THE Story - English version

[The translation I did from Romanian has no proof-reading, so don't expect too much:)]

Part I

Only by watching his trekking boots’ tops noisily touching the ice on the side-walk he was making himself aware of his own existence. His insight was completely locked into the moments when walking on the same street, towards the same destination, but with her. It has been one year and it passed as the Scottish wind: cold and fast. Under the icy layer he’d like to find the past imprints and to walk on them, so to discover the thrills and the joy. He assembles all the visual crumbs from this temporal belt. The left side store, the opening of the painting exhibition, the restaurant with the best pickles. And he finds himself sourly smiling because he couldn’t smile entirely.

He arrives at the gallery, inebriated with the voluptuousness of those days when her soul was warm and close. Pleased because of the event has started already and he could easily sneak through the crowd without her noticing his greatest joyful presence, he steps into a golden dream. Coming there decided to be detached and to keep himself rigid (he couldn’t say in which way, the purpose being just to pretend carelessness for what he felt), his eyes started to glow with the speed of light. Now he was foolishly smiling with his entire body as he caught a glimpse of her right when she started to talk about the book launched there. She was in the limelight, but everyone’s accumulated attention was smaller than the one he was paying to her, smaller that the attention she deserved in fact. All the buzzing noises cleared off, that continuous hustle and bustle stopped. It was only them two and the landscapes hung on the walls of the gallery: almost pieces of puzzles taken out of their dream world, where they would like to go together, where there are magnificent waterfalls, where is blue, green and silence. The reverie was cured when Ioana seized him. She was reproachfully looking, lifting one corner of the lips, but it was not the way she meant due to the instant kindness that invaded her spirit. She was jokingly making grimaces towards him, not carrying about any of those who were there, not even carrying about Alin. Still she came here with the latter, right? And he thinks he’s the masculine muse of the novel. But he did not have why to suspect George’s influence in Ioana’s writing.
After some other endless and purposeless speeches the formal part was finished. During this whole time, their visual corridor placed between shoulders, heads and tresses was constantly vanished. Now were following the autographs, the dedications and the talks between 4, 6, 8, 10 eyes with the ones that were hanging upon Ioana’s words even before she breathe them. Many of those people were completely ravished by the young novelist’s personality and they clearly saw in her the pulsating life from her script. They all wanted to break bits of her vital energy and to take them home in order to live their lives connected to this strength. She was not really delighted with this process, so decided to delay it a little bit and to let the readers analyzing more their cliches before they were ready to ask about the weather in Russia where the novel’s story line is happening. 

