Mi-am facut bagajul

Mi-am facut bagajul sa plec in lume, in cea dinapoi, sa m-arunc in timp acum doua decenii si sa-i povestesc incruntatei cu nasucul carn din prima banca dinspre usa ca modul in care tine stiloul ii va influenta viata pentru totdeauna; sa o-ncurajez sa scrie, sa scrie mult, sa scrie mormane de maculatura pe care apoi sa le mototoleasca si sa le arunce, pentru ca prea putin atarna cuvintele cu care a-nsemnat hartia atunci cand ele au traversat deja mintea.

Mi-am facut bagajul sa plec, sa iau avionul spre pustoaica de acum zece ani care credea ca Alex de la mare va fi mare ei dragoste si ca baietii care danseaza house vor conduce lumea; sa ii sterg lacrimile din spatele ochilor, cele care se rostogolesc inapoi pentru ca s-a construit un baraj de rusine care cenzureaza si imparte lucrurile in perfecte si…care trebuie uitate; sa-i desenez aripi cu carioca pe spate si sa suflu inspre ele ca sa se deschida.

Mi-am facut bagajul, un bagaj greu, pentru o calatorie lunga, pe mare. Am plecat in cautarea celei ce am fost ieri, cea cu ochii mai limpezi cu o zi, cu mintea mai goala cu o scrisoare si itinerariul mai usor cu o calatorie; sa o asigur sa are o intuitie fantastica si sa ii multumesc ca m-a creeat pe mine, cea de azi.

Si cine stie, apoi, care-mi va fi urmatoarea destinatie…

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