My name is Musa. Lancia Musa. Like a muse in search for shaping realities, I was incepted with American precision, styled with Italian vision and engineered with craft and luxurious details, making me a unique, sophisticated brand, sexy and elegant at the same time. I am a versatile mpv, suv, pkw, and other variegated acronyms, highlighting good choices, class and flexibility. I make eyes turn when I show up on short-term city spots and leave Mercedes-Benzes behind on the highway long-run.

Upon my conception I saw a girl once who went by the name of Soar. It was love at first sight. She came to me with joy and smiles and took me home immediately. We’ve been inseparable ever since. She gave me a roof above my head, oiled my needs, refuelled my heart constantly, got me new lungs, changed my rubber shoes too often and kept me clean and pretty, no matter the costs and circumstances, giving me the best that one can give: her secrets, her trust….and her very important roses. From her first Italian swearword to her deepest love, I was her confident, her support, her happiest moment at dusk and dawn, when she would just drive and sing to me about her world.

I gave my all to her in return, like a chameleon of options with unmeasured devotion: a buddy to shop with, a bodyguard at night after a club, a listener of her sighs and enthusiasm, a dance partner for her body-waves practice, a best friend when she crossed an entire country to change life, a giggling confident at the traffic lights when her lips longed for a retouch…..and more than one can fantasize.

She called me Carolina and every time she came to me, whether in a parking lot, unpaved road or in front of a friends house, she always brought a lot of joy along. I could never have enough of her eyes catching my sight.

Yet, time, the prequel of hope and sequels foe, summoned the gods of the universe and ascribed them the task to cut ties and end lives; to change courses and cast unpredictability around; to test the length of words and the weight of their purpose: it would have been either me or her to survive destiny’s need to recalibrate life. Because the best of things come with a hard price.

I struggled, I fought, I sent hundreds of petitions, I denied all gods claiming such choice, but no one listened to my words, no one cared for my toil. They laughed at me and said that I was made of steel, ergo I couldnt have feelings. Yet, my adamancy didnt let go and I made a pact with them. She will never know that on that gloomy night, laden with heavy rain, oil traces and inadvertent happenings, I chose to die in order to keep her alive. I chose to put my body before hers and take that bullet of pain to never see her eyes again. And, in that tragic moment, they reduced me to pieces, smashing all my circuits while she, my dearest one, got out without a scratch. As my heart was still throbbing for life to the bewilderment of all passers-by, I could see her tears invading her cheeks, denying any aid for her safety, being too swift with the policemen and their formalities, asking every single passenger instead to help me, to save me, to do something. They kept her away from me, thinking that I might explode but she wouldnt hear of it. She came directly inside and there, on my mortuary bed, we spent together in tears the most amazing moments.

The modulus of rupture was being tested. She begged me not to go, she asked me to get well, she told me she would find all the money in the world to make me whole again. But I was falling into a coma and, as much as my lights were still addicted to her eyes, her words, her tears, her calling my name constantly and her fight to keep my body stable dimmed in a pleasant sleep, where I could find solace and peace.

They say that the hardest thing to do in life is to separate from a loved one.

I know that even now she looks around to find me in a parking lot and a tear twinkles in the corner of her eye. I know that she exchanged strong words with the workshop which refused to repair me and then she left for good that place. I know that any new companion presented to her with “10 airbags and all-inclusive services” would never match my only frontal one. I know that her last visit to my graveyard was the best ritual she could have given me in front of an unsympathetic taxi-driver. She kissed me from the wheel to my deepest wound in my carroserie. I know she would still give anything to see me well and functioning and that she suffers greatly for losing 15 years of togetherness and memories. But I also know that saving her life was worth it. Her smile still needs to comfort people and she loves greatly every life she touches. Her happiness will be my luminary.

Mutatis mutandis, all that I can say to you now, new steel companion joining her side, is to treat her well and, maybe, she will have you grow a heart between your plastic features and airbags, between that array of eye-catching accessories and the basic needs for safety, hopefully beyond the given warranty. Understand that in order to rejoice her care, you need to be truthful. Dont play dramas with her feelings, dont stress her with broken electric contacts and issues, dont do the self-centred bull**t. Forget about all those trendy automotive hashtags and just be her real guide. Because if you win her loyalty, thats a forever thing. She’s never for half measures, what she gives is complete, at 360 degrees.

