Ebareaalne maailm

annab merele ta kauni läike.

Lained kaldale jõudsalt sõuavad,

liivast randa hellalt paitavad.

Mere hõngu kannab tuul,

lastel magus rõõm on suul.

Elevil kilked nii rannas kui vees,

mõni kostub ka puuokste sees.

Uued liivalossid kerkivad,

vanad aga vaikselt merre uhtuvad.

Aeg see lendab meres möllates,

varsti saabub uus päev, lehekülge pöörates.

Päevavalguse nüüd neelab meri,

I feel like an old worn down house. Where the once fine print wallpaper is peeling off of the walls. The ugly and sickly monotonous print still distinguishable, even after all these years.

Windows are barely hanging by the rusted hinges, either by a miracle or someone's excellent handywork. Maybe both. The winds breeze doesn't stop to ask if it may come in anymore, it hasn't for a while. With cracks and holes covering the window panes like a new trendy Christmas decoration it doesn't have to.

Going to the second floor is strictly not recommended. Every step upstairs is met with a loud creak, a dangerous gamble of 'will it hold'. Honestly, there should be a big sign that says: "Proceed with caution!".

Half of the roof is missing from its rightful place, shattered on the attic floor. Funnily enough, looking a bit like a skillfully installed mosaic floor. A sad attempt at that, sure. But an attempt at deception, an illusion.

Mold has settled into every damp corner and snug every object with its black blanket. Trying its hardest to show love and affection to the entire house, the only way it can, by absorbing.

The strangers voices in the darkness. Speaking in a way that doesn't make sense. But always calm, happy, excited. If I try to listen too closely. If I try to take control, then I risk waking up. So I let them ramble, on the off chance to understand them.

Sometimes it's like listening to a radio station. But listening to five different ones at the same time. Different melodies and different people singing at once. Each trying to outshine the other.

But sometimes I start seeing the room I'm in. Distorted, always a little bit off. Like something from another dimension. Something that isn't suppose to exist.

That's when the panic sets in. That's when I need to get out. Because that's when the creatures start crawling out. Feeding me lies, trying to manipulate my view. Holding me in place so I wouldn't leave. Like trying to terrify my soul out of my body. So they can take it for themselves.

Tihtipeale inimestest jäävad alles vaid mälestused, väikesed killud, mis saadavad meid terve elu.

Nostalgiat täis ajad, kui maailm nägi välja liiga suur ja kui väljas kostusid mänguhoos rõõmukilked.

Need päevad kus koos sõpradega mõtlematuid lollusi tegite, ning seejärel ühtselt täiskasvanutelt sõimata saite.

Aga ka sünged, hingest kinni tõmbavad momendid, mis piinavad just siis, kui oled oma mõtetega üksi.

Mälestused mis pigem mataksid sügavale enda sisse, peidaksid nad ära, et ei peaks enam neile mõtlema, neid taas elama.

Kuid mis oleks hea ilma halvata või kas üldse oleks üht ilma teiseta. Naeru ilma nututa, armastust ilma vihata, rõõmu ilma kurbuseta.

Kõik ootavad mingit ülimat märki, ta ootab, ma ootan, Sa ootad. Kas poleks lihtsalt lihtsam alustada seda värki, kirjuta see kiri, kaua sa loodad.

Kas jäädki ootama mingit imevärki või miks üldse nii palju pabistad. Kurvem oleks kui ühel enam poleks elumärki ja sa lihtsalt kardad, et koperdad.

One day, when I woke up, I realized that my baby blue walls had become gray. From then, a week went by, and I could see a little crack on one of the walls. Barely noticeable, I didn't pay it any attention. Cause that's what happens, even the most durable object dwindles with time.

A month passed by and the crack had gotten bigger. Its sharp edges had become visible, and all of a sudden, I could hear whispering, a soft murmur, coming from the crack, filling the silence. So I covered it up with tape, to make it look normal, to make it quiet again.

After six months had slid by, the crack on the wall had gotten even greater. It was covering the wall from floor to the ceiling and the tape had fallen off. The whispering had only gotten louder by the day, and from time to time, I could feel something, or someone, watching me, analyzing me. I tried my best to tape it up again, make it seem okay, but I was just so tired, and the result looked flimsy.

ja ma annan,

ainult killud nüüd jäänud.

Tuulevilin laulab läbi mahajäetud maja,

ta võtab, ma annan,

ta ei küsi, ma annan.

Kesköö pehmed pisarad meid katavad,

ta ei tea, ta ei hooma,

ta ei tunne seda kui palju teda a...,

Hall on harilikuga tõmmatud joon ja pilvedega mattunud taevas.

Hall on ununev minevik ja täielik tühjuse tunne.

Hall on su natuke liiga suur dressikas ja su udukarva silmad.

Minul seostud selle tuhmi värviga alati Sina.

Kuid Sa pole ainult hall.

Sa oled punane nagu esimene armastus

ja kollane nagu suveõhtu päike.

Sa oled sinine nagu piiritu meri

ja roheline nagu paksud kuusemetsad.

Sa oled kirju nagu sügispuude lehed

Kui arvad, et ei tea, siis eksid.

Kui arvad, et ei tundnud, siis tea, et tundsin.

Kui üritad seda peita, tea, et nägin.

Kui üritad sellega mängida, pead mängima üksi.

Kui valedel pole põhja ja su silmad nii tühjad,

Ta rääkis mulle mesimagusat juttu.

Ta rääkis taevas säravatest tähtedest

ja pehmetest sulgedega patjadest.

Ta rääkis varahommikul laulvatest lindudest

ja ookeanis laksuvatest lainetest.

Ta rääkis värvilistest suhkruvattidest

ja vanaema soojadest pannkookidest

Ta rääkis igavesest armastusest

ja enda suurtest tuleviku plaanidest.

Aga ta ei rääkinud mulle ühte asja.

Ta ei rääkinud sellest noast mu seljal,

mille ta sinna nii vaikselt, nii vaikselt surus.

Ei aitanud valuvaigistid, ei plaaster ega side.