What I didn’t tell her next morning was what kind of feeling I had, pouring from my chest.
Dragos Serban
letters to Nicole
* live version *


Midwest. Letters to Nicole

I leave her to sleep and I smiled thinking: thank God for the time difference, this offers me the sensation that you sleep in the next room and I am here, working, watching for you, loving you, caring for you. The same as a decade ago, when I did the same with my kids.

4 letters

starting from April 23, 2021


Midwest City, Oklahoma

The harm was already done.

So here I am, walking on the suburbs of Oklahoma City. With my white shirt, jeans and brown shoes, with a poor and funny english, I’ve already noticed how my thoughts are changed. Nobody seems to notice that, simply because I am very quiet here, to not disturb this American composition which I breath inside me with every step – a bit of Andy Warhol psychedelic banalities, a bit of Avedon’s realist pictures, and a bit of Grant Wood legacy.

Until I met you, never heard much about this state. Only knew that was somewhere in midwest, information that now appear to be false because, I read – Oklahoma is part of the South. Actually, Americans themselves not yet definitely agreed if Oklahoma is south, midwest, great plains or other unofficial groups. And I don’t care much, because the reason for me being here is you.


The way I think is changed, maybe because of the huge, huge sky and horizon here. I feel free. I feel in love. I see you everywhere, and here everywhere is bigger then usual everywhere, from where I am. My thoughts are changed and the first sign is that I feel (and think) in your language. From a psychological perspective, this is a projection. My inner self needed you so badly that the most drastic form to achieve this is not only to fell in love with you, but to become you. I watch your face smiling on the sky, on the top of Burger King on Midwest blvd, as I would watch myself in a mirror. I am you.

This is the second time in my life when I am about to say my life is your life. I am yours and you are mine. But this time, it will be endless like your home sky. This time will be endless because I am here to took your existence and melt it with mine. Of course, taking someone’s existence is still illegal (big playful smile on my face, now, like the smile of any father face when telling a joke) that’s why I’ll do this only from my perspective, only in my reality.

The harm was already done. I can’t stop what I feel. I love you, Nicole, I really love you. I am here to take you. So, hands in the air (same smile). This is a kidnap. This is a robbery. I am here to take your entire life, your entire history, your dog, your parrot, your eyes, your body, your accent, your smell, your yellow nails, your taste, your memories, your first word – mummy, your feelings, your dreams, your sorrow and pain, your thoughts rolling every night, your summer heat and your winter snow, your sweat when you make love, your loneliness when you feel hurt, your mask, your persona and your deeper self. To take them all and close them inside this prison with two dimensions – one, this words, this thoughts written in a bad and funny english. Two, this chest of mine who now is wide opened like your sky.

So, this is my reality now. And you are a big part of it. In my reality, it will be no pain. I have the power to construct and deconstruct worlds and people and existences. In my reality, it is so easy and natural to say I love you when you feel love. It is so easy to caress someone’s heart and to heal.

Look. Here, Nicole, I am a God. Lined up in the sky, on top of the Burger King’s roof, is you: all Nicole pieces. Every decision that made what you are now. Let’s choose. Let’s build a pure Nicole, putting away those parts who make you suffer in the past. Let’s build a Nicole who’s only feeling is the feeling that she had after every birth, hugging her babies. A mother love. A big, healthy, sweet and fat love. The purest thing of earth, imagine that from a door to another door of the horizon, from the south to the north, from the east to the west, on the entire blue sky, just love, just the feeling you had when hugging a new born.

Here, in my imagination, in my heart I can do this. And I can feel it and live it for a moment. Sometimes, a short moment is just what we need to move on.

So here I am, walking on the suburbs of Oklahoma City. With my white shirt, jeans and brown shoes, with a poor and funny english, heading to a park where we will meet for the first time. And I already love you.

After one year of antidepressant medication, I feel healthy. I feel myself again, I can smile and dream and, the most important, I can love.

Before the great plague, my life seems to hit a hard wall. I didn’t know who I am and what I am anymore. Luckily, in my pocket is a note written by me then. I took my glasses, I asked for another coffee and started to read:

“The horses left me. The most beautiful sad horses on earth. Here, in the middle of nowhere, I was alone, blindly searching the traces of their hooves. I am the last madman in the prairie, routing the grass with my nails, talking with the wind. So much time in my life I was surrounded by shadows that didn’t even notice my flash turning green, first, then transparent, then blue – I call this nuance “disappearing blue”. My life is a thousand-year-old dream, I thought, and the mongol hordes from my vivid dreams an illusion like love.

