When you’re heart sick, you only want one person in your life. And if there’s obviously no way to bring him in your life, you can’t imagine that something will ever make you feel happy and complete again. But miracles happen. So simply and naturally that you won’t believe it…

Sometimes you look into the mirror and say “It’s too late…” But you don’t know there is always someone out there for you to make you feel the miracle of love. It’s never too late for that someone to walk with you , holding hands like teenagers, showing you the moon through the leavesless branches, smiling to the stars, stopping and stroking your hair…Then… there, in that magic night, in that fairytale park, under those fairy tale trees…to have the most wonderfull kiss of your life. Then keep walking holding hands again, telling each others’ life story, like newly fallen in love friends.

I was heartsick. But someone did this to me. Someone made me believe in miracles. Someone kissed me in that fairytale park.

It was such a left-handed kiss, a scared one. We were scared by the happening miracle. We hugged. Then smiled. Then held hands again and kept walking, breathing deeply  to fill the lungs with the fresh air of a new romance, looking at the most beautiful park enlightened only by the most beautiful moon ever. We were drunk by beauty.

I was scared the night was going to end in an ugly manner. I was scared that something was going to ruin everything. But no… Things followed their way in such a perfect manner that made me feel  … Absolutely incredible. You see…that kiss was left handed enough to find it hard to believe that the person involved could  “impress me  much”. But he did . Big time!  

He came from the faraway land and he  left so soon.  Right after what happened  I was about to close my door to whatever would remind me of him, to act as if it was all a dream and to behave as if he never existed.

 I was convinced then that what he gave  me was so beautiful that I shouldn’t allow myself to destroy it.  We did meet again. And we behave like friends. Not lovers. Although there was something pure in our hearts and a sort of quietness that gave me peace for a while.

Some things happen to us but they are not meant to last because they are meant to make us focus on what we are, on what we mean to the people arround us. I didn’t even spend Valentine’s day with this person, a total stranger for me a couple of months ago. But he showed me respect, affection and the possibility to feel the power of love by a couple of simple things.




There’s something royal about you. The way you talk, the way you smile, the way you ask from time to time “are you ok?”… The way you treat me. I feel like royalty myself.


Our worlds are entirely different. But since music is your hobby , there’s a little something different about me: music is my job. I kinda find it natural to be treated like royalty when you tell me that back in your world you feel proud to introduce my music to the people you care about. I feel proud that listening to my music makes you feel special.


I look back at the very few men of my life that inspired me. They broke my heart in the end but I realize now that they chose to do that because they needed me in a royal status – untouchable, unreachable. They didn’t want me in their lives because they needed to adore me. And they only could adore me when I was not in danger to become something common in their lives. Should I respect that?

I love what I do and I respect myself when I realize that my music makes people I care about feel special. I just don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. It’s good to know that people need to respect me, need to feel that when they look at me they see “no way” written all over me.


Yet the last goal of my life is still standing: finding “the king” able to handle the situation. The one to walk with me in the park, the one to feel proud to be seen with me by people who know him (you did well so far) … someone who doesn’t answer quickly , a bit scared on the phone “It’s nothing serious…”


“Serious”. This word goes hand in hand with the word “royalty”. By “serious” people  make you think that they actually mean “marriage”. And since we live in different countries and practice our jobs in different worlds and have different attitudes about freedom, we definitely can’t get serious.


There’s something royal about what I feel for you. And saying good-bye soon will make the feeling last. And the people who need me in the royal status will feel satisfied: I’ll be thinking about you…



A friend from the Moon


Making a friend from over the ocean is like making  a friend from the Moon. Comunicating through Internet. Messenger. E-mail. I didn’t mind having a friend from the Moon, talking to him, sharing thoughts, ideas, secrets. Yes, secrets. I sent you my song “Daemon Blue” and I needed to answer all your questions, like in a confession. A confession to the man on the Moon. I was not afraid to do it because I was convinced we’ll never meet. There are people closer to where I live I didn’t meet since I moved to Bucharest, there are people I want to see that live in Bucharest and it’s impossible to meet.

But one day you told me you’ll come to Romania in your winter vacation . And we met.

I felt very good in your presence. You were not exactly Brad Pitt, but not at all an ugly person. Very warn hearted, smiling all the time, very good in having a friendly conversation, very carefull to make the date (it WAS a date after all) perfect. And you brought me a present: a capodastro and a set of guitar strings, Martin strings(my favourites). And I gave you a little book bought from Diverta while I was waiting for you. (you were late because the GPS brought you to the other side of Bucharest)

So, even if I wouldn’t even have thought about it, you came from the Moon to meet me. I had feelings for someone who lives in this city, but there I was having a friendly chat during a date with someone who came from the Moon to see me…

Our meeting made me believe that anything is possible . I trust myself more. I respect myself more. I love myself more.


