SHADOWS

A thick fog covers the ground, the houses, the bodies. Lost in the white fog, they look ghostly. They look like shadows from an unreal, imaginary world. Only the red of the ripe to bloody rose hips illuminates the fog and reminds of itself. It reminiscents of the thorns, ready to defend themselves from the shadows. Pain is the one that makes us remember who we are.

The fog slowly rises from the ground, and the red rose hips cover the blood flowing from the thorns.

The shadows of the houses, the bodies and the shadows of the souls swap the places of concepts and meaning. Turning the immortality of the spirit into something hard to achieve. Turning love into a useless occupation.

Because.

I want love. And you offer me security.

You want love. And I offer you respect.

I want you to be fair. But you are afraid to stand on the side of the truth.

You want me to be honest with you. But I offer courtesy to you.

I want sincerity. And you offer me a pretense.

You want me to be independent with fighting spirit. And I offer you chains.

I want your presence. And you offer me your body.

You want to communicate with my soul. And I offer you my warm body.

I want you to be compassionate to me. But you offer me indifference.

You want me to feel your pain. But I am too small to bear the pain of the whole universe.

I want to feel the greatness of your mind. And you offer me empty entertainment.

You want to touch the power of my spirit. And I offer you a beautiful face.

I want to feel that I can trust you. And you surprise me with betrayal.

You want to make sure you can trust me. And I'm full of hesitations and doubts.

I want to experience your laughter. But you can only offer me tears.

You want me to be your careless inspiration. But I am full of suffering and hardly achievable happiness.

I want you to fight for my love. But you are not so strong and inspired.

You want me to promise you eternal love. But I'm not so brave and desperate.

I'm looking for your defense. But you are obsessed with your own emptiness.

You want me to forget my pride. But my dignity is what keeps me alive.

I want you to be open with me. But you're afraid of the crucifixion.

You want to feel God's mercy through me. But I am hard-hearted and cruel.

We are spinning like shadows in a vicious circle of meaningless concepts. You become a shadow of my love. Shade without fire and passion. And I'm already a shadow of your idea of ​​me.

I'm afraid not to lose my freedom. And I lose your love.
You are afraid of causing me pain, offering me security instead of love. And you lose my love.

We are like shadows of life we ​​have to live. Instead of love, we imitate feelings. We pretend to be concerned about the other pain. We pretend that we are able to offer mercy.  At the beginning we sincerely believe that everything will be in its place. We sincerely believe that everything will be fulfilled with eternal meaning. But we choose to live as shadows of what we are actually. Because it's convenient. Because we are hidden in a safe place. Because it’s mean. Because it hurts.

The fog descends slowly over the ground. It covers the stage of life where the actors are full of masks because they are ashamed to show their faces. The bloody red of the rose hips flows to the ground like tears of regret and powerlessness. The thorns are deep in our hearts, tired of pretending to be alive. Tired to be shadows.

You want mercy. I want mercy.

And somewhere there we are getting lost.

(Elena S. Lyubenova)