My black pencil full of led…

One of my first memories takes place somewhere in my early childhood years, when I was learning to color and my mother was teaching me how to use coloring pencils in such a way that I stay between the lines. Somehow my imagination always knew better. Back then life was made out of a bunch of colorful pencils, pink, purple, blue, green. Back then I did not know there were more shades to the same color, I did not know that pink (your color) can turn into red (the color of the love I feel for you) if you add just a pinch of black. Back then I did not know that black can turn into gray when the pain starts to fade away but it can also come back to its initial intensity when the pain returns with the same force as it did the very first day.
I used to dream that one day I would show you these coloring pencils. I used to dream that I would smile and that my eyes would sparkle, like your dad says only my eyes can (but I’m sure yours would have done the same). I used to dream that we would embark on a journey filled with imagination and love, that we would color a coloring book with no lines and I was sure that your imagination would take us in faraway lands and tales of princes and princesses.

Ever since you left I started coloring again. I bought myself a set of 24 pencils that I cannot tell apart and the only color that I truly understand … black… keeps breaking almost all the time, even before it touches the paper … the sharpener cannot stand it anymore. It is already so small that I do not know for how long I will still be able to use it.
Every morning I wake up and realize what happened the pencil’s led breaks again and I ask myself how long will it be until it will all be over. Rejected by the other colors because I am not as cheerful as they are I get out of bed and go towards the sharpener ready for another day… every chip sculpted off of my body in order to get to the newly sharpened led leaves behind an immense pain and I wonder how long will I be able to still use this pencil?
I hope that you, my tiny ballerina, in the better world you live in, use colorful pencils, like your soul. I hope that your imagination runs wild and has no limits. I hope that your coloring book has no lines in it and even if you do not color tales of princes and princesses your tales speak of little angels and fluffy clouds. I hope that in your pencil set there is no black one, because you do not need it and that one day we will be able to color together in that wonderful book of yours.

 

I love you, my princess!!!
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Una dintre primele amintiri pe care le am din aceasta viata se petrece la inceputul copilariei mele, atunci cand invatam sa colorez, atunci cand mama imi arata cum trebuie sa folosesc creioanele de colorat in asa fel incat sa stau in interiorul conturului, dar cumva imaginatia mea stia ma bine. Atunci viata era un manunchi de creioane vesel colorate, roz, mov, albastru, verde. Atunci nu stiam ca o culoare poate avea mai multe nuante, ca rozul (culoarea ta) se poate transforma in rosu (culoarea iubirii mele pentru tine) daca ii adaugi nu strop de negru, nu stiam ca negrul se poate transforma in gri atunci cand durerea se decoloreaza sau ca poate sa revina la forma initiala atunci cand durerea te sfasie din nou la fel de puternica ca in prima zi.
Visam ca intr-o buna zi sa iti arat aceste creioane colorate, sa iti zambesc cu ochi sclipitori asa cum tatal tau zice ca doar eu pot, dar sunt sigura ca si tu ai fi facut la fel si sa pornim impreuna pe acest drum al imaginatiei. Visam sa coloram o carte de colorat fara contururi si eram sigura ca imaginatia ta ne va duce spre taramuri indepartate cu printi si printese.
De cand ne-am despartit am inceput din nou sa colorez. Mi-am luat un set de creioane colorate cu 24 de culori pe care nu le diferentiez si singura culoare pe care o inteleg cu adevarat … negrul … se rupe mai mereu inainte sa atinga hartia, iar ascutitoarea nu il mai suporta. Este deja un creion atat de scurt incat ma intreb cat timp o sa il mai pot folosi.

In fiecare dimineata cand constientizez realitatea la care ma trezesc varful creionului meu se rupe din nou si ma intreb cat timp voi mai putea sa il ascult pana cand totul se va termina. Respinsa de celelate culori pentru ca nu sunt vesela ca ele ma ridic din pat si ma indrept spre ascutitoarea care ma pregateste de o noua zi… fiecare aschie sculptata din trupul meu pentru a ajunge din nou la varful ascutit ma lasa cu o durere imensa si ma intreb din nou… Cat timp voi mai putea folosi acest creion?Sper ca tu, balerina mea, in acea lume mai buna in care esti, folosesti creioane colorate ca sufletul tau, ca imaginatia ta zburda fara limite, ca ai o carte de colorat fara contururi si chiar daca nu colorezi printi si printese spui povesti despre ingerasi si norisori. Sper ca din setul tau de creioane lipseste negrul, pentru ca tu nu ai nevoie de el si sper ca intr-o buna zi sa putem colora impreuna in acea carte minunata.

Te iubesc, printesa mea!

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