Once upon a time, in two parallel universes, there were living two fairytale creatures.

One of them, a very short elfish witch; she had big brown eyes, long hair, round lips and very tiny fingernails. She wasn’t of royal blood, or of angelic lineage, but she was respected for her wisdom and a playful arrogance towards the others. She lived in a tall stone tower, surrounded by many books and magic tricks of all kind, but not so many friends. She would very rarely come down to the ground and that was only to walk the streets of the village, buy food, gain knowledge and ride her little carriage from one place to the other. But as much as she enjoyed her life among the earthlings, she always had the feeling that her place was somewhere else and that she was destined to an adventurous life. Every day, coming home, she was climbing the stairs to the room in the top, up there in the clouds. And every night, when all the earthly creatures went to sleep, she would open a magic book and begin to cast spells, for her true nature and her greatest passion was to hunt the most fierce dragons and tame them, as she, against her minion stature and the child-like smile, was a lady of the darkness.

The other one lived in a house on the ground, surrounded by a small piece of secluded heaven. Bushes of the most beautiful flowers enlightened his garden, filling the air with the scent of never-ending summer holydays. He, for one, was very tall, curled dark hair and perfect hands, with rings showing he was a creature of class and style. And he was a sort of magician himself, as only he could charm so many people and have so many friends, coming to him, if not for words of wisdom, but for moments of true happiness and peace of mind. He was a dreamer, and everything he dreamt by day, by night he would draw in paper and canvas, in dark crayons or sparkling colors, for he was an image-speller and a scholar and he was good. And anytime somebody would ask him for his help, he would jump in the saddle and ride his horse to save any creature in distress. He loved to mingle with all kinds of co-inhabitants, trusting them all and giving them all his big heart, believing deep down inside in beauty, and truth and human kindness. And in spite his imposing demeanor and his deep voice, he was a hedonistic child embracing life with all its goods and bads. But he had too a secret favorite sin, and that was chasing and taming creatures from hell, who dared and managed to invade his realm disguised as human innocent teenagers.

So, once upon another time, after accidentally crossing paths once or twice, the little dragon-hunter and the big dreamer slowly begin to capture each other’s attention along the way. Of course, each had to embellish its own features, to become more likeable for the other one, but they both still kept their true nature and were honest to each other. They chased themselves for some time, passing through one realm to another until they fell in love. Tired of chasing dragons and wanting to taste something else than her perpetual walls of silence, she felt that she found what she was looking for, another creature to complete her. He, on the other hand, untamable and impossible to be held down from his thirst of life, thought that she was the one whom he can share his lust for everything with. They were complete opposites and believed a love story was all they needed. She lived in the clouds, but walked the ground. He lived on the ground, but his head was in the clouds. At a first glance, it was a match made in Heaven.

But even if physics would have indulged the attraction between these two different magnetic poles, at some point, reality caught up with them, and even with science and fairytale.

She could make and repair a mess in three seconds, he could keep the mess for three months. She was pessimistic and didn’t believe in her own shadow, he believed in hope and the full side of the glass. She was obsessive, cold, cynical, genius, insane, loud and played only with shades of dark. He was alive but silent, humorous, light at heart, imaginative beyond anybody’s comprehension, colorful, reckless and took everything easy as feathers. She had commitment issues, trust issues and family issues. He had issues larger than life but he believed in his heart that he could ease up the dragon hunter, as well as she believed she could bring a mage with his feet on the ground. And for a while, they did. They could stay and talk for hours, listen to the beautiful sounds of nature, sipping red liquid poetry and share their vision about the arts and the earthlings. They shared passions and tastes, memories and sins impossible to mention.

And everything seemed to work just fine. But as she was beginning to pull right, flawed by her ever-challenging nature, he was beginning to pull left, as she wanted to run free and he wanted to just stand still for a while. The love they shared, slowly started to shutter piece by piece, as one’s heaven began to become the other one’s hell, always switching places, always confronting, always on the verge of becoming something they were not.

Therefore, one day, they realized the story in itself was very good, but they were not the right characters to play it. Tearing up all Universe’s gates and crevices, they split destinies, tears streaming down their eyes, only to find themselves back in the places they truly belonged to. She went back to the tower in the upper mists and he went back to the kingdom of flesh and eerie gardens.

They still cross paths. And while she started chasing dragons again, he started chasing beautiful witches too, proving once and for all that this was what they were meant to do and to be, even if not together.