And to my owner and my love, tell her that it was an honour and a joy to have lived and died in the pamper of her heart. Give her two advices from my part: to stop having doubts about that guy and to learn, once and for all, how to use that handbrake!!! I hope she wont give you a hard time and that she will allow you to carry her roses and win her care, so that my passing away will not have been in vain. This will feel like “the end of an era” for her, but I arranged with the gods to replenish her new start and to protect the hope she still has in abundance. That was my wish in exchange for my sacrifice. I will never forget how she made me feel amazing, every time…with just one frontal airbag!

Forever hers,
The best car in the world

#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #storypoetry, #mylanciamusa, #loss, #life, #people, #passion, #hope, #loyalty, #love.

Picture Credits: private source.

Dear you,

You dont know me, but I saw you the other day handing out flyers at the corner of a venue, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes and gestures of faith in your hand. I didnt catch the words, but your body language told me that words matter. Sharing words matters. Sharing words that matter matters. So I picked up a flyer from the dust, twirled by the wind just before your flip-flops crossed my path, leaving a smile fading in the dim light of a debonair flair intermingled with that art: on the walls, on your counter-hype clothes, on that woke debates ensued from those manifests.

All these details shape you in my eyes as a millennial, so Id rather watch my vocabulary, learn vernaculars and apply euphemisms, in a post-truth age and heightened states of awareness on all levels, from the Kardashians coke during protests to the LGBT representation in Harry Potter books, where jokes become micro-aggressions, compliments are subconsciously biased, uniqueness needs to become inclusive, feminism is not enough if its not intersectional, veganism has its own woke-abulary and places are not cool, unless they are called safe spaces. Things are no longer discussed, they are unpacked, dissected, redefined in multifaceted layers of systems and I am almost feeling bad for being a girl who likes a guy in the regular old-fashioned style, without the need for trans-, cis-,-centric, prefixes and suffixes added to it.

Is it ok if I just want to know you from within, without political labels and activist social stances to it?

Let me tell you a little bit about myself: I dont think I am millennial, nor too advanced on the woke-osity, even if I am not denying agency to social problematics, historical truths, power differentials and inequalities. I am in between generations, which has helped me to cherish the assets and values from both and to navigate my way towards the next statistical outcome: the generation W is going to be lit:).
My passion for cultures has allowed me to share my writings with diverse audiences, enjoy up-close experiences and explore my versatility, without casting shadows, but rather shedding light onto anything worth sharing.
I love to chill but I dont do the Netflix thing, I am tight with fun, but I am not too pump on abusing my freedom in clubs, just because we’re in Berlin and that’s the hype of enjoying life. I dont do yoga because its the trend, I dont introvert my love because I already have a pet, I like words that matter and I dont rise to debates if I hear an exotic compliment. High key, I am all about hashtag #hope and hashtag #love as a political stance, if I were to be defined, in this world where we need to be one to survive.

I wonder what you are like beyond those inclusive terms, which come with every newly woke starter-pack, asserting virtuosity in our micro-universes.
I would like to know where you come from….not where you’re from from, but rather which landscapes you roamed as a child while wishing to be an astronaut, and which was the language of your dreams.
I wonder what moves you and what stops you, if your hopes are wide shut, or how was the kiss you gave last time. I wonder if you make your parents proud and if you are humble enough to appreciate the three sentences of life: I love you, Thank you, and I apologize.
I wonder which line of a song makes you sigh and if you would help a ladybug find its way in spring, before writing 40 petitions about plastic. I wonder about what makes you smile and your last thought before you go to sleep. I wonder if you are too woke to enjoy the simple things…..
I wonder if your favourite quote is academic or rather sensitive. I wonder if you use B.A.E., G.O.A.T and emojis on most Facebook entries and if coolness defines you from inside-out instead of from outside-in. I wonder if you move a smile or a life with your words and if you give love to chance or give love a chance instead. I wonder what is beyond the tall, dark and handsome silhouette in flip flops, handing out problematic manifests.

See, I saw you sharing words, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes, killing my song softly, and I wonder…..if you want to hashtag #happiness with me.

