Not alright

at one point our paths crossed in the sky.
but we did not know how to stop moving forward.

Helsinki, December 2008.

find a song that makes you happy. whenever you'd play you'd feel this joy in you. even if only briefly. post random messages around your hometown. leave a note in the bus saying 'I'd like to be your friend, but I'm too scared'. go to a tourist information and speak in English with a strong foreign accent. ask ridiculous questions. apologize every minute. tell them that you are from Moldova. smile. be sad and be happy and be joyful and be jealous and be whatever you want to be as long as you are not afraid of being what you are. it is hard. if nothing else, then be alone. and be what you want to be. write a letter. write about yourself. things that you like about yourself. things that you like about the world. things that you like. things that make you happy. pick a telephone directory. browsed until you find a name that you really like. take the address and send the letter to that person. one morning wake up earlier than your mother. make breakfast for her. ask your mother what was her dream when she was young. what did she want to become? what's her favorite color? did she have her own room in her childhood? take a local bus that you have never taken. take your camera and preferably your friend. talk about the things that you did yesterday. keep your eyes on the view. get out of the bus at a random stop and take another public transportation. get lost. wonder. be with your friend and get to know him/her. don't worry about what will happen. (take a phone, too. just in case, but turn it off.) go through your old photos. see what you used to be. see what you are now. embrace yourself. love yourself because you came this far. it has been a rough, difficult journey but do realize that you're still standing and breathing and living and that if nothing else is already an accomplishment. when someone compliments you don't start arguing with the person. accept it. say thank you if you cannot say anything else. imagine that the person was being serious. picture a scenario where a person really enjoys you and likes your work. feel good about it. feel amazing about it. feel free to be a good person. write a note to yourself. 'everything will be okay' and put it somewhere where you'll see it all the time. because everything will be okay.

Everything should be alright. Yesterday I found out that my new university will offer me a full scholarship covering the tuition fees and the rent.

Yet everything around you & me crumbles.
And the sad man is left to pick up the pieces of things that existed a second ago.

To Spanish Kiss

You took my hand and saidToday we will go to Spain and kiss in Spanish.

Oh God, but I don't know how to kiss in Spanish!I panicked, walked in a circle, I felt as if the bridgethat connects my heart to yours was crumbling,nothing made sense, I should be happyyou will take me to Spainand you will me show
the world.

You touched my left cheek, my eyes dwelling in chaos,your fingers moved to my left ear, gently massaging.
We know how to Spanish kiss more than anyone else in the world.
And then you kissed me.
The world trembled.

Old buildings greeted us wherever we talked hand in handpeople to lesser extent, but as always you said that these
grey, wine-stained walls have seen more than any human being could ever imagine.

It was like we were back in the 1950s,yellowish tinted sky with a hint of explosion.
Beautiful, I uttered in your arms.

You suddenly stood up, ran ahead of me but not away from me.As suddenly you had stood up, you also stopped running.You turned around, now looking at me and smiling.
Now the city is beautiful.

I looked at you and thought to myself,I will always be love with this manwho will always be in love with me.
And I ceased wondering why and just enjoyed.

The love story of the snow and the sun

Snow piling on your shoulders, light flakes becoming heavier

& things evolving to something related to the word complicated.

Branches weep, because they are naked.

They shiver in the cold, and no one holds them

to keep them warm.

They think I am too cold to love, the snow cries.

And most certainly it was horrible as she

had fallen in love with the sun.

They are unable to touch each other;

they are unable to make love;

they are unable to hold;

but they love no matter what.

The snow can only watch the sun; she can witness the sun waking up

with a smile, when he sees the snow looking at him with love.

Faded colors, vintage sky and factory smoke

all were jealous of the love story the snow & the sun.

The boats sailed across the world to share the story of the century.

No one in Maldives believed that the sun could fall in love with such a thing as snow.

In the Antarctica no one believed that the snow could ever fall in love

with something that is the deadliest thing to her love.

The boats sailed to places such as Congo, Switzerland and Paraguay.

Branches, the naked and shivering ones, wondered how it was possible.

Wondering people believe in limits, boundaries and restrictions.

The world slips through the fingers of wondering, rational people.

There world is not that complicated --

the snow is in love with the sun.

Simple, as the boats said to the story listeners in Bulgaria.

One day the spring will come, though.

The love story of the snow and the sun is a short story.

Dots in the sky

Hurry hurry, rush rush, run run,you will miss the train &then your whole life will collapse.


A minute here and there, I said,matters nothing if you are with me.


And when you are away, maybe in a train that will bring you to me,I am unable to think of anything else than how many minutes there are until I will kiss & hold & touch you again.


We met in a park trees covered with snow as leaves had taken a maternity leave.That is how you describe the park where time ceased existing for me.

Someone has attached dots to the sky, you told me, when birds flew above us.I smiled and you took my hand.The dots move, you continued.And they did.


We met when winter was the saddest.It was a long season, longest in several years, they said.I had lost the count; only you mattered.


The winter never ended -- it snowed, dots moved in the sky & I missed the trains.When we met winter was the saddest.When we loved winter was the happiest& never-ending.

Heart's heart

You named your first love "Never-ending" and fed him strawberries that you had picked from Pluto. Things were wonderful. You loved him and he loved you. You said I love you and he said I love you back. Things were perfect. Whenever you kissed him your skin shivered and "Never-ending" trembled his hand holding yours. Things were more than perfect.

