by Radu Ghelmez
Foto credit Bucu
To all my friends which I love dearly and for whom I always hoped to become rich so we could hang out together having fun forever.
I’m shallow. My bones are light, my skin is quantic mist, my passions are many and seconds, my attention is narrow and focused, my brain is restless and easily bored, my ideas are copies of some copies of some ideas from some books I read when I was still a kid and I could remember where each bit of me comes from.
I’m shallow. I crave substance and time and roots and when I reach and grab some, I chew it loudly and spit it back in a meaningless ball of loss. I abhor continuity, I live in cycles and sprints, I don’t plan, planning kills drama, I like to hold on but only until I see a better vine of reality which I then grasp with not a moment’s hesitation.
I’m shallow. My empathy is for the story, not the hero, nor the victim, I do not judge, how could I, I do not feel, I sense, I do not pray, I laugh, I do not hunt, I fish, I do not define myself unless it is necessary and only for a brief minute filled with contradictions.
I’m shallow. I was not ment to do, I was only supposed to start doing and leave it there, I cannot continue, I cannot push through, I will not deliver, I will not sustain the effort, I’m not built for this task or any, I’m a fearless fugitive you should employ only for exploration and duels.
I’m shallow. Do not mistake my sensitivity for depth. I do see and understand, I’m not dumb, far from it, I will talk and the illusion of my competence will pour from my mouth like wine on a holy day, but my honey is not the labor of dutiful bees. I am not deep, I hate the dark plunge into self and others, I am a litoral beast, amphibious and fast, flashy and curious to see your reaction, vanishing after a second in the scenery as a dispelled ghost.
I’m shallow. I do not insist, I do not push, I do not press, I do not ask, I do not answer, I do not care, I do not stay, I do not build, I do not call, I do not care, I do not care, I do not care. I roam, I run, I leave, I say, I hope, I am having a glass of wine all by myself at the bar on the 347th floor of the hotel and, you know what, I feel just fine. I do feel fine, top of the world kind of fine, cheers to my self and the good white dripping from my moustache back on my lips kind of fine.
I’m shallow. I know it. It is not a sin, nor a talent. It is a type of human nature. Long ago I decided not to feel guilty about it. Maybe I could have changed myself into a better, more profound person, but I didn’t care then. I don’t really care now either. Long ago I decided to go with it, to ride it and see where it takes me and what amazing things I can learn and unlearn as I cross your lives. I want to weave my stories about the nothing between us and to recite them again and again in front of the bored audience until they become truth.
Do not dismiss my love because I’m shallow. Do not laugh at my friendship, do not roll your eyes when I hug you, do not think I do not care about you. Hear my words and feel their sincerity and warmth. I do mean what I say. I am shallow, but I’m true. The deep people hold their feelings deep insight, covered like a vein of gold which they expose only briefly and rarely and in utmost need and then you see it and you know it will always be there and it is such a relief to know you made it into that pantheon of immortal consideration. I get it. I totally get why it is seductive. But I say fuck it. Fuck it all. My love for you is not like that, it is not eternal, it is not unconditional, it is not metal, it’s fireworks. My feelings do not exist in your absence, as I am constantly consumed by other sparks. But when I meet you and I hug you and I tell you I missed you, I do come up to that conclusion in a blink of an eye. I have to figure out where you are in my internal sky in the short span of time in between me seeing you and me saying something to you and I do it and it is so fucking amazing to remember why I like you so much.
And when I say I love you, I’m saying I just fell in love with you. And if I hug you, I do it realizing the very second I am stepping closer into your embrace how important this hug is for me. Do not underestimate the emotional discovery expedition I need to do every time I meet you. Take its result as a confirmation of your market value in my ever flinching eyes. Understand me as I am and open up and let me in whenever I show up as I am, without history, without memory, without remorse, camouflaged in my stories. You will not regret it.
I’m shallow. I’m ok with it. You should be ok with it too. It’s the way I am. We won’t change me. But I can tell you one thing: If I am hugging you, it is already too late for you to change your mind and push me out. I’ve already assigned you a role in my story. And my story is me. That’s all I care about. My story is everything.