The snow was falling in large, wide flakes as she struggled to move, sinking into the fresh snow. She raised her head, covered by the hood she had raised in an attempt to protect herself, and watched the house on the hill glow in the night. He pulled a large cloak against his body and kept walking until he reached the door.
When she entered the room she found herself enveloped in warmth. With a sigh he lowered the hood.
"Was it really necessary?" She asked the woman who, sitting in the armchair in front of the lit fireplace, was looking at her.
"Mmm ..." Only the woman muttered, as she stood up and walked over to an old turntable.
Music filled the air as a counterpoint to the sound of fir logs burning in the fire.
Outside, the snow storm did not seem to want to stop raging, but there, in that room, everything seemed to be quiet and harmony. The contrast was striking.
He took off his cloak and hung it on the side of the door, then walked over to the fire and stretched out his hands towards its warmth. She might also know that this place, that bubble, was just dream magic, it wasn't real, yet her brain kept telling her she was cold after climbing the hill in the snowstorm.
“You knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. " He said, turning towards the woman.
The record was spinning, playing an old song: a female voice telling of a lost love.
"Unavoidable." The woman murmured. "I'll kill him." He then added and the way he said it contained no inflection, it was not a threat, it was simple reality.
"No you will not." She said, approaching her and wrapping her arms around her, leaning her face against the woman's back. "You'll resist, you'll watch him touch me, while you can't even touch my skin, you'll watch him marry me when you can't even talk to me, you'll watch him possess me, when you can't even ..." eyes and placed two fingers on her lips, stopping her.
"How silly." He murmured, his eyes closed. "The betrothed of the king and his court sorceress ..." He opened his eyes to look at her, and they were splendid green eyes, the green eyes that he had sought in his sleep that first night and that had attracted her there, in that bubble in which they had talked, for the first time and for many more nights after that.
"My chains and my freedom." The woman countered, a smile on her lips, the song rang out its last verses, so bitter yet so beautiful, so desperate and yet so sweet. "He can do what he wants with my body, he will never have my heart."
He saw the woman's eyes stiffen again and then surrender as she lifted herself up on her toes to kiss her.
"This dream will be enough for me, this fiction will be my reality and, out there, just a bad nightmare, from which I will wake up in your arms." The snowstorm stopped howling and in the night there was only the sound of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the scratching of the tip on the turntable.
It's a cold day inside of me today, I realized when I woke up, and the first thing I did was pull back the curtains and admire that beautiful sun.
He tried to warm me with his powerful rays but failed.
Today is one of those days where I think everything I do is in vain.
I've spent the last few years working on myself. To protect me from everyone.
And if I had opened that window some time ago, that sun would have warmed my heart, I would have noticed the lady who lives right in front of me, I would have noticed every detail. Like her blonde hair always in warp even after she just woke up. The way she observed passers-by but suddenly turned behind her and went away, I would have seen her go away to enter the kitchen, to help her husband who was asking for "help" for a failure in the TV remote control.
And I would have smiled.
I would have noticed the bits of dust floating in those bright bands of sun.
But I didn't see any of that this morning.
All I saw was my empty bed, worn out by a devastating night.
The pillow wet from the dramas, the sheets impregnated with mistakes, the book reread a hundred times on the bedside table full of burnt hopes.
I close my eyes for a moment and I see him, I see someone on my bed asking me to lie down with him, who between one caress and the next, every drama goes into paranoia and leaves the room. That between a kiss and a look, given this way, almost without thinking about it, I see a rose blossom on that bedside table, making that cigarette that stinks of regrets and wasted efforts disappear.
But then I open them again, look down and see only those tattoos on my arms that are there to never make me forget that certain battles are too difficult to win.
And I also smile, yes, because sometimes I really believe in the bullshit I say to myself to cheer myself up, that after three minutes, it has the same effectiveness as a television teleshopping, one of those with low budget.
