Otvaraš oči.
Oči otvaraš samo zato što te boli.
Svaki put kad progutaš slinu, zapeče te u grlu.
Kao da si progutao komadić stakla.
Ne progutaš li slinu, postaju tvoja usta suha, a jezik ljepljiv.
Ne možeš više disati.
Zvonjava. U ravnomjernim intervalima.

Podižeš slušalicu.
Ljubazni muški glas govori jezikom koji ne razumiješ. Pokušavaš se zahvaliti na brizi, međutim umjesto vlastitog glasa čuješ nerazgovijetno krkljanje.
Otvaraš oči i zuriš u strop.
Ništa. Ne misliš.

Na noćnom ormariću čaša mlijeka, šest oštriga i mala bočica puna tableta.
Ravnomjerni šum klima uređaja.
Svijetleći neon.
Tihi zvuci polaganog klizanja predmeta.
Blizu. Nedaleko.

Vjerojatno je tu još jedna soba.
(...)

written by Nejc Pohar bolditalicstrikestrong

YOUR NAME change the pic if you want. M.I.A.C.H.=Million
Inappropriate
Apologies for
Camouflaging Happiness

.you were so happy in the photographs

msn: mia_pu@hotmail.com

rujan 2010 travanj 2010 prosinac 2009 studeni 2009 studeni 2008 ožujak 2008 prosinac 2007 studeni 2007 listopad 2007 rujan 2007 veljača 2007 siječanj 2007 prosinac 2006 studeni 2006 listopad 2006 rujan 2006 kolovoz 2006 srpanj 2006 lipanj 2006 svibanj 2006 prosinac 2005 studeni 2005 listopad 2005 rujan 2005 kolovoz 2005 srpanj 2005 lipanj 2005 svibanj 2005 travanj 2005 ožujak 2005 veljača 2005 siječanj 2005 prosinac 2004 studeni 2004

♥friend
♥friend
♥friend
♥friend
♥friend
♥friend

credits
BRUSHES. 1 2 3 4 5
IMAGES. yellow-stock biene-stock phoeebstock
BY. shotgun

The music played with a calming frequency.
The speakers gently seeped the sound of ambient keyboards and light percussion,
creating a seductive soundtrack to our midnight drive through curtains of blackness.
The windows were cold to the touch, reflecting the icy conditions in our immediate extremity.
Salt stains and fingerprints littered the glass, and streaks with melted snow cascaded down it's length.
The music pulsed louder, yet gentle, like the far away squeal of a pot of boiling water.
The skylight was glowing faintly with a vague hints of an impending dawn.
The car raced along a painfully straight stretch of road,
and she hadn't so much as turned the steering wheel two degrees. In the past twenty minutes
no word was spoken.

"Why are you doing this?" she spoke without expecting a response.
Her voice penetrated the still air of our speechless drive, so silent my heart had jumped.
"I'm not doing anything," I said, but I didn't even believe that myself.
"This is what's best, for me, for you, for us, or maybe just for me," I thought,
as a tear formed in the pit of her eye. The music poured through the speakers
and we were losing ourselves in the cadence. She looked down momentarily and closed her eyes
for a bit longer than a standard blink. Then she was crying. Then she was shouting.
Then I was shouting, now pouring confessions, having no answers, or solutions,
we barely even heard the questions.
 
Our cracking voices became part of the music.
The car pressed on faster through the night. As our voices lowered,
The cadence again overtook the air.
Up ahead there was a curve approaching.
She made no indications of slowing.

 

 

Nedavno sam primila ovu priču. Poslije sam saznala da su to zapravo riječi pjesme “The Approaching Curve” od grupe Raise Against. Kako god, priča/pjesma mi se jako svidjela pa je odlučih ovdje kopi/pejstat kao podsjetnik na jednu dragu mi osobu…:)