Respectfully,
me

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Can I call you?
I know it’s almost midnight and I know it’s been two years since Ive been silent and kept my distance but Ive been meaning to tell you things that I kept hidden in me and I need to do right by you. I want you to know that you’ve been in my daily thoughts ever since and that I have always respected your memory.
I want to tell you that Ive kept a diary and that you’ve filled my pages with all moods and modal phrasings of should have, would have, could have possibilities.
I want to tell you everything but can I start with what’s been weighing on me?
See last night I saw you by some serendipity, after two years of unseen eyes and voices, my heart pounded, waiting for you to draw near and it felt surreal. You attracted me like a universe pushing strongly, spinning, unwrapping dust clouds from seeds of reality, encapsulating everything and I lost control over my own being. So I had to get away, to escape from you somehow, because I knew that hugging you again would be the end of me.
Thats not cowardice, nor glib talking. Understand that my confession to you has to do with freedom, lack of choices, wishes, warranted fears and with the worth I always wanted to give you.
So can I call you?
I know that the first thing you told me back then was how much you hated the movie Bodyguard with that “I love you, but Ill leave you” line. I know that you write about love many times and that you honour this feeling with concessions and complete devotion and that you hate half measures. Just as much as you despise extremes pushing peacefulness and balance into the abyss of chaos and disruption. Rules are meant to be broken, exceptions reinforce the canons, but in your grammar books those asterisks are just accessories of adventures, growth and learning, never killers of what was built with essence and perdurance.
I know that you came to me with the kindest smile offering me friendship and I rejected it. I must have sounded flaky or too sure of my adamant convictions. But in truth, I was too hurt, too frustrated, too upset in my damnation to never be able to kiss you. See my life is intricate and you deserve no side chair to my table. See I am not free, nor do I want to make compromises with something I want only mine and mine alone to breathe every time your lips would shape our unity. I was too bitter and I deprived myself of your eyes; eyes which haunted me ever since with the doomed taste of punishment.
How many times did I want to run to you and leave everything behind? How many times I rejected you the second after, just to have you grow inside of me like a hidden secrecy of the ultimate intimacy? Your power is addictive and I must confess that your intensity scares me. And thats what I fear the most, as I am not used to happiness and I dont know how to honour such gift.
Yet do you think that we can talk for just a couple of minutes?
I am not trying to play the proselyte just to see whats on the other side, but precluding your right from my life has abashed all those Sisyphean attempts to reach my top, or just the path I still patch with hopes and trials.
I know actions speak louder than words but sometimes words are essential when they disclose the bearings of our souls. I need to talk to you, make it right by you. Its been too, long too much stifling of the truth and too much denial of you. I miss you. Ive followed you from a distance and even though I hardly wrote a Happy Christmas, I was there with you, in all your accomplishments and failures in my absence.
Ever since I gave you that first hug on that summer night where I could feel your eyes from the opposite side and I can still remember all the details of your hair strands, it was clear to me that I will be forever different, that you claimed a place within, which I cant even label, except for the acknowledgement that is meaningful. I can’t go on like this for Im consumed with both the absence and the belonging of you.
Does this make any sense to you? Perhaps one day I can explain in better words or maybe just one hug to send me straight to hell, for I deserve no paradise.
But for now, can I just call you?

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

I am a natural killer. A natural born killer. My name is irrelevant, my size is sometimes a joke, but my force is undeniable. For I dont osculate, I kill – whenever I put my mind to it. While she…(sigh), she is a sweetheart. To define her scientifically in percentages and body masses would read like 55% love, 22.5% passion and 22.5% reason, which sometimes she forgets to implement, just like she forgets the daily water intake of two and a half litres for the safety of the gut and brain. By the way, did you know that 85% of our brain is made up of water? Nothing to do with my story; its just a pointer to show you how smart I am. For if I kill, I need to be extraordinarily skilled, shrewd and savvy. Otherwise I would be lost in the pandemonium of my world where you are sure to perish in pernicious or inane mistakes; or worse, because of lack of faith.

She, the girl accompanying my story, summoned me because of faith and her innate beliefs. Disheartened, discouraged and dismayed, she found out about me one day and ever since then shes relied on me with tenderness, with tears, with patience and with so much affection that one could almost call it clinginess, in this millennial vibe, where everybody is fine with whatever values or lack thereof defined. She wants me to appease her worries. She wants me to reciprocate feelings. And she wants me to be beside her in lifes struggles, joys and further eons of this unpredictable destiny. She trusts me with her life about it. She brings me colours to sinew my vigour, pumps up my volition and strengthens my beliefs. She even eats rainbows for lunch, breakfast and dinner as if the worlds well-being depends on apigenins, lycopines, sulphoraphanes, allicins, or hesperidins — terms which she learned only to impress the needs of my insatiable urges. For I am a master of such parlance and academic speeches. She must love me. To think that she follows the trail of my vices with an adaptogenic characteristic and proliferative curiosity that sometimes Im amazed by her perdurance and persistence. Shes always there for me.