And at this point, the story – teller shuts up and closes the curtains.

You were right, Sir.

The cookies DO taste better on the Dark Side.  Tried them myself a few years back and the flavor is just addictive. Never stopped thinking about them, even if I pledged my life to the “Resist the Temptation of Evil Hors d’Oeuvres” strings quartet.

As you have probably figured out by now, I had a hard time adjusting to the diet imposed by the Light Yogurt and Fresh Carrots counterpart, even if I could fake it so well that nobody knew I was clenching my teeth in raw Chateaubriand Stake every night.  As the French would say, mon coeur a été déjà pris…

But the struggle within me got so epic, I finally decided to be true to my nature and admit I need sugar and bad proteins in my system. I am sure, in your infinite knowledge, that you understand the deep connotation of the saying which states that the grass seems greener on the other side of the fence. So, after a careful consideration of matters, I drew the conclusion I want to wine and dine at your table, even if my cholesterol and glucose levels will eventually jump the sky. But then again, what’s life without forbidden sweets anyway, right?

Furthermore, having an ages-long trouble finding the chosen one on this side, and given the fact that he apparently expresses himself better on yours, joining the Sith parade doesn’t seem a wrong call after all. Ten percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing, as one might say, and it’s my strong belief that even taking the risk of not finding the chosen one on the dark side either, is far more appealing than being marooned here, chasing butterflies with a cannon. And I also have a nasty, impairing eye sensitivity to Light.

All in all, my motivation to be part of the Exquisite Sensations Seekers Squad is the cookies, the fun and the bad ass games you guys play so nicely between courses. I am sorry it had to come to me so late, but I am very satisfied I woke up to see I am not good at pretending I was somebody else. The dark side attracts me more, so I finally came to terms with my proneness and weakness for self-destructive tastes and ways of living.

Not wanting to waste any more of your precious time doing evil things to others, please find attached my resume. Suffice to say, I am fully convinced you will find it an interesting lecture. Should you consider that my brilliant skills in denying and dismissing all the right choices in the favor of all the wrong ones and the wide experience in sampling and enjoying unhealthy delicacies are suitable for the job opening on your Death Row of Luxury Cuisine Star, I will be more than happy to attend to an interview.

Sincerely yours,

…. (formerly known as The Starving Jedi Knight)

So, dear fans and followers of the Deianeiristic Religion, I can’t write anything worthy of my name at the moment, but instead, I can offer you a gift. So check this one out.

http://thecatfactor.blogspot.com/

His writting makes my writting (and my draft – book wannabee) look like used toilet paper, if you get the picture. It’s ugly, I know. Makes me look bad. Makes me feel jealous. But no, I am not suffering from temporary insanity or a flash of low self esteem. I know I write brilliant, I know I have posted here tons of good literature, and I do know for sure that I do have some talent I just don’t exploit so much. Today I am just bowing in front of another human who is so good at this, he just makes me bow. And you all know I don’t bow that easily, at least not in the field of literature. But I am fair and objective enough to recognize talent when I read it.

The blog is in English, so take your time. It will worth your while.

Enjoy!

Yours truly,

Miss D.

It’s been like this forever. You always come out of the dark, with a demonic angel’s smile on your lips. You always find me crucified to the immutable waiting, desiring you, unable to evolve out of my frail shell of flesh, needing you to ease its pain, eternally attracted and afraid of you, of your power to break me and leave me again without any peace or promise of being free.

I am at your total discretion. You never ask permission or forgiveness, you just take what you want, when you want it. And now, the hour of us meeting, has once arrived again. Because I am what you want. I have been what you want for so many lives before and for all those about to come and you are looking for me in any universe you travel, in any shape you take, in any world you might venture, just as I wear the stigmata of expecting you from the beginning of time until the end of all things.

And here you are again, slithering from the farthest of hells, your look telling me I am the game you hunt, the game you feed on, the game you always come back to for more, as your restless soul is bound to mine in the same sick way that mine is bound to yours, both cursed to travel endlessly, just to meet for split seconds to fulfill our immortal fate.

I see your hand reaching to my face, your fingers stroking my lips. Under your heavy, deep dark gaze, I find myself powerless, losing myself in the hallucinating beatings of my own heart. You always take me by surprise. No matter that I’m yours, no matter we’ve done this for a billion years, it’s always like the first encounter, over and over again and it’s never the same twice. And the rush, the crush, the fire that builds up in me every
time, the psychotic fever you give me it’s the only thing keeping me going through life and death.

