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I just want to tell you that it is snowing and that Christmas markets are all open again. It is crowded with people, and the air smells on punch and cinnamon. This city always smells on cinnamon. Even when it does not, even when it smells on horse piss and green mold, but I like to pretend that even then it is cinnamon. Now it is all shiny and happy.

I was walking home late one evening and the first time I have seen how they are hanging these huge red balls they have every year. You know they assemble them out of two parts and then hoist them with the crane. They are my favourite Christmas street decorations. I always like to imagine a chaos they would cause if they fall and start rolling down the street. I imagine them being filled with colours and in some moment they would explode and cover the cold grey winter day with bright colours of the summer and fall. Awesome. In some situations I imagine them opening when somebody is walking under and depending of if it is a good person or a gobbshit they would drop a candy or a horse shit. There is one lady I have seen in subway the other day. She looked like a stuffed duck only stuffed with frustrations, bad raising that she got from her parents and that she will most probably pass to next generation that filled her with all kind of evil “–isms” (racism, Nazism). Two Islamic girls (and you could tell that only by the way how they had their hair covered (only the hair)) were sitting opposite to the stuffed duck. She seemed to be very annoyed by the fact that the girls were sitting opposite to her, and as soon as she had a chance, she changed her seat giving them really angry disgusted judgemental look when she was leaving. Well I hope that one day she will walk under one of these red balls, and one of them will open and it will be filled with honey and angry bees and it will fall straight on her head….

Then there are this blue clouds and chandeliers as well. I like them too but they are not so inspiring like these red balls. Looking up at them they make a beautiful contrast on the black sky but that is all. But red balls rock. I am babbling…and if you are asking yourself where is the point well there is no point. I am writing random because it is easier that way. I can do it endlessly. Write line after line of empty words. What I want to tell you in fact should be pretty basic, simple.

This is why it is difficult. We make such drama out of it like we are admitting a defeat. Like some huge screw up happened in our life. We make some pathetic face, as like we just lost our job and house and our dog just died, looking down on the ground like people guilty of something, and in some dramatic half- voice-half-whisper we say something that is supposed to be one of the most positive stuff a person can say to another person. Instead of saying it with laughter and happiness proud that we are actually capable for something like this, we look like we are going to commit suicide. Usually we let the worse insults slip much easier out of our mouth and we even grin over them, feeling proud that our brain created something that clever that brought another person into tears. Then we are powerful strong and we even say this person will remember us. This is how we are or how we have become. It is so easy to insult somebody to leave the scar on a heart of another person; we are very creative and spontaneous about that. And yes for sure this person will remember us, just do we want to be a bad memory or somebodies scar?

On the other hand when it comes to something nice more appropriate for such advanced creatures as we humans like to think of ourselves, we are dramatizing, calculating, fidgeting, fumbling around, and looking for the right moments, right words and all that bullshit jazz. Like there has to be a special moment for a good news. Any is good enough. It is not that this happens every day so whenever should be just fine.

terasa

So was that one, you remember this rainy morning long time ago; you were asking me to tell you. You had a fire in your eyes. This was the first time in my life when I have actually seen this in real life. Burning eyes. I have heard that expression but I thought that it was only some writer’s fiction. I thought that this might be it what we see in bad acted Mexican telenovelas, when Juan is telling to Maria Guadalupe that he loves her and then they stare at each other for some good 2 minutes and 30 seconds while the camera is rolling in vain trying to create feeling of passion and tension in the air but all you get is two people staring at each other. This was nothing like this. We were not staring at each other at all. Actually for some time I was turned away from you but I saw the reflexion of your eyes in the window. And when I turned to you…your eyes…well, now I know how it looks like. It is not fiction at all. And then you asked me what I was thinking at that moment. So this is what I was thinking back than on that rainy morning long time ago. Your burning eyes, that is, not Juan and Maria. And I did not tell you, because I did not want to give you a chance that you throw your ego at me. So I hesitated till the last moment, putting my ego between us. Then we started to complicate, hide behind empty words, logical rational explanations; millions of euphemisms, counting on “Maybe it will pass”; “it is just a moment”, means nothing..and we just wasted our precious time….. And look, after all this time I am hesitating again. Just I am not waiting for it to pass anymore.

Now I know it is not going anywhere. But still I hesitate. Not because I am afraid you might say something totally inappropriate, hit me with your ego one more time, try to win one more power game, go into endless rationalizations, fast forwarding, bullshitting and totally destroy the moment you have been waiting for long time, but because you actually might surprise and not do it this time. Then I will be unprotected by cynicism (look it is one more evil –ism), I would have to stand there with my shield down and the space between us would disappear. I would be exposed. That is scary. So I will rather tell you, the stories about Christmas decorations, bitchy ladies in subway, punch and cinnamon and horses and angry bees. Actually I would tell you load of some insignificant bullshit, bunch of empty words. Maybe I would even hurt you. Because it’s easier. And even if I do, please don’t take it bad because in fact I am just trying to tell you… well you know… well never mind.

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