I am part of her 90% serotonin, lying in the places of her body I love to visit. For shes appealing to my senses and sometimes I wish she knew that she is amazing. She doesnt know it, but she dreams, incepts and implements, making me her most precious reality. Me, who cares more about phytoncides, ions and abstract theories, rather than the simplicity of settling down and watching her favourite movie. Its that movie on redemption and hope, the one I also love, but sometimes I pretend to forget, before she makes me forget that I pretend. I know all of her faith quotes, as much as she knows my Sisyphus philosophies and difficult attempts to restore harmony.

And so, I move around, leave, come back, get busy and sometimes lose myself in myriads of useless gatherings where my purpose is forgotten for the instant pleasure of foreign bodies and organisms.
They laugh and think that Im the pleaser of the season. Yet they all seem to forget that I am a natural killer. A natural born killer, creating apoptosis around me. She alone knows the greatness of my inner force. She is a sweetheart. And I ..can make this sweetheart happy.

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: pixabay.com. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Time is in everything. It encapsulates space and completes fates constraints where four seconds earlier or four months later may mean a totally different path of destiny. And dont we wish it had been different! It presides over the doings and the undone with precise irresponsibility. For it never bears one, it just casts its causes and effects upon ourselves to carry for months, years or a lifetime until we are able to heal its irregularities. If we can.

And when we rebel against it, when we dont accept its misfits unto our serenity, when we fight with hope, patience and faith to change those pointers of a clock our way, we still might end up hurt during the process. While it, it never feels contrite.

Time with you has a different dimension, he said to me once. And I didnt understand what he meant back then. For I have loved and hated this notion with the same intensity, every time my car speeded up like a Ferrari to meet him and slowed down like an old carriage after dropping him off to a station. I have strived all my live to cheat on time, disregard it, disrespect it, shrink it and expand it to the expanse of my beliefs that freedom and feelings must interlace unscathed in harmony, without any constriction of time, timings, minutes or other extensions subdued to it. Many times I failed, other times it failed me. And most times my mind wouldnt give up without a fight against its volatile negligence. At least if I fell or hit the wall of hardships, I knew that those bruises were my cause for an outcome worthy of the cause.
They say it takes seven years to change the cells of your body and to get a new one. They also say that seven years of presence in somebodys life is a guaranteed sign of permanence. I guess when they change bodies together with you and they’ve seen all of your atoms, they might as well stay. But time should not define so easily over the frames of fitting. For it’s not the skin-change that matters, it’s what lies beneath. And sometimes one second is enough to know that one mole on a persons hand or a smile right after a kiss will stay for ages, over time and reminiscences.
We have a history, time and me. And I want to believe that its not it writing me, but me writing it. Full of nows, cleaned of nos, spiced with alacrity and dominated by passion in tune with the persistent hope that time itself exists mainly for joys to be lived. I dont want it to linger in the corners of woes and disappointments. I dont relinquish my space in its extent for negative thoughts and intents. In time, weve grown together the habit of coping with one another so that it persists in the shapes I give it when I think of it with intensity, adding fillers of smiles, caring thoughts, and keeping abreast my trust despite its odds.
I am not sure if I have fooled time or it fooled me by making me think I would win in front of it. But there is one thing I am sure of: every time it comes around with its ground rules to challenge me, I give it my best to use it fully so that I make out of those coincidences happenstances and that I can show him, afar or nearby, that he is appreciated.
And who knows, maybe I do fool itor as he says, I make a different dimension out of it.

(Soar, soaring-words.com, Picture credits: emp-online.com and Warner Bros. Entertainment, HP Publishing Rights)
#soar,#soaringwords, #time, #hope, #respect, #appreciation, #trust, #care.

Message no. 1. Place: Berlin. Time: midnight. Protagonist: he.
Message no. 2. Place: Berlin. Time: midnight. Protagonist: she.

*

I thought I would write a few words to you. I saw you today and, you looked great, as always.
I thought I would write a few words to you. I saw you today and, you looked wonderful, as always.

I missed you but hugged you with a detached air, turning my cheek away from you. I am sorry I am too weak, or maybe too childish to show you that youre meaningful.
I missed you and I think I hugged you for too long, feeling my cheek redden with embarrassment. I am sorry, but your presence makes me strong and I cant stop my care bursting out with joy.

Your eyes, there’s something about them that makes me too attracted to you. And time, when spent with you, gains a different dimension, making me forget my place in this world.
Your smile, there’s something about it that makes me feel happy. And time, when spent with you, I feel it stops to watch us grow and makes me forget my place in this world.

I feel that you know me so well. You know all the roles I need to play every day, my words, my favourite quotes and my secret flaws more than any other woman in this world. And yet you’re still here and I wonder why I havent sacred you away.
I feel that you know me so well. You know all the roles I need to play every day, my words, my favourite quotes, my secrets and my flaws more than any other man in this world. Thats why I am still here unafraid to explore more, for a great imperfect growth.

You see, my past is full of expectations and abandonment from others.
You see, my past is based on innocence and hope two values Ive kept safe, despite all superficial attempts to hurt and to destroy the essence of my love.

And my future…well, I see myself small and bald in it, and I fear you will leave me for some fancy doctor with shiny teeth. I fear you will abandon me.
And my future…well, I see myself crossing the street holding your hand at 90. As you always guide me when I am lost and you care for my clumsiness. No fancy doctor could take your charm away.

I cant get too close to you and I cant love you…for I dont want to lose you, too. Maybe if I leave this city, it would be better for us both, as we’ll just ignore fate and call it off with an it is what it is quote.
I cant wait to come closer to your dreams, say yes to wishes and have a chance to love you finally. Fate gave us this city but I am willing to leave it for an “it is what we make of it” possibility.

And then time will just give us further chores, buddies to chat about insignificancies, arms to rest our sorrows in, and drinks to forget that we wanted to be loved.
And then time will just smile at our accomplishments, good friends’ company, great little things and travels to enrich our universes. Thats how I see us growing.

I saw you today and you looked amazing, like you always make me feel. I miss hugging you dearly. I think Id better leave this city.
I saw you today and you looked wonderful. I miss hugging you dearly. Lets meet tomorrow in the city.

*

Two messages intersected in a night at the exact same time when two people confessed each others hearts. While time stood by and smiled.

(Soar, soaring-words. Picture: sameness. Picture credits: eskipaper.com)

#soar, #soaringwords, #communication, #time, #hope.

There are two types of love givers: those who give love in exchange for the love they receive and those who give it in the hope that one day it will be requited. The second type is harder as it feels like an expectancy, even though it is richer and more loyal than the former. The former is not an initiative, it is a sheer extension of somebody elses feelings. A reply, a reaction, a smouldered heart. The latter is an engine. An endeavour, despite all odds, not to give up on that marvel which is nurtured only by occasional memories, unbridled passion and daydreaming. It is the inception of love. Unconditionally strong, like a seed in a womb expected to conceive a human after 9 months of diligence. Except that in this case, the 9-month outcome is not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed; just the hope that somewhere in the universe karma and other deep notions of unexplainable happenstances and serendipity would grant that love with its fulfilment.

Sometimes, the former, who plays by the rules of give and take with better marketing skills, is happier, sooner. While the latter, who constantly breeds love from the roots of values, with attributes often astray from social constraints while faithful to the individual imprints, remains suspended, undefined, boldly defying the constructs of the human mind. For there are things that the human mind doesnt understand, yet the same things are meant for the heart to fully comprehend.

And then there is the addressee who receives these types of love. Occasionally, life dramas give them both to one, within a complex matrix unable to fix measurements of time. While the two lovers, the sidewalk, with pre-arranged signs, and the lane, faithful to the truth inside, are the ones to make the triangle fit the circle of life. A circle which becomes a spiral, once the dues towards the first have been honoured and consumed, so that the latter can breathe. For, no matter the short shape of one or the long manifest of the other, it is clear that, if the sidewalk gets most of the footsteps, it is the untethered lane bringing out the worth.

While the universe never really stands by, nor is indifferent to wasting undaunted particles of hope, but it conspires with delay and an unhurried delight to safeguard and protect that fight, without protective means bar a bare heart, which keeps the deepest love alive. Hopefully, after nine months, five years or 346 pages, that seed in the womb will be fulfilled. For hope is a good thingand no good thing ever dies. (Shawshank Redemption).

(Picture credits: webitmag.it, Soar, soaring-words.com, 2018.)

#soar, #soaringwords, #luchettidamore, #lovetypes, #souldiary, #love, #hope.