And now, as you lean towards me, I feel my stomach ache, ‘cause you’re sweeter than sin and more powerful than the devil himself. I feel my blood burning like hellish horses running wild. A demented butterfly beats its wings inside my loins and I feel my pressure rising, deafening me. I
watch you from outside myself getting closer, fast yet motionless, aggressive yet peaceful, and your final step is a cocktail of our breaths conjoined
forever. It’s all like a dream, like a drug, the only true emotion worth feeling, my only pleasure, my only masochistic pain. It’s more than sexual,
this feeling you pressure in me, you’re a meteor shreding my atmosphere, you’re my flight above skies, you’re my fall beyond the edge of the world.

I feel your arms around me, pushing my back against the wall behind, until the three of us become the one and only breathless entity. My feet tremble, my lungs choke, I’m out of air, out of sight, out of words. And as your scent inflicts my mind, I feel the magma of my desire shivering my
body, tearing apart my organs, rupturing my skin, melting my core and leaking through my fingertips.

Your glare penetrates my emasculated orbits, rapes as a lightning storm the mush which used to be my brain , invades my nerves in paralyzing screams, biopsying that fragile spot which connects my head to my spinal cord, torching it into pure fire. The electricity you ignite in me cracks my bones and with my last pieces of reason, I know it was worth the waiting, the longing and the abyss left by your absence over the millennia, ‘cause this is what we live for and this is why we are meant to dance to each other in our eternal quest for resurrection. I feel your lips over mine, in a kiss as an irrevocable, inescapable possession and finally our souls meet, while time stops to regain its breath again.

An old world ends and a new one begins and we are alone here, at the crossroads of destruction and creation, the wall behind my back sustaining my overloaded, decomposed body and I feel your hand grabbing the back of my neck, with a violence only you are capable of, tender and feral,
as your kiss deepens into my spirit and the anticipation of your breaking into me becomes unbearable.

Your teasing fingers are like burning ice on my chilled skin, and there is nowhere for me to run, to hide from you, to escape your devouring hunger. My touch makes you shiver and this is all I have to know. You are too one giant heartbeat, one single pumping blood cell, a life-full
accessory of my love. Our souls bite, tear and squeeze the mortal carcass of one another, as I feel you crushing down your chest, hoping that I will fill the void inside you, the hollow that stands in front of me, with your dreams waiting to be exorcised.

I am a tattoo on that wall. You are a tattoo on me.

And when this tango ends, when it’s all over, you slowly take my hand and press it against your cheek. I feel your tears like burning candle drops. They leave me with scars and with a sorrow so great, so damaging, only eternity, in its kindness, will heal, ‘cause we have to part now and we have to live and we have to die a thousand ways, a thousand times, to pass a thousand re-births, until we meet again. And we will meet again, my love, I promise.

We are the bird of the same wings; we are the alpha and the omega, the truth and the light, the darkness and the agony, the siamese
siblings of the same sleepwalking soul. How can we be without if we only exist for being within eachother?

I got hooked on you and I didn’t want to give you up just yet. But I think now it’s time to separate our paths, at least for a while.

Oh Hell, you made me feel special. I thought you were that single chemical left for me to be complete. I thought I was that single bloodstream left for you to be brought to life. But you’re just a drug. You give away yourself to anybody who asks for you. You made me as special as any junkie is.

You were supposed to make me happy and you did, but for such a brief time. Now you’re just making me ill. The more I want you, the less you give me. I take one step forward and you’re taking a step back. You never met me half way, but left me here alone, stranded to the scaffold, crucified on your stupid promise of a larger-than-life journay.

You know they say quitting drugs is just a matter of will, strength and patience. Oh, but they haven’t met you, darlin’…

For me, quitting you is just a matter of survival. Will I get through the day without you?

I get up at sunrise with one only thought: “wish you were here”. But you’re not. I’ve thrown away the last dose two days ago. So I brush this stranger’s teeth, not recognizing her in the mirror, thinking that I could kill anybody for you to come back in my system. Then I get my existence the hell out of the house, wishing to be rammed to death by the only drunk motherfucker stupid enough to drive this early in the morning. And then I get to work.