Whenever you were away from him your heart screamed please let me hear the sounds of my heart that beats in another body please please so I can keep my master's body working. Things fell apart whenever he left and went back home.

Terror visited your lungs and caused chaos and you

shouted at people who were not called "Never-ending",

because nothing else mattered.

Things were slipping away.

You found yourself crying in the bathroom spilling out your guts whenever someone else kissed their "Never-ending", but secretly you thought that you only had "Never-ending", because it had felt so out of the world so out of the cosmos so out of the reality that no one else would know how you would feel.

He was away longer than a day longer than a week longer than a month and things were not only starting to fall apart they were literally drowning in the universe

unable to swim.

Your lungs began to protest rage against the lack of his breath

your liver tasted liquor that you poured down your throat sobriety

had paid her goodbyes on the third day and vice versa. Then they

announced that Mars was not a planet anymore it was the Earth and everyone needed to be evacuated everyone except for those who thought that the Earth was still the Earth and you kept thinking logically that if

"Never-ending" is "Never-ending"

then the Earth is the Earth

the more than perfect things drowned deeper in the trench obnoxiously named "Never-ending" by the scientist who never believed in planets. The monsters you face when you have fallen out when someone forces you to leave the thing you are unable to utter anymore

they creep in your collarbones masqueraded but you recognize them you feel them crawling in your mind and there world shuts down. The monsters with four eyes seven legs twelve hearts eighteen lungs and ninety-five "Never-endings" and the only thing you wanted was

to see him

nothing else

nothing more

nothing less

so your heart could hear the sounds of

its heart that beats in another body.

I have been together with him for a year now & still happy.

Graz, January 2010

It is one thing to be found when you are alone

-- it is another thing to be found when you are with people, strangers

-- and it is completely different thing to be found when you are with people that you call friends.

The trees look after Graz even when they have snow on their shoulders; they love the city as passionately as Romeo loved Juliet. This love story is called Graz & the Trees.

In one of those buildings that you see is some elderly woman who is talking to her plant that proudly stands next to the television. She feels lonely from time to time, but she is the lucky one. Her son visits her once a week.

And in that one big building, grown ups work there till the clock hits five in the evening.

What happens then?

They disappear.

And in that building?

In that square I laid my eyes on you and for the first time understood the feelings that the Trees feel for Graz.

Love.

Yes.

All those trees love the city of Graz?

Yes, very much indeed. Every single branch of the trees longs to hear the beat of the city heart.

And you?

My bones branch out to your heart, my skin craves for your touch, my --

You know that Graz feels the same way for the Trees?

I do.

You found me in the middle of everywhere and you made me your Graz.

You found me in the middle of nowhere and you made me your Trees.

Buda & Pest -- A love story

It has been one week since I arrived to Europe after a period of time in the United States. I moved across the continents to be with my loved one as I had nothing else in my mind as if everything else was irrelevant. I dropped out from college and moved to a country that I had not visited before – a language that is completely unfamiliar to me – a city that is drastically less international than any of the places I have lived before – just so I can be with him. We spent a weekend in Budapest and then traveled to Osijek, Croatia, where we will live for an uncertain amount of time. I felt content at the very beginning. Then slowly, ghosts from the sinking ships and heavenly basements popped by and dropped a bomb in my lungs, a bomb that had been planted in my heart with my knowledge and permission as long as it would never be used. What a pitiful man, the ghosts must have been thinking when I said I know things will be difficult, but I will be happy, I will be happy to be finally with him. He will explode, they sang in the choir. It was their newest hit. Their only hit, some people would argue. One of their many hits, I would say.

-- (before they began to sing)

Buda & Pest is a couple that I am jealous of

They fit together more than perfectly – their insane love for each other and for others around them makes you feel simply astoundingly good – a swirl from the Soviet Union pays a visit in the shape of old Ladas and it brings a smile upon your face thinking such a thing as Communism existed in this country. Buda is the more gorgeous one in the eyes of Pest and Pest is the more gorgeous one in Buda’s sight and together they are more than gorgeous. Hungarian words running from one street to another, foreigners unable to catch them, it is like a secret, a sweet, innocent secret passage that harms no one. However, the words that Buda & Pest say to each other – words through smiles, looks, touching – is understood by everyone who ever sees them together.

One night Buda holds Pest when he sleeps, another night Pest holds Buda when he sleeps and the cycle continues for the rest of their lives. They never get tired of each other, although they have seen everything and nothing about each other yet there is suddenly always something new every day, maybe something little such as Buda actually enjoys a certain kind of typeface while Pest knows how to say good morning in Swedish. Milan, Chicago, Zagreb, every single city, town, village, soul and heart, they all know that

Buda & Pest are just meant to be –
Just like you & me.

Buda: The streetlights make buildings, pavements, windows, the whole world bright.
Pest: But who lights them up?
Buda: You do, my love.

There is no better place to be with your loved one than on a street that is lit by two of you.

Buda: You are beautiful.
Pest: You are beautiful.
Therefore Budapest is more than beautiful.

Take the hand of your loved one when you cross the street – you will feel like you can cross everything together.

Buda & Pest say things that most the people are not used to say – at least sixteen times a day and with such a strong passion every single time.