Part II. One and only

Ioana is moving towards the second-hand books store of the gallery where George, was viewing books’ titles, without any literary need. Even though waiting for her (like every day, since the world’s creation) as he felt her hand on the shoulder his entire body converted into a ball that could bounce through the highest and soundest ceiling. Besides this whole constriction it was her gaze. Never saw those eyes so turquoise, flowing out light, supremely glowed. The eyes were speaking for her; the words would have lost themselves in a cheap futility. George felt embraced solely by admiring her. The memory of this inner ball concerning the phrases said in the so-called conversation was completely lost. ”So-called” as nothing from what they were saying was retrieved in the communication beyond the complaisant talking. He did not understand the source of the immense satisfaction contained in her look. It was able to enlighten even the darkest shelf in the room and within the universe. It was almost saying: Take me with you in the non-world. Now. But she couldn’t pronounce that. The social, personal and any other kind of compromises banned her. He knew. He even knew that she was about to leave for the weekend with Alin and her/their friends. He wished he could understand it, but the only thing he could think of was: Fuck Alin and all those around them! Even though, that look was saying so so much. He even got the stupid idea that it is better to surprise her because it’s the only way she can’t plan her reactions, can’t practice another look, so he would easily discover. Stupidity. He cursed himself for this idiocy.
But still, why so many conventional issues? Why doesn’t she stop pleasing the others? She could cease the time 44 moments to think of the connection between them, the invisible, but invincible one. Which she constantly denies in front of him (while being aware of its strength) due to too many fears. Including the huge fear of loosing him once she would have had him 100%. Could not cope with that. On the other side, he is so confident that, once she belongs to him, there would not be any woman amongst the approximately 3 billions of others which could change his mind. For the first time in his life, he’s decided and aware of how it feels like fully determined within his existence filled with dilemmas. That’s for good, for the best, SHE is that ONE. But still, couldn’t Ioana’s fear evolve from a huge twisted love? She sees him so gorgeous, so compatible, enjoyable to love, so different compared to Alin which is dull and insipid. She likes to spend time with George even in silence. Nonetheless, their conversations are juicy at the highest degree, probably the highest. And she knows this would work out, but those dreads lead her to the conviction that it wouldn’t and then they also require her to persuade George. But anything she could say at the moment is irrelevant faced with their strong link.
She’s called by a hurried reader and returns. He indicates he’d leave. She asks him for a little more patience. He stays, unconvinced.
She just wants to feel him close through the only affordable thing amongst such people: she cuddles him with her whole spirit, with her whole existence disintegrated by hesitations and dissatisfactory decisions. Again, she’s delivering immensely and later asks if she could call tomorrow. Sure, call me every day, call me after I leave, call me anytime he would have said, but he just nodded weirdly. No idea why. Her defence makes him build some behavioural walls as well. Such nonsense, fuckme!
He leaves with a messy mind and mood. Did not have expectations, but what just happened seemed impossible. He incredibly missed her, all his senses missed her and now he left her slightly alone. Such a fool I am. He is aware that she’ll always be alone without him. And he can’t find the arguments to make her understand it in the end, in the uncertain (but so close to grab) happy-end. He strikes himself murmuring lyrics.
…I dare you to let me be your, your one and only,
Promise I'm worth it,
To hold in your arms,
So come on and give me a chance…

…You'll never know if you never try,
To forgive your past and simply be mine

He enters in the car and the CD is playing this:

I know it ain't easy giving up your heart...

Part III. Keep talking 

Please insert cash or select payment method. Please insert cash or select payment method: 2 kicks in the ass for the moony George. What was he doing there? What did he buy? Mushrooms and pasta? Maybe it occurred him to make that pasta Ioana loves. But he’ll eat them alone again. Not even Laurenţiu can help in filling his spare time. They are meeting rarely and shortly.
He can’t even notice how his feet are changing the direction towards the beach. He’ll bring the mushrooms to the seaside. Absurd. But he follows his body without useless denial. The people are running, talking, walking dogs, cycling. Only the sea goes on stirring, untroubled and cold. He can’t feel anything when looking at it. Didn’t smell like the sea he would want. The sun happily iridesces above the world, in a totally agreeable angle. It distorts the nuances and converts the atmosphere into an orange. George woke analysing intensively a character whose face was not visible due to the light. He went on until the guy passed and left him 100% convinced it was not Alin. Ah, it’s the fourth one today. It seems my continuous obsession drives me crazy. Why do I keep comparing myself with him? Why do I constantly „see” him?
His thoughts were floating, from smiles to cheerlessness. He remembers the last time he was conscious of the same magnificent angle made by sun, the perfect time to drive. Yes, he was driving and she was there. They got the joy from exchanging energy with each other. She wanted to break the silence, probably the joy as well: „Do you know that I’ll never forgive you for joining that reception, don’t you?”. He gazed back to the wild road, but not as a driving skill. He could have stayed with her 4 more seconds. Yes, Io, I do know. For me it would be difficult, but I could forgive you for everything. Not just for Alin, not just for your rejection, not only for the moments when you show a coldness you don’t belong to, but even for the fact that you never ever called me in any of your inspirational journeys. You could have taken me when you went to valleys, on mountain edges, on hills, through forests, on lost paths, in forgotten villages where you go in order to create writings, characters and happenings. Fearing not to destroy the art, I would not have breathed. I have no idea why I never came. I don’t think it would have been awkward to give him explanations. This thing would be the hardest to forgive, but I’d do it, my dearest dear. We do need forgiveness to live together and I do want that more than anything I have ever wanted before you.
Instead of this honest speech, he just mumbled „I know”, guilty as the one who knows he broke the rules of the game, but the rules were intuited, without someone ever making him aware of them. If he was now in the same position, he would say to her everything about the purposeless forgiveness, if...
˝Why won't you talk to me? You never talk to me˝... ˝I'm feeling weak now, but I can't show my weakness˝ ... ˝You never talk to me˝...˝I feel like I'm drowning˝... ˝Why won't you talk to me?˝