I can’t breathe. I can’t talk. I’m out of focus. My heart pumps like this hysterical kick boxer who OD’s daily from too many steroids. My blood cells pop like hot corn. My brain dreams backwards in slow-motion. I sweat adrenaline and feel like I’ll drop dead in my own vomit in the next few
seconds. I hate myself and I hate you for leaving me like this. Here. Alone. Unsatisfied.

So I fill up my day with many, oh, so many pointless, peculiar, ludicrous tasks, just to take my mind off of you. I want you! I want you, my lymph screams in pain and I want to crawl up the walls and bite the ceiling. But then I remember I have to quit, so I manage to stay sober till lunch.

Lunch, on the other hand, is a bridge too long to cross and still remain half-sane. When I chew my food mechanically (‘cause I can’t feel its taste anymore), my mind deflects my body for better worlds. It usually rides wild horses in the Grand Canyon. But for two days now, it takes off erratically, just to find itself splashed onto your image and taste, like a fly on the windshield of a speeding car. You know that ugly spots on windshields? Blood, intestines and broken wings? Yeah, that’s me thinking of you.

After lunch it gets better. I only think about you a thousand times, hands shaking, head aching, lungs choking.

I now skip dinner. I’d rather drink myself next to a coma, just to get a vague sensation of some sleep happening. In your absence, sleep became a luxury I can’t afford. I wet the sheets, I toss and turn and scream. I masturbate (no point in that though, you infected my blood with your sweetness that hard, the stupid son of a bitch doesn’t reach those far corners of my body anymore). I dream about you and it pisses me off so bad, I get up and drink again. Pale illusion compared to you.

I’m crushed under the sickening idea that it is healthier for me not to feed myself from you any longer.

I know I have to quit

Thinking of you

Desiring you

Searching for you in the darkest of corners, in the latest of hours.

But I’m a junkie. I’ll always need you. And you’re a drug. You’ll always exist only because I want you. And I will want you back someday, so we will be trapped in this tango of death forever.

But for now, my crystal-meth Ken, my Barbie just wants to go to sleep for a while, in her glass coffin where you found her for the first time.

She is at a kiss distance away from awakening though, and I think  that she (stupid as any woman) will be still waiting for you to crush her one more time against your power of addiction…

The Universe’s first one, when it created itself from nothing, as a token of appreciation to God’s good will and sense of humor. Life’s first heartbeat, in the mother’s womb. The first kiss. The first I love you. The first fuck, the first ride in the roller-coaster, the first fist in the face, the last words of a dying man to his loved ones.

My journey with you started a while ago, when my mind thought you as desirable, put the system into work and my heart in fibrillation. “You wannna try?” “Oh, yes, I want to feel how it’s like to be awake standing on the thin line between whatever and life. One line. A quick line, a short line. I’m not a junky. One sniff will not change me forever”.

Quote: “If you dance with the devil, the devil don’t change. The devil changes you”. (Max California)

You made the word “change” become a symphony from hell. I pledged myself to you that night. Brilliantly cut, but still impure, made of synchronies and gaps, by substances unknown to man, by the lives you took before, by the clarity of your tangled spirit. I let you take me. I just went along. Beautiful devil, you danced me straight into oblivion…

And I loved it! No inhibitions, no pain, no night terrors, no thoughts, no words, wired to life as vampires are wired to death. Strip under the moonlight, dance to my last breath, fuck like a god, feel like a giant sponge sucking life. When the world was sleeping, I was taking a line. And sky exploded in million colors.

The truth is, substance is abusing people, not the other way around. By not having you, and not being able to take you in me, by being scarce and refusing yourself to me, that’s when it truly hurts. That’s when I want you more, that’s when I would do anything for another dose of you.

My body is decaying.

I sniff in dirty corners, looking for you, I feel my piss down in my pants, I lurk the night, the nightmares and the streets, I’d cheat for you, I’d kill for you, I’d prostitute myself to you, I’d slit my veins wide open and take a dive in you. Just for you to give me another fix, another crush, another orgasm.

I walk this endless roads, blood screaming, brain swelling, soul numbing. I am a ghost that hunts your beauty, I am a beggar of your mercy, I am a slave to what may come.

We feed on the first kiss. The first I love you. The first fuck, the first ride in the roller-coaster, the first fist in the face, the last words of a dying man to his loved ones. We thrive to create ourselves from nothing. We live just for those instances in time when we do want to feel we have a heart.