That you see them, and you think “do they really think they make me believe that those knives are capable of cutting even a diamond?”.
And you believe it, you fake it.
Finally, I make my bed, change the sheets, arrange the books under the bed.
I dress.
And I wear it. In all its beauty.
With all its sweetness.
I wear a smile, and even for today, the outfit has been decided.
Embellished with uncertainties and mistakes, persistent paranoia and perennial anxiety that I carry with me as if it were my favorite necklace.
There is a white butterfly trying to swim
He has the air of one who knows that the world lies
I would like to give you more than I can give
Make her feel more than she feels
A butterfly lands on his shoulder
Today I sit down and stay to listen to it
Then he says it's no longer time to talk
Who then tomorrow has another life to meet
Says please take me to the sea
I just need to understand
If it is right to live what remains
And I would take you
I would take you
In one place inside
In one place inside
And I would take you
I would take you
In one place inside
In that place inside of me
A butterfly lands on the shoulder and me
I can't give her anything but a goodbye
That his fate is as fragile as strength
But he says that today it flies and the wealth is there
It contains twenty years of things in a minute
After all, time is what we entrust to it
Who knows what will remain of those wings in a hundred years
He tells me "I leave the dream of flying to the children"
But now please take me to the sea
Any place as long as it's somewhere else
Where words are no longer needed
And I would take you
I would take you
In one place inside
In one place inside
And I would take you
I would take you
In one place inside
In that place inside of me
I chased my shadow down along the illuminated avenues among faceless men and trees now condemned. I ran after her out of breath with only the sound of my footsteps to guide me on this degenerate journey towards the unexplored abyss In the middle of the day on the broken stage of an old theater turned to the abandoned audience she waited for me wearing a golden mask I gave my shadow a face She didn’t forgive meIn gold I dipped your hair and your dreams. I was good at making you forget the sun. Dawn was ahead of us and you stared at me like the only bright star. You will have kisses and sweets from the blue horizon. Kisses and sweets from my blue lips. We are drunk with eyes and with those who look at us. But we will go elsewhere while the world awaits the golden end.You dripped your sadness into my golden lake but you didn’t make me sad. I listened to your favorite cruelties but I didn’t get involved in them. You have played with all the dice and numbers to be able to calculate our future but I am a more infinite puzzle than an equation. The last blue night rises and stays inside green bottles. Sleep arises and you sleep while I look at your dreams and make them come true. I’m your lucky charm.
It was dark outside. I was getting changed to go out for dinner. I was almost in front of the window, because the mirror was between the two windows. Suddenly a red light out there grabs my attention. He is standing in the middle of the trees. I remain motionless. I know he is watching. He doesn’t want me to forget what happened, our years together, our perverse bond. He doesn’t want me to forget anything like he does. But he does it in a manic way. He keeps the memories of every second, every minute and every hour of his life in his inner filing cabinet. I rearrange my dress. I know he wants to see me shaken but I have to act like he’s not there. His love was not. It was control. I had the power but he wanted to control me from below. He now wants to see if I live happy. But he knows that I cannot be happy neither with him nor without him. The razor’s edge of our story was metal and dangerous. But he couldn’t imagine that I was really different from the others. What was dark in me he hadn’t seen well. This had been his failure. A Dark Lady is not that easy to spot and he hadn’t been able to grasp the details. When he realized he had lost the future with me it was already too late, I had decided his destiny and I had closed my heart forever. I was there, in my house, ate, went out, smiled and lived. He was there in the dark, without money and without a life. He was trying to still exist, to exist for me. Instead I existed for myself and I had broken his game. I had discovered his bluff. He no longer ate, no longer had a home, no longer had friends. He only had me. He lived only for me. Every night he stood there in that darkness that had created between us. And he saw me living without him. Sometimes I left the window closed. Sometimes I opened the curtains. I knew that his only life was there in my daily nothingness. His goal had always been to destroy me inside. Destroy my vital spark. But he couldn’t know about my destroying Demon. His was a fiction. But mine was real. By the time he realized the power of my mind, everything had already vanished from his hands.