You came back to the Moon. And we communicate using the Internet. And you are closer to me than a lot of other friends. Maybe it’s my turn now to think of a way to get to the Moon. We admired her once , shining through the leafless branches. It is definitely harder for me to get there, but since it was possible for you, it is not impossible for me.


Avem nevoie de iluzii…de inimioare rosii, minciunele, zambete usor tampe , scenarii care ne fac sa plutim. Avem nevoie de mici insule de irealitate, pentru ca avem nevoie sa credem in iubire.


Credeam ca stiu cine va fi « Valentinul » meu. Am insa uneori anumite reculuri. O anumita rana a trecutului ma face sa ma agat cu lacomie de orice iluzie a iubirii si s-o traiesc cu sete pana la ultima picatura. Ma fulgera apoi un gand in momentul in care cant : sa fi fost el cel care m-a inspirat ? Sau cel de dinaintea lui ? Sau cel de dinaintea celui de dinaintea lui (hi-hi) ?


Sunt rani nevindecate, povesti neconsumate pe care vreau sa le desavarsesc totusi. Raman singura, sangeranda, inconjurata de un cenusiu dureros pe care nici o ploaie nu il poate risipi. Raman singura, nemiscata, incremenita in asteptarea durerii care va sa se declanseze , lasand ploaia sa se confunde cu lacrimile si sangele galgaind din inima, intr-o taietura adanca, deschisa ce pare sa aiba puterea de a scurge toata viata din mine.


Si totusi rana prinde scoarta la un moment dat. Si cred ca am uitat. Soarele straluceste puternic. Si din instinct imi pipai inima cautand rana… ce rana? Parca nici n-a fost una. Si pasesc in zi mai intai cu nesiguranta, verificand terenul cu precautie, apoi, ce naiba ! o rup la fuga razand, chiuind intr-un delir necontrolat, e atata viata in mine care se zbate eliberata, cautand pe cineva care sa se infrupte din ea si sa se incarce pentru bucuria atat de mare de a trai… Si ma opresc ca trasnita in fata unui zambet si a unei maini intinse cu trandafirul unei noi iubiri…


Privesc precauta, avand ceva din atitudinea din bancul cu politistul care vede o coaja de banana si zice : « Shit ! Iar o sa alunec pe coaja asta si o sa cad ! » Privesc mana intinsa, privesc trandafirul… « Ce-o fi, o fi ! » Si ma arunc.


De ce ma arunc de fapt ?  Care e nevoia mea de fapt ? Nu cumva pentru a vindeca o rana pe care o credeam vindecata dar care de fapt are doar o scoarta care da iluzia de a fi fost vindecata? Cel din fata mea nu e nici pe departe cel care care m-a ranit la un moment dat. Are insa ceva din aluatul lui. Poate de asta ma si arunc. Din nevoia de a rezolva ceva , de a incheia ceva neincheiat. De rezolvat insa nu se rezolva nimic. Nu el e cel care va vindeca rana. Ea doar se va deschide din nou. Intr-o taietura adanca, galgaind sangele care va scurge din nou fara mila toata viata din mine.


Am sa stau linistita de Sf. Valentin. Si am sa ma rog. Doar in rugaciune capat intelepciunea necesara de a trece peste toate.


Dar voi asculta totusi “Close to you“ de Carpenters.

Si voi adormi cu gandul la tine…









10 răspunsuri la „Valentine?…”

  1. Nu stiu daca sa ma-ntristez sau sa zambesc…cred ca totusi am sa zambesc 😀 Cat de frumos ai scris! Ai un talent extraordinar, mai ales prin faptul ca ai reusit sa ma faci sa-mi imaginez „povestea”, asa cum numai povestiile lui Creanga, pe care le ascultam la pick-up cand eram mic, o puteau face.
    Sa-ti dea Dumnezeu puterea de care ai nevoie pentru a trece peste toate…
    Multumsc Maria ca existi 😉

    Toate cele bune!!!

  2. Hm.. te-as provoca la un raspuns mai „deep” decat acesta … cum ramane cu cei cu care ai trait acele „moments in time?” , iti asumi riscul ca ai avut un impact asa mare in viata lor, printr-un singur momemt, fie si cu un necunoscut , care poate duce la o tragedie ? Am trait de ambele baricade , banuiesc , ca si tu..Deci cum ramane acum cu raspunsul ?

  3. Nu am trecut niciodata complet peste durerea unui esec. De regula ma vindec, intorcadu-ma cu gandul la o iubire anterioara. La fel de puternica. Si de care nu credeam ca ma voi vindeca vreodata. Plang un pic, oftez un pic si astept sa rasara soarele. Rasare. Intotdeauna.

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