Photography


© 2011  Broken Sparkles




He is 6’2″ tall, robust and hardy,
with muscles evenly distributed
on the vision of mortal essence.

His hair brown,
darker reddish shade of brown,
whirls of golden Autumn in October .

The eyes green,
ordinary, uneventfully green,
if it wasn’t for the glimpse of danger within.

His lips, Humphrey kissing Ingrid in Casablanca.
And the voice,deep, I needn’t to say,
the imprint akin to the glory of peacock’s tail.

His hands, rough,
the baseball bats swaying at NY Yankees ballpark,
didn’t spare the harm of elegance or howl charm.

The attitude,strong, disturbingly motionless, sedate.
Crusty exterior, so much to offer,
but not before you’ve pushed the right buttons.

The name- Christian, Adam or Damon, maybe!
Even Azazel is fine by me,
Satan’s addiction, Angel’s betrayal,

who the hell cares,
as long as I have him,
in a dreamless sleep next to me.


“Man at sleep” by Virginie Turpin / Youkha/ on

 © 2010  Broken Sparkles