Mindig tudtam, hogy fel fogok n�ni

csak arra nem gondoltam

hogy az fog k�s�rteni �jszak�kon �t

hogy mi�rt nem haszn�ltam ki azt a 2-3 �jszak�t

hogy mi�rt nem akkor �s ott habzsoltam

mikor

volt m�g fagylalt �s s�tem�ny

�s hogy egy csom� mindenr�l lecs�sztunk,

�s hogy a fagyott f�ld most t�l kem�ny

�s hogy ez itt nem vagyok �n

x.x

(I just didn't think it would be this bleak.)

x.x

Ilyen lehet(ek), mikor mind a sz�neket

kimost�k m�r a ruh�b�l

x.x

A tov�bbiakban pedig... ���. nem tudom, hogy az mi. :D 

Norrk�ping

’You are too pragmatic. That makes you cruel. Crueller than me.’

Somehow it made sense; the forest, the fjord, the cliffs and the grey charm…. I could smell pine-trees behind my back, I could still taste blueberry on my lips and I just learned how to make fire with the bark of the birch.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I used to carry the problems of all the people around me, I always excused everyone for their behaviour, I ended up working in health-care…

’I am not cruel.’

’Oh, yes, you are,’ he said, and there was a strange glint in his eyes. To him, even the barest hint of a challenge equalled pleasure.

’I expect nothing more from anyone than what I expect of myself. What I manage to do myself.’

’And therein lies the problem, mortal.’ His green eyes were something to be lost in. ’I don’t expect you to do what I am capable of,’ he stated with a smirk.

’Obviously. But you don’t really expect too much of yourself either.’ I contradicted boldly. There was no real danger of getting hurt by offending him, after all he was just the product of my imagination.

’Do not flatter yourself, child, you could never create such magnificence.’

‘Do not flatter yourself, god. Because if you do, others will feel less inclined to do so and we both know you ache to be worshiped.’

‘Same as you. And this logic of yours explains your false modesty.’

I stared at him, mouth agape.

‘I do not want to be worshiped.’

‘Oh, yes, you do. Narcissistic, I think that is how they call it, people who never met me.’

‘You are claiming that I am in love with myself?’

‘Oh, yes. Much like all artists and professional liars are.’

‘Like you are.’

‘Like I am. Face it mortal, you cannot blame me for that. Who would not be in love with me?’

I grimaced but I was careful not to look at him, lest my resistance crumbled. He really was gorgeous.

‘I am not an artist, so I don’t have to be inclined towards narcissism.’

‘Oh, no. You really aren’t, though you secretly picture yourself as such; an over-sensitive, precious little creature, full of wonder. No, you belong to the other group of narcissists; the liars.’

‘I hate lying. I rarely ever do, and even then only out of necessity.’

‘You rarely lie, but when you do, you protect your own pride with it. But you conceal truths to your liking, you say what people want you to say, you do what they want you to do, because you feel that only by being a good girl will you ever be loved. Ironic really. In reality they don’t like you at all, neither your perfection nor your designed failures are enough make you loveable. They don’t like you because you are cruel.’

The sun broke through the clouds, painting the grey fjord into a mystic shade of green.

‘You are cruel.’

‘I am, yes. Quite.’ That shit-eating grin was scary as hell.            

‘But people love you anyway.’ He laughed and the sound froze the humidity on the cliffs around us so that I found myself surrounded by sparkling stones, as if I were standing on diamonds.

‘They love me for it.’

‘And they hate me for it?’

‘You are not a god.’

‘True.’

‘A shock, I know.’ He raised his brows mockingly.

‘Well, you are supposed to be the master of lies, and yet ever since you appeared you stated uncomfortable truths as if you were laying down the law; flat, final and true. I think I am rightfully shocked by that.’

‘I master lies, yes. When you become as masterful as I am, you don’t need lies anymore you can just use the truth. But you know this, don’t you.’

My own vicious smile surprised me.

‘Oh, yes. I do.’

We watched in silence as the product of his laughter melted around us.

‘Maybe I am cruel,’ I spoke quietly then.

‘You are.’

‘Maybe. But one thing is certain. No matter how much you may try, they shall never replace narcissism with “lokism”.’

‘Just watch, little mortal. Just watch.’

And though I would have loved to watch him, he slowly disappeared in the sunlight, fading limb by limb, saving his unearthly smile to last. That smile lingered in the air long after the rest of him left me alone.