Angelic Angels

I'm reading the last collection of poems, Angels, written by a poet, who died recently. I'm floating in a whole sea of feelings. There's not many people, who interweave the words with such an ease, at least it seems so, and make us, the readers, now happy, and in next moment sad, then a little afraid, then again joyful ... There's not many people, in whose words is hidden that Pippi Longstocking's or Peter Pan's possibility to always keep being a children in their hearts ...
I'm thinking, what king of emotions are running through me ... Am I proud of him, that he could write such great poems? Happiness, when I'm holding a new book in my hands? Expectation? Curiosity? Almost watery eyes that I got when reading the afterword, written by the poet's daughter, in which she describes his last weeks, when all he cared about was that Angels will come out? Fulfillment, when you read someone's words that say exactly what you think, but you can never say this yourself?
I don'k know. Maybe, that's some kind of the comparatist's happiness. :)

Life is beautiful

Happiness is hidden in little things, it really is. Just give me a day off, with no timetables, no urgent tasks - just those that I want to do ... A sunny day I spent sitting in a park only in my T-shirt and with my shoes off ... On that kind of day also reading study literature becomes the most beautiful thing in the world - how can you not enjoy on the warm spring sun? I feel freesom and happiness floating in the air (and even the fine I must pay in the library because I've brought back my books too late cannot make this day less perfect).

Who will win?

Who will win our fight, that boulder or I? Ha, me, definitely! I climbed it, I did!
I feel like Roald Dahl's Danny the Champion of the World.

Curiosity

He's again at the street in the town centre, that old man with the accordion. I haven't seen him for quite a long time.
Who is he? Is he old, alone and forgotten from everybody, forgotten from the world? Does he plays old memories at athe accordion? Is he a nice, loving grandad, who spoils his grandchildren with sweets? What is hiding behind thst image of the man with the accordion?

I feel ... warm? :)

"I love you. Matthew"

[that's a message written on a small piece of paper, that is glued between two small heart shaped pralines. It's a completely unexpected Valentine's surprise from my boyfriend. I store it at the window shelf near my bed.]

That's definitely a heart that shouldn't be eaten too soon. How can a short message like that, especially in combination with a memory of his enthusiastic talking about how he burned the edges of the paper, makes even that bad day much better. :)

The-fuck-it-feeling

I feel empty. Empty in a fuck-it-way. Let there be that swearing asshole, fuck it.
I want to be alone and not in a room together with four roommates, who talk too much for today (otherwise they're really grat girls). I'm walking through the streets of the city and enyoj being lonely.
I want to wach an old black and white sad drama right now. One of those that almost noone likes. But I'm without computer today.
Eh, fuch it.
Let's go to bed.

Fuck off!

What's wrong with me!? What's wrong with me that for the last 6 yearsI'm voluntarily being nervous 3-5 times a week plus once extra during the weekend!? Being nervous because of that idiots that are 97% insane and who think that they grab the god's balls when they became a couch and have at least 12 girls in front of them everyday that they can say anything to!? And also if you're a Serbian and that it's genetic that you swear every 3,5 seconds that doesnt mean that I'm ready to listen to you how you yell at me that way. "The most important is study and then, on the second place, there comes basketball." Yeah, rigst, how many years more will it take me to get that it's all just a phrase? Until - after few months - he says to me that there's a practise every Monday, Tuseday, Wednesday, Thursday and every Friday and that I can come or go. I'd like to see your face when I'll tell you I'm leaving! Have you never thought why I go to the lectures rather than to the practise? Maybe because there's no one yelling at me, what do you think about that? And because I don't have to memorise a new way of moving on the court every 3 minutes? It's not chess, it's basketball, for god's sake!
And once that I'll got enough of it - I promise you that you'll never see me again. You psycho.

[I play basketball for a club and quite long time ago it became much too serious. All the pressure, the yelling, the swearing, all the actions you've got to memorise - it's not fun anymore. At least the team is really great.]