But I’m more than that, I said to myself. I immediately peeled off my body from what was a skeleton illusion and with the own skin on my right arm I was going to look for a tree. I hanged there for nine days until my flesh grew back. That skeleton was you. The illusion, our marriage.

More than two years I was crippled, trembling by fear of acting like a god: offering myself to myself. You see, I was nothing than a man when I said, a decade ago – yes, my life is your life. Take me, as you take a soda from a nice puerto-rican somewhere in Florida, on the hottest day ever. And you took it.

As a man, your man, I had my share of sins, of disappointments and weaknesses. I had also resilience, stoicism, the power to endure your coldest words and actions, your deepest cuts into my chest, sewing myself without anesthesia, just to be here, just to be yours and part of what supposed to be We. Now, I am down. Lonely. Hurt.

I repeat myself: I’m young again, I’m strong, healthy, I will chew my destiny and I will sit at the same table with the gods.

I will left my prairie madman behind like a snakeskin, I will reborn, and here, in this metamorphosis, is a damn juicy pleasure to know that you will be reborn who knows how, who knows where, when and with whom.”

This note was writen just before the great plague. I smiled. How ironic. It needed a plague and almost two years to that note to become true.

So, here I am. Walking on the suburbs of Oklahoma City. Having a coffee at Burger King, looking to meet you for the first time. I paid five bucks and I felt home. Also, very energetic and happy.


Who we are

This is a story about love, chaos, probability and destiny. This could be us. This could be a future or just a dream. Inside my heart, it is all true, it’s like I already lived this.

I met Nicole absolutely by chance, both of us laughing at a joke about our astrological sign. First thing I noticed at her was, at her surprise, not her cute freckles, but her eyes. I thought, first, they were very dark and black. Instead, they were brown, but in my imagination Nicole will always be black eyed.

Regardless their color, I saw inside her sparkly intelligence and a child. And this was intriguing, because despite the child, I noticed there also a glimpse of something powerful, strong, resilient. Not the power of natural born leaders, but the kind of power that is acquired and learned only by intense suffering.

I don’t know if I knew more then twenty words about her, when I already started to have feelings. I knew literally nothing, but from what I knew I started soon to build her as a complex person inside me. The “foundation” of my Nicole was this list, representing all the information I had about her: Artist. Oklahoma. Cute. Mother. A fenced yard, with a tree. Animal lover. Big heart.

But nothing from this list was capable to influence me as much as her eyes. This was not a crush, not a physical attraction (I didn’t even know her body), nor the pathological insanity of some stalkers who have in mind the command “I have to have her!”, no. I didn’t dreamed about “having here”, but about her having me as the same as a Goddess having the right to choose the destiny of her creation. I was not just in love, but fascinated as the discovery of a new religion with the Messiah on top.

In my land, where I was born, ten thousand years ago people had female idols. Probably fertility figures, associated with life but also with agriculture. Somewhere, in my deepest genetic memory, I miss that. And when I saw her, a spark from the neolithic times whispered inside my head – love her, pray to her, idolize her, she is your goddess.

All of this I was able to saw and feel inside her beautiful eyes, brown or black, with long lashes, a suave childish light and hard determination.

From that moment things gone quickly and after couple a days I tell her – listen, I want to make you a character in my book. Drinking the second coffee already, supposing working at a website (I am a programmer), not ashamed to tell that my eyes are kind of wet, neither from sadness, neither from happiness, but for the simple fact that I am and I feel. And that feeling is now like a warm and liquid honey, pouring from my chest into the stomach, a hot spring that made me closely watch my hands…

What I didn’t tell her that morning was what kind of feeling was that, pouring from my chest. I live her to sleep and I smiled thinking: thank God for the time difference, this offers me the sensation that you sleep in the next room and I am here, watching for you, loving you, caring for you. The same as a decade ago, when I did the same with my kids.

About me


Next morning

There’s something healing about the wind, once you said to me. I know. There is order and chaos inside him. The chaos of destruction, the order of sand dunes, the image of green crops waving in the wind.

