Her Name Was Passion
written by: Lucreția Lixandru
Passion is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But it is also an incredibly beautiful wonder. It’s the secret ingredient that makes people prettier, the eyes shine brighter and life tastes better.
She has always admired the people who had it. Was able to recognize them after the sparkle in their eyes and was secretly admiring them. She hoped that one day, she will become one of those people too, but little she knew…
Time passed, and let her live as she felt. She’s always been about the feelings, and honesty meant for her to express what she feels and when she feels that. And, above all, she loved life.
It was part of her maternal legacy, to be able to be at awe when you see a flower blooming, a sunset when you listen to the waves of the sea, or hug someone dear. It was warm, yet harsh, innocent, yet wild. But time passed. She got to meet other people, live other things, know other sides of herself. Once, a woman that was embodying everything she wanted to be, told her: ‘You are not a good girl. You have a good soul and a strong personality, but this is not making you a good girl. You’re so much more than that’, and she thought it was only kindness in her words.
Some more time has passed, and she was told that she laughs and talks loud, and she kisses like there’s no tomorrow. And that these things are her flaws. She laughed and walked away, as she knew that we only have moments, and a moment one lives is like a cloud in the sky. It is coming out of nowhere, and going who knows where, so we have to live it as it is. There and then.
Time passed again, as she got to understand more about herself and the others. She was told that it’s amazing how she finds joy in the smallest things. A sunset, her morning coffee, her evening mug of tea. She laughed and told him that it is because the little things are the only things she will never have to worry about losing. The roots of her joie de vivre.
She understood, as time went by, that there was nothing wrong about her. She was, always, on her way to becoming that kind of woman that she was admiring. As her eyes told others, her secret name was Passion. She loved life, and life proved that she loves her back, and the girl called this luck.
That girl…is me. It took years to figure that I’ve always been the woman I hoped to become, and even more to see that the fact that I can’t put everything I live in words is not a limit or a flaw. It’s only passion.
Now, I know. My religion is lust. My favorite texture? Other’s skin on mine. The favorite smell? The fresh coffee and freshly baked bread. The dearest sound? A cat’s purring. My dearest sensation, staying in the hot summer sun for hours. Just me and my thoughts.
And the only drug I’d ever buy, a tight, hot hug in a day when the rain and cold have reached my bones, and the loneliness has come back for my soul.
I live through my senses, and this is how I’ve found out that there’s nothing wrong with that. Because magic is not something you do, but something you are. And when you love life, you are magic whether you know it or not. This is why some people run from you. They’re just as afraid of the people that are alive as they are of taking drugs.
Because, dear, when you love life, you dance with death, and maybe it will always take two to tango, but it will always take only one to look into life’s eyes and say ‘That’s it, that’s how I like you’.
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