I want you more. Not ready to give up or leave this wicked house of pain, or fall my life asleep. . . I need to bleed my nose again.

And feel another heartbeat.

]]> http://missdeianeira.wordpress.com/2011/08/22/my-heroin-2/feed/ 6 missdeianeira http://missdeianeira.wordpress.com/2011/08/19/my-heroin/ http://missdeianeira.wordpress.com/2011/08/19/my-heroin/#comments Thu, 18 Aug 2011 22:07:08 +0000 missdeianeira http://missdeianeira.wordpress.com/?p=226 ]]> I’m searching my veins with one hand, your passion in my mouth, while with the other I masturbate imagining you flooding me. I am every God damn junkie’s femme fatale.

My skin shivers in retrospection, in imagination and in hell. My fingertips smother my thirsty lips. I wake up in convulsions, barely breathing. Huge jaws bite my spine, inhuman claws reap my ovaries. I am a spasm of desire. My body wants you as it never wanted before nor water, or air, or peace. I’m hungry.

I tried to quit. Honest to God, I tried. It was supposed to be easy ‘cause it all began to seem a little offbeat at some point. Obsolete and futile. My Melissa P was bored to death to Franz, and my Humbert Humbert was sick and tired of Rebecca. I went all the way down to system failure.  Baise-moi was just a pretext. Bitter Moon was just Lolita with more skills.

So I quit. Got clean. Thrown away the needles and the tourniquet. Miss little sunshine was back in town.

But it just doesn’t go away. The pain, the wanting, the lip-biting, the masturbating, the fire in the joints, the cracks beneath the brain, the torture of the skin, the self inflicted bruises, they never disappear and everything’s in vain.

I tried to replace the emptiness with soft stuff, normal stuff and average up-the-vein-circling-the-drain substitutes. They didn’t work either. I was lost. My numbness jumped me straight in a coma.

And then, you happened to me. Your sparkles, diamonds of pain. Your color, white as the darkest angel. Your smell, Eve stripped and chained to the Life Tree. Your taste, bitter cherries with a scent of animal violence. Your perfectly engineered design to please and make dreams come true.

Your gift of sneaking into my plasma, playing hide and seek in my synapses, licking my neurons, electrifying my eyeballs, pushing my heart above and beyond.

And I was hooked again.

I am made of sequences of time and space. No yesterday and no tomorrow, but “last time I choke to death inhaling you” or “last time I felt the world spinning like a pill under my tongue”.

I know you don’t want me. You don’t even need me. You’re just sitting there on the shelf, waiting for me, watching me kneel and summon your powers. I am a vessel to you, a plastic puppet who will do just about anything for an overdose of lust.  I feel you laugh at me, at my desperation, at
my end.

I know how bad you can hurt me. And how bad I can hurt myself. But I don’t care. I need my dose. It’s been too long and now I feel my jaws crack and tears bursting from my chest just looking at you. Do you want me to take the first step? I’ll lick every inch of the wrapping that hides your core, but I will get to you.

I live my life in passing moments between rehab and reincarnation.

I will quit you too soon, though. I’ll find a way. If I cannot live with the pain of wanting you and then falling back into you, again and again and having you as I had you before, and then forgetting about you, If I can’t live the rush and die from it, then why live at all?

My crystal-meth Ken, you woke my Barbie to the ceiling. Just please, don’t disappear before I get to taste one more time the heaven that  you bring to mortals.

Când mă uit la tine zâmbind în somn și mă gândesc la tine în momentul ăsta, mă gândesc ca la un coș care mi-a crescut în mod stupid și inutil pe față, cum le crește de obicei oamenilor, în locul ăla infernal de accesat, la aripioara nasului. Coș dintr-ăla dureros, care te torturează pe sub piele și care, culmea, a crescut fix de dimensiunea urmelor de dinți pe care mi le-ai lăsat pe umăr, în noaptea aia, știi tu care…

Imposibil de tratat, dureros și iritant, nu am avut ce face decât sa îl bâzâi zilnic în speranța că demonii vor fi milostivi iar tu, păpușă gonflabilă, îți vei aduce aminte că ai lăsat o treabă neterminată. Nimic nu a mers.

