Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu
Category

Stories from the crypt of life

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Once upon a time I gave up on people

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Ever since I was a child, I loved observing humans. I loved the way they talked, the way they walked, acted, thought, innovated, struggled, prevailed. Whenever there was a problem that needed solving, I was there to help. Of course, most of the time I made a bigger mess than needed. Thus, over the years, close family and friends discouraged my actions telling me that sooner or later I will be...

Thoughts of solitude

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We are our best friend and our worst enemy. We take our first breath alone and we breath in for the last time… alone. Solitude saves us; solitude condemns us; solitude kills us. When I was five years old I found my best friend looking back at me from behind the mirror, smiling, goofing around while I brushed my teeth, making faces and laughing at my jokes. Soon enough that cute, curly...

Dear diary….

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Dear diary I am tired. I spend my mornings sending out hundreds of emails and my evenings racing my fingers on the keyboard while listening to stories in my headphones. Every morning I wake up hoping that today’s sunshine will last longer, that I will find at least one reply to yesterday’s emails, that my stories aren’t boring, that this day will be better, that I will stop...

14 years later…

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First day of high school. A lot of new faces, a lot of smiles and handshakes. I sit in front of my classroom door thinking I do not want to step into this new world full of new acquaintances, new dramas, new friendships that will most likely end badly. I take a deep breath, put a fake smile on my face and open the door. Everyone is loud. All the teenagers inside look like displaced ants trying to...

Friday thoughts

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Sitting in Piazza Santo Spirito watching people. A small market nearby invites people to look at the merchandise while making small talk. I feel like an ant standing still in a constantly moving colony. A beggar approaches and asks for a cigarette. I have none; he walks away. An old couple holding hands smile at me while passing by. Birds are circling my table, the leaves of the trees are singing...

People change.

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People change. It’s not something most of us want to admit or support, but change is unavoidable. No more than five years ago, I was the person who claimed change is not possible in a human being. I would say: “Yes you can adapt or slightly act different according to your age or the situation you are faced with, but you can never change!” If I could go back in time and be...

Why do I write?

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Sometimes I feel dead inside. A feeling of nothingness lurks me from around the corner, grabs my senses and throws me into a void. I write the feeling away. The keyboard becomes my best friend and every word pulls me back into this crowded world. Many people ask me when do I write? Why do I write? Do I have a schedule? Do I have a plan? I never know how to answer that question. I...

Day 237 – Dead silence

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Shhh… all the noise from the outside world disappeared today. I am alone… at last. I tried to fight it at first, went to the window, opened it and focused: nothing. Nothing can bring back the noise for a while. Maybe all that is left is silence, a dead, cold silence. I hear anything that’s dead must be cold; there’s no other option. I think death is warm. I think she comes...

Day 165 – Searching for…

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Did I tell you that sometimes I feel like crawling into a hole and not come out of there for a long time? Did I tell you that when I feel like doing that, writing these daily thoughts are the hardest thing I have to do? I am so tired! I am tired of feeling needy, tired of asking and not receiving, tired of feeling like I don’t belong or that I am not doing enough. Sometimes, I think that...

Day 157 – Something different

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When I was a teenager, I used to write little stories on my secret notebooks just to try and unleash some of the evil hormones tormenting me. Sometimes, they were very short stories, other times ransom thoughts, or small poems (indeed I used to write what I now hate the most haha), but no matter what I wrote, it always came back to the same feeling, unleashing myself and setting me free. I never...

Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu