DONE WITH BEING DELICATE...

Whenever in the presence of delicate objects...we tend to act with particular carefulness in order not to affect their always so graceful state of presentation...however there comes a time in life when this "acting" should be questioned...

I once had the opportunity to work at a very prestigious exhibition at the Ivanov museum of Novosivjrsk. During my lunch time I would always walk around every single hall in the museum looking for something that amazed me. Months went by and just when I thought I had wasted my entire internship staring at dysfunctionally strange trash called art...I came across the most beautiful thing i had ever seen...it was one of those lovers who you crave to come home to, and provoke you until you sink in between their arms and fall profoundly asleep for eternity without having to worry whether he will or won't still be there the next morning ...Yes. There he was...an amazingly sexy-two-meter-slightly-tanned leather sofa that swiped me off my feet and took my breath away all at once...it was love at first sight. There was only one barrier standing between us...a glass panel. More specifically an 8 cm thick unbreakable hermetic glass box.
On my way back home I found myself thinking repeatedly of the new love of my life until y crashed another invisible panel called reality...As soon as I opened the door to my cozy rented flat, my eyes were drawn to someone who I had lived so much with...someone who had been there for me whenever I needed him the most. Someone who I had loved once as much as I loved this new delirium of mine...It was my middle school sweetheart. That same one who had seen me argue with math or chemistry problems for days...and who would let me dream of stories so untrue yet real that kept me more awake than ever and that same one who had mortified my posture for so many years. My smaller wasted courderoy dark grayish couch.
I kept coming back to the museum for the next six years, getting slowly to know my delirium encouraged me every day to come back for more and more. And to tell the truth, the more I learned the more I liked him. I would rather eat at the museum and work my way around the viewers just to stay close. Coming home to my old piece was becoming disappointing and frustrating. Besides it had caused me enough back problems to need therapy.
It was about time to stop looking through the glass and reach through all the way. Time to move on.