Mâncărimea aia pulsa în mine a febră, a sânge și a nervi întinși. Am apăsat coșul ăla cu furie și ură, dorindu-mi cu sălbăticie să apar la tine acasă într-o noapte, la ușă, goală pe sub haina de piele neagră, cu o sticlă de vodkă în mână și cu o sabie în cealaltă, rugându-te să îmi curmi jalea. Întocmai ca un om, străbătut de fiori omenești. Nu am făcut-o. Nu puteam să mă întrupez din neant la ușa ta și să iți cer explicit să te ocupi de buba mea, nu? Pentru că nu, la dracu, nu am vrut să îți distrug iluzia fericirii pe care atât de bine o păstrezi și pe care atât de bine ai negat-o lingându-mi pielea cu dinții și cu unghiile și atât…

Dar acum îngerii răspunzători de mine pe această planetă, satisfăcuți, au plecat să își fumeze țigările de după. S-a terminat. Tot ce mi-ai lăsat tu e senzația de prostie pe care o am de obicei când mă impiedic pe stradă că nu mă uit pe unde merg… Am dormit prea mult în sicriul meu de satin, dar acum m-am trezit.

Uitasem că lumea asta atât de mare este plină de demoni perfecți care mușcă și zgârâie și rup. Care ți se infiltrează în carne și care nu te lasă suspendată între două lumi, ci te duc în lumea lor, aia de dincolo de sânge, de moarte și de scrum căreia eu îi aparțin și despre care tu nu vei afla nimic niciodată…

Nu te mai vreau. Poți să dormi liniștit. Buzele mele nu își mai vor dori niciodată să sărute pulsația de pe gâtul tău iar colții mei nu își mai vor dori niciodată să o ucidă. Nu mai vreau să mă hrănesc din tine. Am fost hrănită de altcineva. A venit din lumea mea întunecată și pierdută și mi-a explicat că numai oamenilor le cresc coșuri pe față…

Așa că îmi aprind încă o țigară așezată pe pervazul ferestrei tale și mă uit la stele. Expir fumul pe gură lent și sacadat. Zâmbesc și mă uit prin fum la oameni și la case și la câinele maidanez care aleargă după o vrabie pe trotuar. Vrabia zboară. Câinele dă din coadă a pagubă și merge la culcare.

Se lasă noaptea peste orașul ăsta pustiu, peste dealuri și peste viețile tuturor. Încă o noapte, încă un segment de timp iremediabil pierdut, încă un tur de circuit către marele final, marea destrămare. Visăm la aceeași lună, tu și eu, îngerii și demonii mei. Am fost reînvățată să zbor. Să îmi iau ceea ce îmi doresc. Și să mi se dea ceea ce îmi doresc. Coșurile de pe față mi se par prozaice acum, apanajul oamenilor dar nu și al zeilor. M-am așezat pe pervazul ferestrei dormitorului tău și te privesc prin geam dormind frumos și lipsit de griji, în timp ce visele îți sunt bântuite de gustul pielii mele.

Diferența dintre noi doi este că tu o să trăiești veșnic întrebându-te cum ar fi fost dacă, în timp ce eu o să trăiesc veșnic. Punct.

Love, we smoked it a long time ago and, except for the high of the beginning, the only thing left was always the stone feeling after its end. And it always hurt. But lust…that’s a high that is worth the pain…

Lust to feel the speed of your car in your joints on the freeway

Lust to take a dive, naked, in a pool, in the middle of the night

Lust to dance in the most crowded place in the city but feeling like you’re alone in the world

Lust to scream from the top of your lungs on the top of the highest mountain.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lust to take off a stranger’s clothes, just like in the movies.

Lust to feel bloody lips biting your mouth back.

Lust to fuck like a convict in his first release day

Lust to remember his hands on your body even when you breathe.

We don’t love anymore. Maybe we can’t. Maybe something in that complicated mechanism of love was broken a long time ago. Maybe we don’t want it anymore. Or maybe we’ve become too tired or too wise to ask for things that won’t allow themselves to happen.

But we definitely need to feel

the lust to live

like there is no tomorrow.

- Nu ne vom desparti niciodata. Vom avea intotdeauna prapastia noastra in care am putea sari, daca am vrea…

- Zi-mi Thelma, exista prapastii in orasul asta? In cazul in care ar trebui sa sarim…

- Nu Louise, nu sunt prapastii in oras…

- Ba sunt, Thelma, dar numai intre oameni…