Cosmin Perța. Hate Me Love. Editura Art, 2025.
You move forward through the fog and walk along the road,
Kilometre after kilometre, without forgetting,
Without ever turning your gaze back.
You move along the road, step by step, without forgetting.
Something is always left behind
A hand slipping out of your hand,
A certain scent that returns,
A shadow shaping itself behind you, in the distance,
An insistent whisper of helplessness, like a call,
A wound closed over, that still aches.
You move forward through the fog and walk along the road,
Kilometre by kilometre, it will disperse.
Do not look back, do not turn your head,
Something is always left behind
Someone’s body,
The memory of a gesture that will haunt you.
Do not turn back, do not freeze,
There is always someone behind you
Who will pull you into a world you thought was yours
But in truth, it was not.
Your world lies ahead, step by step, along the road
Past warehouses and barns,
Past petrol stations and wastelands,
Past fields with trailers and wagons.
Guilt is a mental trap, a shell torn from
a wound, a breakdown on the motorway, a tarp covering
a broken machine, a rabid bitch, a stain, an ossified
powerlessness, a hole in a worn photograph, a scream
in absolute silence, a shattered piano with a broken key,
a tangle of signs in a mute conversation, a mouthful
of stagnant water, an ugly face, a crease on a perfectly
ironed suit. An ending. Guilt is useless and detestable,
merely a compensatory scheme for an implacable reality.
You move forward through the fog and walk along the road,
Something has lit up ahead and your heart has grown warm.
Do not turn your gaze, do not look back
The light ahead is stronger than the fear.
The hand in front is already in yours
And it guides you through headlights and spotlights,
Through anxieties, blockages, shivers,
Past meadows with flowers and fragrant hills,
Towards places desired but never claimed,
Towards a place where happiness truly exists,
On the porch of a house you never dared to dream of.
A woman and a man. Only a woman and only a man.
To distant shores of bliss and happiness,
Where the air is pure and time is powerless.
romaincrisis
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2087
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