I love myself as I am. With strengths and weaknesses. Black days and rainbows. Paranoia and insecurities. Crooked moons and bipolarity. Logorrheic and despotic. Break boxes and always on his. But above all, always myself.She was no ordinary woman, one with a nice pair of legs, a nice breast, a nice butt or a particular face, I don’t even know if she was really aesthetically beautiful. She had the wrinkles of her years, of her experiences, an angular character, she was complex, almost shy, twisted … Yet she was so beautiful in her doing, in her love, in her infinite being. In everything he did you found hidden all his charm, he had on him the wild scent of freedom, dreams, concreteness, passion. She was not perfect, on the contrary she was moody, at times unpleasant and yet, in every defect, in every excess there was the essence of her being “perfect” because “bastardly sincere”. No, she was definitely not an ordinary woman, her heart extended towards infinity, infinite as the sea is, as the universe is and as deep as the ocean. Yes, he had all the wrinkles of his years, that stubborn, almost unshakable character, he didn’t mince words, often beaten down but never defeated. It was enough for itself, it made sure it was enough. Life had “given” her a lot of tears, but she went on finding a way to dry them by herself. Yes, she was a woman, complicated … a tangle of woman. Call her beautiful? Yes, beautiful, complex and mysterious She had to be stripped from the inside, taken and dragged without asking too many questions, because too many questions would not be answered in words. She had a head, heart and soul and she wasn’t a nice pair of legs, a nice breast. Although she was “nothing special” … she was extraordinary with those who entered her heart and put her heart, strength and passion into everything she did.I have a difficult character. Too proud, perhaps too moody. I hardly feel anything and if someone goes away I go away too without asking for explanations. I could not bear the idea of submitting myself or depending on someone, first of all there is me. I’ve lost so many people and I’ve earned a reputation for being heartless, but I feel my heart … at night when I’m alone and it’s the saddest sound I’ve ever heard. But I hide it. I hide my emptiness, my good side, my desire to love. I am myself only when I want and above all with whom I want!
There was a time when I used tarot cards but strange things happened in the house where I lived. I saw people who had died. A woman dressed in black crying in the armchair in front of my bed. I could hear the laughter of a child. Then even bad things happened to me. Then one day I saw something silver and they were angels and they entered me and caressed my internal organs. And I felt a lot of well-being. Now I don’t have much positive energy anymore but I still have my tarot cards. In this house where I live now there are many presences and therefore I never wanted to awaken them. A friend of mine told me that I would be a good medium but I don’t know how to become one.
When we think of sociopaths and psychopaths, we generally think of men. The Golden State Killer, The Night Stalker, Jack The Ripper—all men. But what about women?
Anti-Social, narcissistic and Machiavellian behavior that is found in women generally flies under the radar.
Narcissistic women aren’t using outright aggression and violence to terrorize their victims. Instead, they use manipulation and covert bullying to terrorize the people in their life.
The female narcissist is the true personification of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She appears in the form of a sweet, innocent girl, a kind-hearted mother, a vivacious, energetic, joyful woman, a kind, old grandmother—yet her motivations are often sinister and dark.
Deep beneath that sweet exterior lies something much more sinister: there lies a desire to destroy, hurt, and manipulate.
So why do female narcissists behave this way? What do they want? And what feeds this darkness within their soul?
Narcissistic women want, in no order of preference: power, dominance, control, wealth, status, resources; and, most disturbing of all, a desire to inflict pain on others, which leads to a sense of fulfillment and deep satisfaction on the part of the narcissist.
It should be noted that both men and women find themselves victims of the female narcissist, although usually in different ways.
Female victims are used to serve, feed and support the narcissistic woman’s ego, to serve her bidding like a servant serves its master.
While male victims are used to provide the narcissistic woman with attention, status and resources until the man is milked dry and is of no further use.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 