I told you so many times: the time for iloveyou has ended. You're boring me with your hearts, flowers and sighs. What the hell, you're a big guy, haven't you learnt that love is just a simply hormonal discharge? An exchange of biological fluids. A gymnast in bed. When you hired me as your secretary, I told you that I don't accept more than one date per week. Why are you asking for more? And stop with these playlists with that old guy Iglesias. If you make me listen to Alexandru Jula too, I am getting hyperglycaemia.
Alex Caragian
It was the full moon of the midsummer, although winter had been over for years. What are we doing here?, she asked him. Where?, he answered. He looked around and said: I couldn't know where. How long have we been here? Since, hmm and took a pause to think, but gave up and said again only: since now. It's time to love and time to forget that we love each other. The second one doesn't exist. We've been dating for lifetimes. If only we recognize each other in each of these lives when we meet again, we can forget about each other. That way we fall in love forever.
Diana Cornea
The city. The city is gray. But the night. A trombone can be heard from somewhere in the fog. A trombone. A lively violin. The pressed keys of a piano. And the voice. I am imagining the voice moulding itself on the bare shoulders, on the long dress with burgundy sequins, on the wet asphalt dazed by the flashlights, on the foot of the table at which sensual lips touch a cigarette; passing further along the walls, opening windows, floating through my chrysanthemum garden where, from the stone bench, a cherub folded his wings, put on his bow tie and asked me to dance.
(Translated by Maria-Ilinca Darie / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.