"Donna in red"
Nu är det här inte en dikt men det började med en som jag sedan utvecklade till en låttext. Detta är då en väldigt kort novell och jag hoppas att någon finner en viss skönhet i den eller åtminstonde finner den intressant nog att läsa igenom. Jag skrev den här på ren impuls och jag har inte rättat den heller för den delen, med det sagt önskar jag en god läsning för den som orkar. :)
I first saw her a cold night outside my window. Don't really know what struck into me but I knew she was the one. She was beautiful to lay your eyes on. Skin pale and so young, her cheeks blushed as she glanced at me, shy and innocent. Or at least I thought her to be so. When I looked again she was already gone.
For weeks, no, months I couldn't barely think of anything but her. In my dreams I let my eyes tempt me by looking at her dark brown hair as it almost floated when the wind played with it like some kind of threads made of the finest silk fluttering around in a small glimpse of never ending perfectness. Her red dress perfectly attached to her body, almost like they where made to be one. Her second skin, and what a beautiful example of it.
As my life went on I experienced many types of relations and many sides of love. I hated it, despised it and needed it. But never could I feel the same way as I did the day I saw her, my girl from my dreams. The thing haunting me was the knowledge of her existing and without any power to do anything to find her, I could just wait and hope the day would come so I finally would hold her body close to mine. People who heard me talk about her thought me to be crazy every time I tried to explain. They would call me a horrible excuse to treat women like merchandise since it was known I couldn't have a lasting relationship and therefore a well known rumor about my heart being as black as the depths of the Atlantic ocean or as cold and frosty as the drinks I preferred. I laughed every time the subject was brought up as I knew they would never ever feel like I did. They to lived a good life and only a god would be able to know if they didn't live in perfect harmony with their loved ones. Even if this was a charade they always knew how to blame their own incompetence on me because to them I was nothing but a cold and well thought gentleman. Well I never cared about them anyway, they where just some point of satisfactory. I needed them to feel better since I wanted to kill some time anyway, I couldn't always wait for her to come. I needed them to fill my head with other thoughts. Personally I believe the alcohol I always drank accompanied me better then the persons I was supposed to talk with the nights we met during all the weeks.
Now, who I am and what I did during my waiting and before this part of the story isn't really important. I do not believe a good view into my past would give you any clues of who I am anyway so I will only make a short statement since this is just supposed to be a short story about what happened and why it did so. I am no good story writer and my words never seem to get stuck on paper, at least not the words I'm thinking of. When I'm writing this story I believe I could have told it much more detailed and much better in the real world but the problem is, I might not make it that long.
To the conclusion. My name is not important, I prefer to be anonymous since I am partly embarrassed about what I did and the consequences it got me in to. Where I was born and where I live is also not important. But where I am now as I'm writing this down is Tårnvej 205A, Copenhagen in Denmark. I'm writing this down in English because I was born an Englishman and since I have traveled a lot during my life I believe Britain to be the only country I actually loved in my heart and soul. I don't expect you to understand me at all, sometimes even I question myself. Why I lied just to feel normal or accepted or why I chose my friends only to make them entertain me, sometimes even without thinking about my own actions. To conclude this I admit that I am not a good person. My life is just a big gap of killing time and not to get bored. Even during my job I took risks just to feel alive, to feel happy. The irony here is, the first day I can truly say I feel happiness is today. Or was today before I realized the heart of a man actually is black.
Now to the story. I had waited for her many years but never giving up hope. And one day, there she was. As young and as stunningly beautiful as she was the first time I saw her. This time all her attention was pointed at me and I knew my prayers had been answered. She was standing in my backyard in her red dress, it never hit me if she wasn't freezing but I only thought of my joy to finally tell her the tree simple words I had been saving for her all these years. I turned around to put on a jacket but she was already knocking at my door. I opened and there she stood looking at me with a shy smile but with a very cold stare I ignored of course. I embraced her and she filled my broken soul with joy and warmth. She shivered for a second and I wanted to know what it was.
Light filled the room for a second, the same second as a loud bang ringed through my ears. I couldn't do anything but to stand there shocked. My right hand moved to a position below my chest and on the right side, between two ribs I felt something warm and thick spreading over my shirt like a red beast. I gazed at my fingers who had for a second tried to cover my wound, they where now colored as the rest of my shirt. I fell to the floor without a word, only a long sigh. Her eyes where teared and she started to cry silently as she put away her gun. She leaned over and said to me, crying. “I love you. But this could never be.” I couldn't move. All my energy had left my body. I was lying there like a stone.
I will never feel the same about anyone else. This was my love, my dream and my curse. All I can remember now is her red dress and the tears running down her pale cold face. She disappeared as she had arrived. I watched her move through the room, taking whatever she wanted since we both knew I didn't need anything of it where I was going. I felt no guilt for my life and I couldn't be angry at her. After all, she had made my miserable life complete in a way, even if it had cost me my life. I also knew this night would haunt her forever and inside myself I laughed. The love of my life, now my death and I never got to know her name.
I first saw her a cold night outside my window. Don't really know what struck into me but I knew she was the one. She was beautiful to lay your eyes on. Skin pale and so young, her cheeks blushed as she glanced at me, shy and innocent. Or at least I thought her to be so. When I looked again she was already gone.
For weeks, no, months I couldn't barely think of anything but her. In my dreams I let my eyes tempt me by looking at her dark brown hair as it almost floated when the wind played with it like some kind of threads made of the finest silk fluttering around in a small glimpse of never ending perfectness. Her red dress perfectly attached to her body, almost like they where made to be one. Her second skin, and what a beautiful example of it.