˝It doesn't have to be like this
All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.˝
Keep talking to me, Io! This keeps me alive. I can breathe when I talk to you. I know you too...

Part IV. It's gotta be you

People and places from another era were arrogantly starring at them: on the wooden walls some pictures with the town from the 30’s were virtually breathing. They would have said something about the important things in life, as if the people back then were actually aware that the civilization will make humans loose themselves into irrelevance. Ioana is in this pub she often goes with some common friends of hers and of Alin. In fact, they’re her comrades which later became acquaintances of him. Shut with a coffee in front, she sees through the cup, through the plate, through the table, through the floor, though the ground. She sees George, his face lit by this devilish smile, his unstained eyes, his “correct” nose as she likes to describe it, the high forehead shadowed by hair. Oh, he’s pissing me off when the hair is loose on the forehead. It seems he can’t even look at me properly. Uhm, I shall make him a protagonist in a novel. Can do more than an episodic character, he has got the potential of a character which would remain steady into the reader’s imagination. Phew, but Alin? He didn’t even inspire me as an episodic one. At least he identified himself once and we avoided pointless explanations.
Trying to create a cheap conversation with the persons around, Alin is right there while her thoughts flow into her blood. She looks at him kindly, as you’d view a broken toy: you feel slightly pity, you don’t need it any longer, can’t do anything with it, from it, but you don’t bother to throw it even though you have another one which you like immensely, waiting to be played by you, so you can discover all its features and characteristics.
What is keeping me next to this man who doesn’t vibe on the same song as my soul does? Brrr, an attachment brought with the time. But what’s the value of it?... Why am I stuck in something I don’t believe in? How afraid am I to start believing again? Still, between us there’s no ecstasy, and the intellectual orgasm doesn’t even possess a prelude next to him. I wish he could do more, but… Oh, if only I would be 5 years younger. I would have taken George from his wings and we would have flew through all the places where I’m now too tired to take him by foot. For sure in 5 years time I would say the same about now. Pf, my only certainty in this life is the uncertainty. Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted this limited warmth just because my bones are heavily moving towards the fire which is strong, heats me up and gives me energy. George is the flame, but could he be my stove for good? Hm, but wasn’t me in fact that one who ended all so far? Who said stop right before someone would have pointed me the place where something once burnt? Why would I fear he would do this now? This is not logic, but my logic is different from theirs… No, no, this bullshit must stop. I and he must be together, we can be together… but do we want it? With the same strength?
”Ioanaaaaaa? Ioanaaaaa?? Heeeeey, Ioaaaaanaaaa?!”
”Yes! Yes, me!” she replies back from the distance, mumbling a smile.
”Where did your mind fly? I haven’t seen it around here” Alin tries to joke.
”Oh, nowhere, I was creating something, you know” she’s adding for keeping him quiet. He believed without any doubt. Ioana seems too complicated not to be trusted when saying anything. Besides, he was too proud for a woman like her accepted him. She was and still is an object of admiration, without any existential hesitation. He has no dilemmas, no questions while just getting the pleasure. But her...
I keep telling myself I’m movin’ on
But I’m stumbling
Believin’ my heart was strong enough
And now I’m wanderin’
But every step I take that leads me away
Just circles back to your door
Wishin’ I didn’t love you anymore

I’ve tried turning to the arms of someone new
But I can’t seem to fool this fool

In a moment without any talk, when no one feels like adding a thing and some are smiling while others take another sip of beer, from the speakers positioned right next to those long forgotten people, it started:

But sometimes, there’s those times
It’s gotta be you

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