I feel that wind inside me now. So much power, is almost like a certainty, that I could rise my arms and fly.

It’s yet unclear if the wind is you, or you are just the trigger that made it. You, mother of the wind, the wind giver, air goddess, translucent spirit of the plains. You gave so much power. Yesterday you make me laugh. This morning I wake up with a smile on my face. First thought was to wish you good night. I have a kind of Narnia feeling, that I am in loved with someone from other world, another realm of reality. The upside down world, when I wake up, you go to sleep. Like moon and sun, we rarely – almost never – meet. We are nothing but ideas, yet. We don’t have forms one for another. We cannot touch.

But this morning I dive into your universe, laughing with all my body at your dog, crying at your losses, feeling proud about who you are and about your family.

There’s something healing about the wind, once you said to me. This morning I was the wind, gentle touching your world, warming the good old elm from the front yard. You see, never in my life had this powerful sentiment of transposition, metamorphosis, like the time ceased to exist and I can be above all this surrounding construction made up from gravity and waves.

If I die now, in this state of mine, it is certain that I will be reborn as music. You will listen to me and cry. Not of sadness, nor of pain, but of happiness.

[here is a fragment that is too personal to be published]

Three years ago, there was an artistic project, people were asked what they craving for. Their answers were:

Leontina, 100 yrs old, she crave for death
Petru, 94 yrs old, she miss her young age
Aurelia, 91 yrs old, she miss to be young girl again
Năstase, 90 yrs old, just craving to live
Draga Jeni, 87 yrs old, she miss her daughter
Alexandrina, 86 yrs old, she miss her health
Mihai, 85 yrs old, he miss his son
Mihai, 84 yrs old, he want to be child again
Dănuț, 83 yrs old, he miss booze
Mircea, 83 yrs old, he miss his land
Eva, 82 yrs old, miss her husband
Maria, 80 yrs old, miss her health
Elena, 79 yrs old, miss her land
Profira, 78 yrs old, miss her kids
Aglaia, 77 yrs old, craves for peace
Alexandru, 76 yrs old, miss her college years
Reveca, 75 yrs old, she miss everything
Reveca, 74 yrs old, she miss hora (dance)
Felicia, 72 yrs old, miss her village

Here the list continues. https://youtu.be/m18juQPNeFI

What do you crave for, Nicole? Close your eyes and choose anything. Choose the first thing that comes to your mind, no matter how strange. Me? I crave the past. Not MY past. The humanity past. I am trapped inside this bubble of time, knowing that I am more than that. I came from outside of this sphere.

I want to smell again the grass under our bodies when we make love, as it were once, long ago, in other times, on an endless plain in Asia. I want to feel again the round body of a blade of grass that I embrace with my six legs, I, as a locust, looking at you with my big eyes as you make love to me as a man. I want to be again the grass. I want to be the sky. I want to be you.

Oh, you scientists, I conjure you! solve the equations of time, of gravity, eliminate the gap between quantum and Newtonian mechanics.

Tell me why and how. How can I exist today, now, in two places. How can I be in this body that writes, and at the same time in the body that sleeps and dreams, how can it be night and day at the same time. How could I meet myself, how can I love myself as a woman. Tell me, physicists, what are the names of the waves that make our blood unite in a single stream that wets two hearts, both of which at one point had no more tears?

Never be ashamed that you have freckles, don’t be ashamed that your hair grows on your skin, that you bleed, that you speak with an accent, that sometimes you cry, that sometimes you feel like laughing so loudly that it can be heard as in North Dakota.


My feelings for you

My feelings for you
signs built from the left to the right
meticulous, careful and rigorous, patient
with their meaning –
sometimes virgin like a saint young and white,
sometimes lusting, indecent and daring
like you sitting naked in our morning-night
of one thousand and one colors
when you spread light and monarch butterflies
winged with your colorful thoughts
endless like you, freckled goddess
with white belly white breast and opalescent thighs –
we meet time to time, eight hours ahead, eight hours behind
through our soul, our destiny and our restless lives
my words are like wind
there is something healing about the wind,
you once said,
calling me to your plain
from the left to the right
with my feelings to you, when purple, when white,
when sinful and wet, when holy and bright.