As my life went on I experienced many types of relations and many sides of love. I hated it, despised it and needed it. But never could I feel the same way as I did the day I saw her, my girl from my dreams. The thing haunting me was the knowledge of her existing and without any power to do anything to find her, I could just wait and hope the day would come so I finally would hold her body close to mine. People who heard me talk about her thought me to be crazy every time I tried to explain. They would call me a horrible excuse to treat women like merchandise since it was known I couldn't have a lasting relationship and therefore a well known rumor about my heart being as black as the depths of the Atlantic ocean or as cold and frosty as the drinks I preferred. I laughed every time the subject was brought up as I knew they would never ever feel like I did. They to lived a good life and only a god would be able to know if they didn't live in perfect harmony with their loved ones. Even if this was a charade they always knew how to blame their own incompetence on me because to them I was nothing but a cold and well thought gentleman. Well I never cared about them anyway, they where just some point of satisfactory. I needed them to feel better since I wanted to kill some time anyway, I couldn't always wait for her to come. I needed them to fill my head with other thoughts. Personally I believe the alcohol I always drank accompanied me better then the persons I was supposed to talk with the nights we met during all the weeks.
Now, who I am and what I did during my waiting and before this part of the story isn't really important. I do not believe a good view into my past would give you any clues of who I am anyway so I will only make a short statement since this is just supposed to be a short story about what happened and why it did so. I am no good story writer and my words never seem to get stuck on paper, at least not the words I'm thinking of. When I'm writing this story I believe I could have told it much more detailed and much better in the real world but the problem is, I might not make it that long.
To the conclusion. My name is not important, I prefer to be anonymous since I am partly embarrassed about what I did and the consequences it got me in to. Where I was born and where I live is also not important. But where I am now as I'm writing this down is Tårnvej 205A, Copenhagen in Denmark. I'm writing this down in English because I was born an Englishman and since I have traveled a lot during my life I believe Britain to be the only country I actually loved in my heart and soul. I don't expect you to understand me at all, sometimes even I question myself. Why I lied just to feel normal or accepted or why I chose my friends only to make them entertain me, sometimes even without thinking about my own actions. To conclude this I admit that I am not a good person. My life is just a big gap of killing time and not to get bored. Even during my job I took risks just to feel alive, to feel happy. The irony here is, the first day I can truly say I feel happiness is today. Or was today before I realized the heart of a man actually is black.
Now to the story. I had waited for her many years but never giving up hope. And one day, there she was. As young and as stunningly beautiful as she was the first time I saw her. This time all her attention was pointed at me and I knew my prayers had been answered. She was standing in my backyard in her red dress, it never hit me if she wasn't freezing but I only thought of my joy to finally tell her the tree simple words I had been saving for her all these years. I turned around to put on a jacket but she was already knocking at my door. I opened and there she stood looking at me with a shy smile but with a very cold stare I ignored of course. I embraced her and she filled my broken soul with joy and warmth. She shivered for a second and I wanted to know what it was.
Light filled the room for a second, the same second as a loud bang ringed through my ears. I couldn't do anything but to stand there shocked. My right hand moved to a position below my chest and on the right side, between two ribs I felt something warm and thick spreading over my shirt like a red beast. I gazed at my fingers who had for a second tried to cover my wound, they where now colored as the rest of my shirt. I fell to the floor without a word, only a long sigh. Her eyes where teared and she started to cry silently as she put away her gun. She leaned over and said to me, crying. “I love you. But this could never be.” I couldn't move. All my energy had left my body. I was lying there like a stone.
I will never feel the same about anyone else. This was my love, my dream and my curse. All I can remember now is her red dress and the tears running down her pale cold face. She disappeared as she had arrived. I watched her move through the room, taking whatever she wanted since we both knew I didn't need anything of it where I was going. I felt no guilt for my life and I couldn't be angry at her. After all, she had made my miserable life complete in a way, even if it had cost me my life. I also knew this night would haunt her forever and inside myself I laughed. The love of my life, now my death and I never got to know her name.
Livet
Vi föds till den här världen av förhoppningar och lovord.
Vi växer upp med en strikt bestämmelse över vilka leksaker vi väljer att leka med, vilka kläder vi klär oss i. Allt för att inte bryta den överenskommelsen vi människor gjort upp mellan varandra. Är det en flicka skall hon skämmas bort med Barbiedockor och princesskronor av plast. Pojkar däremot får leka med knallpistoler och bilar.
När våra fantasier på en vacker värld med blommor och påskharar krossas likt det tunna skyddsglas vi stått bakom vårt hela liv försvinner när vi forslas ut i det vuxna livet.
Soten och förströelsen upptäcks och vi upplever den första tunga, dimmiga sorgen. Vi förlitar oss ofta på droger för att må bättre.
När vi nu upptäcker vad som förväntas av oss finner vi ofta hopplöshetens väg till att antingen sitta vid ett skrivbord eller vinna en popularitet.
När vi slutar vårt första stadie av lärdom förlorar vi kontakten med så många som vi lovat och som lovat oss beskyddelse och evig vänskap. Dessa förloras genom enkel lathet att inte ta upp luren och slå ett enkelt nummer.
Många lockelser möts på vägen och som om våra föräldrar levde perfekta liv uppmanar de inte utan förväntar sig av oss att alltid välja den rätta vägen och undvika den stora omtalade händelsen i varje ung människas liv.
Allt jag beskriver är relativt. Vad som står är mina egna upplevelser och endast mina egna.
För de som inte samtycker, säg det. Jag kommer att förklara mig bättre om det krävs. För övrigt kan jag bara tillägga att historien i vilket fall som helst stämmer in på en större skara människor. Kanske inte alla delar men en del av dem.