Mitrovica Kosovo

One bedroom Mitrovica.

Three paces east a door was attached that opens and closes. Brass metal handles of this door might tarnish ones hand leaving a stench of a rather ravishing oxide that could be seen as ones private business should he have forgotten to wash his hands after relieving himself upon a ceramic throne that flushes with little water to spare. For every drop must be sparingly accounted for thanks to those who like to control even the bile that needs to be excreted amongst all the Serbians who live across the bridge that separates them from those of uneducated origin and decent.

Frustration decorated the room with candles that weren’t for praying but used as tools necessary for light when blackouts occurred during the malicious cold winter nights.

Even the Saints so neatly hung on the wall looked exhausted in their golden glory watching their son trying to sleep on his futon sofa bed pushed up against one side of the room to create an illusion of space, a lost soul lay there in silence cursing every living being responsible for the utter darkness he was forced to witness encouraging his illusions of amnesia for he felt that he was in a dreaming state as his body and mind ached from his Insomnia so visibly etched around the circumference of his dilating pupils.

Camouflaged in the dark amongst all the clutter that could be seen as a Gypsies paradise a plastic cage with a metal door was home to a German Shepard who embraced her claustrophobia as normality.
Tiffany adored her master who lay sleepless in the dark; she let out a groaning howl as if to say I wish I could help you.

Prescribed sleeping medication lie dormant inside the walls of his interior letting the insomnia rule every molecule of his genetic make up.

Thinking of what to do to take his mind off his current reality, taking his notebook that was falling to pieces he switched it on as it had enough battery power to last until the electricity returned, he didn’t have Internet connection but learning to connect to his neighbors wireless was as common as a fart in the wind.

Destination Facebook scrolling through all the smiling faces and what seemed to be a happy bunch of people living their lives in the sun and basking in gods good glory did nothing but irritate Sasha’s soul as he too yearned for the chance to be happy and free from his gilded cage for he was not too fond of living in his Bangladesh of Serbia or so he liked to call it.

The time was now 3am in the morning and still there was no electricity, lying there with no interaction available Sasha’s eyes fixated upon the candle sticks that were drowning in hot wax the flickering flames danced with any shadow of movement on the ceiling creating an unnecessary ambience of hell.

Blaire Blaqua.

Blaire’s BFF

Blaire’s Best Friend For Life.

How is it possible to find someone who was an exact mirror reflection of my soul?

Well people this is happening and on all levels possible somehow today I was humbled by a man many years my senior and it came to be that he was my initial research project and now somehow I have become the test subject.

How the tables have turned dear best friend but the facts and truths remain the same and that is we have a bond like no other that I know and to tell you the truth as much as it may scare me we could be the only two that know about each other on this planet.

If you really are a mirror image of my soul than accept to be apart of two or three worlds in which we can adapt to quite comfortably.

Our skins are like the coats of armor belonging to the chameleons in the wilderness constantly changing colors to adapt to their environments.

Today I leant on a tree and he whispered back to me encouraging words that made the fibers of the roots I stand upon weaken amongst layers of textured earth beneath me.

My tree suffers from a cancer hidden in the reproductive area of my trunk, all my leaves are falling, my branches are hollow and weak and the ambience of the willow inside me is sleepy.

My dear best friend your tree on the other hand is tall like a Californian sequoia strong and fearsome native Indians dance around your tree, the nutrients in the foundations you were built upon continue to offer sustenance to those who need it.

I am surprised to be so taken away at how petty I have become in leaning upon you in my times of need only to learn that there are other trees out there who have been destroyed for pleasure cut down for no reason and forgotten because no one gave a damn.

Dear best friend thank you for reminding me that I am still standing, and that I should appreciate the little things life has given me even if the only birds that visit my tree are sparrows and owls.

How I adore the eagles that nest on your tree and all those who come to admire the real beauty that you so naturally possess.

I apologize for the strong southerly winds that carried the cries of what is left of the sprit that dwells in this broken vessel.
How this mist of unchained melody must have spread like a plague of unwanted rain upon your foreign lands today.

Dear best friend despite our differences I chose to lean on you and I expect that one day you will lean on me and with that bond I have chosen you as my inspiration in life to rid myself of the unchained melody wrapped around the belly of my existence.

Thank you for being my best friend and thank you for loving me unconditionally.

Blaire Blaqua.