This is not a diary any more

Tag: memory

I’m Off

Minutes before I leave to Vipassana retreat, I take the food from the fridge and give away to neighbours (I just hate to throw it out). Doing the dishes, I suddenly realise why I feel so calm and confident about the next 10 days of isolation and, as Friend put it today, sensorial deprivation.

My Least Favourite Life

The embrace of sleep becomes lukewarm. I twist and turn in my sheets, pushing the awakening further away. Anxiety burns in the solar plexus. Weren’t those pills supposed to help?

Give You What You Like

So dark… My mind travels to places where one feels stuck, having no way out as if inside a closed matrix without a code to break.

My Heaven Is a Strange Place

This is how I live. This is how I love. This is mine. *** Before his death, my Grandfather would spend his days lying in bed. Sometimes, I’d come into his room, sit beside and watch his face. The hazy look, wandering some distant terrains, as he was already on his way. I felt he could tell […]

That Moment

That moment when someone stands there looking at you intently, with a disbelief almost, and you are looking back, taming the unreasonable chaos within, unaware just yet how mutual the chaos is. I cannot forget. I know I will  be ok. I will not kill myself or get on an antidepressant wagon. I will not […]

The Muse

His eyes are warm. Smiling. Curious. He takes a few glimpses at my face and I can see those eyes light up. They are captivated, passionate, demanding. At some point, as I sit looking at him, he shakes his head, excited. You inspire me. His hand swiftly moves as he sketches.

Building vs. State of Mind

There’s a meadow in front of my living room window. A large green area separating my block of flats and a church. I can see the white cross on its rooftop whenever I raise my eyes from the dining table or smoke on the balcony, ever negotiating with my demons. One Sunday in summer I woke up […]


the more you run in my veins the more i’m forgetting your face


Hello. I’ve finished my phone call outside the business centre when he passed by. Looked a bit more slouchy and the dark hair had silverish highlights in places. There was still that Gypsy playfulness about the face, just like 10 years ago.

On Genius, Transformed

Last night, I dreamed Genius again. I’d dream him all those years since I dramatically moved to Vilnius, as someone once put it. Because it was the autumn I moved here that I met him, and it was 11 years ago.