women move mountains
women always give more in the end. ready to move mountains for those they love. since the day they learned how to speak, they only use their words to nurture. they walk to come to you when you need them most and they use their hands to create a new road, if needed. women always give more in the end. i moved countries for the man i love, barely legal and already making money in the north instead of studying in the south. had it not been for him, i would have stayed in the comfort of the balkan countries. i always wanted to leave though, i will never blame him for my decision to leave. yet, my feet followed his and my hands tried to catch his, but he never gave me a chance to breathe on the road, we were always hurrying. if i got lost, he was not there to help me through, he lived his own life. again, i cannot blame him for that. yet, i was there for him, moved mountains and came to a country without any mountains in sight. i missed my home, i missed him, i missed myself, there was no one, only me and the job i had to do in order to see him 2 times per week. i had no life, i was not myself. i had no chance to bloom. sometimes i felt like i was getting smaller and smaller, couldn’t recognize my voice any longer. there was nothing, only the love i had for him. only that. it continued to grow and it was saving me while also quietly removing every part of me or of my life that i had known. my whole self was becoming something i did not know, something i was even scared of, something that did not feel absolute, real, complete. maybe at the end it will be worth it, i guess it will. i guess i will create myself out of nothing, once again, like a child, learning how to speak a language, like a child, creating a new life in their imagination, only this time i am creating a new life for real. it is difficult to grasp that, i can still feel myself linger in the home i once had, back in slovenia, it hasn’t even been long since i left, maybe i expect too much of myself. i cannot just exist the same way i did there, not so fast anyways.
but he… he always apologized, for pretty much everything he did. since the day he was born. he always told me, “i am so tired, Ani, so tired… tired of wishing not to wake up, tired of everyone always telling me to try and be better, tired of no one loving me for the way i am,”
maybe he is right, maybe everyone needs to have someone who loves them for who they truly are. i try that with him, i really do. most of the time he is the sunlight in my life and most of the time i love all that he is, even the parts of him in hues of gray and brown. when the hues become main colours, ah well, at those times i try to close one eye, still. sometimes i even open all of my senses to understand him, trully understand him. but parts of him hurt me more than they should.
so maybe, everyone needs someone who loves them for all they are. i keep on denying his past, instead of learning how to love him, even the stories that include her. but it is not only the job of one person. loving someone is to give and to accept. there are parts of him that hurt me, more than they should, and he does not try to be better, he denies his past too.
sometimes it’s not about loving all the parts of the other person. sometimes it’s about the person trying to become softer, kinder, attentive. trying to give the one you love, what they need. and it is only about seeing where the other is weak, giving support there.
i miss my home so much. slovene songs ring in my ears, like little blue forget-me-nots.