Purple haze

I don't know if it happened during daylight.
I don't even know which day it was.
It was just the moment that mattered. It was the haze of now that wove its loose yet impenetrable web around the two of us, even though dozens were in the very same room. It did not matter. It was the intagible entanglement of two; the undisputed beauty of a couple that would meet the first time.
That was me and you, with the web around, and the promise of intangible turning into tangible.

What a fucking failure.
Oh, I got no fancy words for that. You can't say it was solely a failure. You got to make it more vulgar. People don't care about failures; they only care about fucked up failures. And hell, we excelled in that!
Eventually there was something we excelled in.
Oh yeah, baby. We did. I'd love to blame only you, though. Yet, we did it. Oh, your name? You are saying I can't remember your name? That might be true, actually. I gave you names all the time, that was fun. But I can't recall your name. Were you one person? When did it happen? My first year in Eger? Second? Third? Has it happened every single damned year? It might be the case.
How pitiful.

Dear Reader! Don't blame me. As a sentimental creature, I do enjoy the seductive, elusive phenomena of the purple haze. And I'm surrendering for it over and over. Do you remember the story of Achilles? Upon his birth her mother, Tethis dipped the baby into river Styx which flows through the domain of the dead, granting his child invincibility. Well, she did forget to dip his son twice, thus his ankles were easily exposed to harm and which, eventually caused the hero's fall. Using a clumsy comparison, my mother (aka. Anna) dipped me into the unknown river of self pity, made me bath within the waves of frailty, threw me down the foams of insecurity, and then dried me above the geyser of tenacity. Big difference is, my mom didn't forget to exclude any body part while these moments of early-age child abuse, so practically I've become a life-size, walking and talking Achilles heel.

And then you were there, sensed this product of an unfortunate constellation of the stars, and without learning that his name is Peter, you already knew that your hypnotic gaze would be too much for him to handle. I mean, you could have even farted the purple haze, I'd have still fallen for you.

Oh, yes. So I did.

But the thing is- my mother must have concealed it-, I was also thrown into the ocean of obstinacy. Hell, I enjoyed it! And now, with all the woe and self-pity you induced,
I'm finding peace through stubbornness.
I'm finding Her through this mess.
Has it happened before? Is it happening again? The pattern repeats itself, so the labels don't matter; only the trajectory counts. And the direction is upward.

Leading out of the haze.

Vacuum cleaner

Two guys sit on the balcony. Tenth floor, cold wind whistles through barely opened windowlids. Their appearance resembles a lot; one is smoking and heavily gesticulating with the cigarette, while the other quietly gazes at the sky.
'See, that's what I'm talking about! Hear that tune? That jaw-dropping guitar solo? I mean, it's like a lovechild of Mike Oldfield, Robert Fripp and Frusciante. Pure magic. I wish I could just suck in all the world out there. If you know what I mean. As if I was a giant vacuum cleaner that sorts out the good stuff. I aim, and then I just inhale all this fairy dust around me! The cigarette, the wind, the solo, and even you, apparently not giving a fuck about all this.'
He indeed appears to be not giving a fuck about all that, as he continues staring into the distance.
'You and your quiet wisdom! All you like is sitting and staring, as if silent thinking has ever made anyone smarter. Well, maybe it has, but you know what: I prefer doing it. My moments of silence are like this. Fine, I'm speaking, but meanwhile I'm turning on this giant vacuum cleaner. I eat up the useful stuff, suck up the knowledge that is out there for the taking.'
The other guy faintly smiles.
'Now that smirk confirms what I've just said. You really think you are smarter. Fuck off, dude.'
'I don't think I'm smart.'
He slowly raises his shoulders, stretches his back before continuing.
'I only think that you think you are smart. And that is mildly disturbing if you consider what we've reached in our lives so far.'
'Are we having that discussion again? The I've-done-more-than-you-have-ever-dreamt-of argument?'
'I'm simply pointing out that you prefer talking instead of acting.'
'Fuck off. I've traveled the globe. I've slept with so many women that not getting any STD is probably even more miraculous than the achievement itself. I've worked in dozens of countries, and I've written uncountable pages which will do perfect for my future memoir about these years. While you have gotten your diplomas and a comfortable life with a well-paid job an a caring wife. Come on, dude. Tell me you aren't bored and I shut my mouth.'
'I'm perfectly elated with my life, thank you. Though I'm slightly concerned about my friend's perspective about his own things.'
'You, sitting atop the throne of judgement. Tell me why I should do the same as you do. Tell me why it's so comfortable there.'
'First, I'm not up there, and you aren't lesser either. Second, you are a child. Dreaming is cool as long as you keep on making them real. You don't have to get any degree, if that doesn't satisfy you. Keep traveling! But then make good use of it.'
'I'm making good use of it, dude. Here I am, understanding everything with my vacuum cleaner, while you are comforting your ass in that tiny bubble you calle life.'
'All you have is experience. Without making use of it, you have some intangible mumbo-jumbo that definitely gets you the pussy but nothing more.'
'Pussies tell a life's story, bro. Oh wait, you've got to know just one! I'm so sorry for you.'
'You are being childish.'
'And you are just jealous.'
'Surely I am.'
'Fuck off, you arrogant prick! Why the hell would I expect any kind of understanding?'
'If understanding is what you expect, then coming here was in vain.'
'You really start to piss me off, dude. I came here to chill, and to exchange thoughts...'
'We did exactly that, until you...'
'Until I? You know what? I should be leaving now.'
Jumps on his feet and bursts out to the flat. As he storms through the dark room, a child starts crying. He freezes for a moment; another figure emerges from the darkness of the room.
'Are you already leaving?'
'Anna? Yes. It has been a long trip, and I need some rest.'
'Oh. Okay. Glad to have you back. He also missed you a lot.'
'Thanks. I must be on my way, Anna. Be good!'
'Bye!'

He leaves the flat. As he gets into the elevator, he stares at himself in the mirror. His mouth widens for a grin, with its corners so shaky that it's unclear how his grimace will look like.
The picture fades to black, and we hear two lengthy sob; as if a giant vacuum cleaner was trying to clean up what we've witnessed.