So it was right there, that specific moment; you biting on your lower lip, and your eyes dropped to the floor for a split second; and I knew it already that I can't have you, and it was all just a bad dream.

You said I was crazy, and smelled too sweet for you. I cried. What else I could do when you decided to slap me and leave me in the rain, hanging, all by myself.

I wish I could wake up, but I am still standing here soaked in the rain, waiting for your return.

If I loved you I would have told you so, but I don't, so get over it; stop crawling under my skin, pulling on my hair and sheltering my eyes away from the world. You know that I won't fall for that; You are not worth it; You think you won this game, but I only keep you around because I love the way you say my name darling.

Bus

She was standing in the rain, with her purple hair stuck around her plummy cheeks. She didn't twitch when rain was dripping down her nose to her lips. Most people would; raindrops do tickle after all. Red bus would stop right by her feet, yet she did not move, her blue eyes staring towards the sky. In her hand, heavy black suitcase, it already formed bleeding marks inside of her hand. Yet she didn't put it down. Her grip was firm, as if she was scared that any passer by may steal it. Her shoes were not new, yet kept in good condition. White, with little stripe on the tip, decorating them in fancy way. With every hour, rain only grew in it's power, and even though her sweater was soaked, she didn't shiver.
Buses would come and go, stop, sometimes not even. People with children, without, old, young, same age as her. Passing by, pouring in and out in rush. Some yelled, others simply had change ready mumbling a quick "hello" to the bus driver.
At some point a young woman in red coat was rushing to the bus, almost felt, you could tell she was crying. You could tell she did her makeup in rush, her hair were not even done.
She jumped in and started to look for spare change.
Bus driver, and old man in hand-made vest looked towards her "you look like her". The girl smiled, clearly not sure of what he was talking about.
He just shook his head, counting the change "Like her, the girl who jumped under the bus last year. She had a suit case, was going somewhere. You have her face." he spoke slowly then tossed change into the box.
The bus roared and puffed large cloud of steam before driving away, as always, into same direction.

conversation

"If you had one wish, what would that wish be?" the voice was filling my ears slowly, I looked up, I couldn't see him. His body was barely visible now. I had no idea how long he was standing there but I didn't dare to ask, I was scared. I could feel my skin crawl, my nails were cutting the fabric of the bed sheets. There was a flick of a thought in my head, and even though I couldn't speak, I forced myself to. I could think, for just a moment. The thought was weak, almost to weak to even exist, yet it did glow in my brain, flickering, begging for me to let it out.
My dry lips were bleeding, and when I finally spoke it sounded like somebody was scratching board with nails "For you to brake my heart.".

the girl with the cigarette

She was short, with green eyes. No, with blue eyes. Wait, maybe with brown eyes. Yes, she was a girl with green eyes; and they smiled at you with that sort of a smile that was making you want to just go and fuck her brains out. She was not cute, maybe a little, maybe a lot, perhaps even beautiful. But you wouldn't dare to think that, all you could think of was reaching to your pocket for set of matches and setting her on fire.
Because after all, she did brake your heart.

the crime

"Black cat eh?" I thought. Crawling back to bed was so difficult, I took pills but they only bended my toes. Pulling hair didn't help, it was pointless, and skin on my back was already bleeding through the bed sheets with pink-flowery pattern.

I decided to put cat into the box, he was being to loud, to small, and unaware of what was going on. I wish he could talk and make me stop from what was going though my head, but instead, he sat in middle of the box rolled up into a ball with his pink eyes staring into the ceiling.

I took another pill, this time the pill was grey with yellow dots in middle. I had no idea what they meant but they made my skin itch. There was really no point of delaying the event so I took another stab then another. Cat in box didn't even move. He was not aware.

I crawled back to bed and let the sheets hug my naked body.
There was no shiver or a teardrop.

Just a black cat in the box watching me die slowly.

Men men men

You probably been ask this many times, who wasn't?
What is your type?
What kind of men make you blush, feel nervous even for a split second, or fill your fantasies?

No matter if you are married, single, dating, just like our partners, we also will let our eye "hang" for a moment on a man of our "dreams".

Perhaps he will be standing in the subway, reading news paper, in his grey sweater with black framed, thick glasses, worn out jeans and hair that say "I did style them into messy hairdo".
And you may eye his lips, full, colour of raspberries, or maybe skinny and curved into a small smirk. Perhaps peppered with light beard or 12 o'clock shadow or maybe clean shaved with perfect olive skin and wrapped in fresh scent of the cologne.

What would be my type?
Is it easy to just pick 4 limbs, head, attached eyes to it, hair, no hair, belly, no belly, with long legs, short legs, hairy legs, bald, with long hair, ponytail, curly hair, straight, red, blonde, black.
I am unsure.

Over the years I came to the conclusion that it's not really about a list of features that I look in a man but rather a set of qualities. Things that I can swap around, accept, exchange, find interest in even when I thought that I don't want to.

The way he walks, smiles, gazes at you, is he direct or a bit shy, cocky, to loud or maybe to shy. Maybe he will smell beautiful when brushing his lips against the side of your neck or perhaps his beautiful hands will push a lock of hair away from your face so he can stare into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you are. And you will know that he means it, because his smile will be real, and you know his knees feel weak when you around.

Or maybe he will be a macho man, tough, direct, smelling of fresh soap because that's all he will use, with shave head, perhaps a tattoo on his arm highlighting his larger bicep. Wearing plain t-shirt and pain of jeans he owned since 1998 and same plain pair of Nike's.

Will he wake you up with cup of coffee and kiss on the shoulder. Or slap in the butt and way to energetic rubbing because he can't keep his hands off you, even after a long, active night.
Or maybe he cuddle, take your scent with him to work, spending only 10-minutes in washroom.
Will he switch your favorite song playing on iTunes, or try to wrap his arms around you and spin you around in random dance, just to watch you chuckle then slap him on the shoulder because after all you are late to work and there is no time for goofing around, well maybe for a moment, for one more second, for one more kiss, for one more brief minute with his arms around you so you can feel like a princess at least once a day.

So what is my type?