My name is not Roxana.
I should have been called that.
Till my birth, my parents went with it. Then they saw me – I’m Not-Roxana.
Do you think my life would have been different? Nomen est Omen. That’s what people say. Being Not-Roxana may have caused great impact on my life. Something I’ll never know.
What else? I’m a good kisser, with big soft lips arched like a mongolian reflex arc. Heck! I’m hell of a kisser! Big olive brown eyes, with a distinct expression of distance. That’s because I’m always daydreaming… Even when I should pay attention.
I can’t seem to keep myself together. Always trickling away into the future, or the past… Or somewhere else… Never in the present. Never completely present. A stray mind, a stray soul…
I’m a surviver…
I think you can put it that way. That’s my shadow, my soft spot, easily bleeding, easily hurt…Surviving is more than just scar tissue. Daily forming anew -reminds me, that there is something within me, that clings to life with teeth and claws – more than I ever could. It reminds me, that elementary things come first. There has been something I need to overcome. Danger. Yes. Deadly peril. Yes.
I don’t like talking. I write much better than I talk. The abstract concept of language and words irk me. I’ve always preferred thinking in pictures, so much easier… It offers not only the problem, but also the best solution. Visualization is the most precious treasure I have locked in my mind. That’s why I enjoy paintings and poetry so much.