finished symphony

Remember the first day we met? That old building which in theory was called “school” … Communist cracked walls and gray … That building, which hides many secrets of students who passed by. And our class with tables and chairs arranged in line, just like a concentration camp… Who cares about all this? Was the first day of school and everyone was impatient to know new people, new knowledge, new information …

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I arrived the last one … running of course (with apologies – Traffic jam) ..with the disheveled hair in at least in  5 directions, black pants and blue shirt (to contrast with the green of the eye) and gray coat that almost sweep the floor. But it was something you did not expect, a perfume that smelled like all the seasons together, a fragrance that  made ​​you almost to forget why you were there …. You were at the window, talking stupid things about summer that just ended .. and when I entered, total silence, all eyes fixed on me … I felt like a moron. I never understood why people do not have the ability to be discreet, why they  look  at you so strongly, why should  strip you with the eyes … to make you feel horrible. That is why!

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here we have “the director’s cut” .. insignificant part about  “what’s your name, how old are you, where you work, do you work, who you are and how dare you look so elegant … or why you want to become a social worker? (because I know what it means to have not, that is so! because only by giving you will receive more than you already have, because .. because I only want to be better than myself …)

I love you

And winter came … I was sad that everyone felt horrible because of the cold and they were “crying” all  for the summer and unbearable heat. I was the only one just happy for the winter… Winter … wow, snow,  feels like your fingers are  frozen on the cigarette … the silence that sits in town when it snows with big and fluffy snowflakes, the sound of the boots in the snow,  that particular creak… our bar where we all gathered, on the evening time to tell sterile stuff about that day, you know … soap opera …. a little bit of drama …

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And you, despite the fact that you love summer,  trying to accept the winter and to look happy just because it was the only chance to sit next to me. Invent stories about winter, to make me dizzy. (I knew, but it seemed funny and  I’ve allowed to continue in your hypocrisy, just because I was curious how you’ll keep and how much imagination you have, not much, but enough to dizzy silly girl from the countryside) .

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I was trying to explain you how are the things with the integration in absolute space, and how the concrete physical approaches causes me a kind of orgasm, haha, and you profited from my brain to prove to others that we are two hippies enlightened …we are high but smart.. “peace my friend”… You thought you were in the studio of Kandinsky, you unique and unrivaled, code name: Duracell, long life filled with lies, and have invented many stories that one day I could not hear them anymore. I was trying to get you on waterline. But it was practically impossible. You were as a cold autumn rain that enters your skin makes you sad and melancholic and depressive … It was useless to try to give you from my warmness , you have not understood it, you know, when it’s cold,the body heat is more obvious (as when you light a candle in the darkness, the darkness is of course more obvious). You were happy with your trophy and not really interested that winter is almost over, and soon spring will try to melt all the beauty around us. Winter was almost over and I felt at that time as a dead woman alive. I was tired, I felt like a garment that will soon be thrown in the closet until next winter and no one will see me. I was sad and malformed, and your love that seemed so alive, now was looking like a field of flowers surrounded by barbed wire … and your caresses was hurting me .. I was  just trying to do a step up …until tomorrow. Tired to wait, to imagine, to call you, banish you, to dream about you. I was hiding in the night inside me, I wanted to run away somewhere where the tide is kissing the sand , to step on the path the fool moon is making on the water. After all, you did not understood anything, and I´ve let you to be yourself, eternal summer, suffocating heat that lasts a few weeks … nothing more. Not everyone can be a exquisite actor. And to be a good player first you must be amateur. I understood that we do not have to go through this stage and you’ll always be an amateur inventing stories about love supreme (which, in your mind actually does not exist).

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I was with my winter … someway, somehow there’s winter all the time … I understood that life is what you live, but what remains to tell.

School is over since long time ago, the building is locked (no one wants to become a social worker, everyone wants to be a banker) .. but the same horrible gray walls … probably when autumn comes, another summer will try to trick winter …

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(All photos on this post are copyrighted material and all rights are reserved Margò Wiessman)

 

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