Andreea T. Felciuc

1 day ago | medium.com | Andreea T. Felciuc |Ben Ulansey

Or just catch me on the right dayI want to be beautiful — the kind that lives forever in mythologies and novels and wet dreams behind closed eyes, like perfume soaked into the fibers of clothing days later. The kind that makes poets and artists shed big, opalescent tears. I don’t want to be cute. I don’t want to be sweet. I want to be beautiful and I want beauty that tilts the world in my favor, making people ache without them knowing why.

4 days ago | medium.com | Andreea T. Felciuc |Smillew Rahcuef

I write, even though I’m often convinced I’m no good at itWhen I was little, I wrote a simple rhyming poem that began: “It’s raining outside / Ana has eggs.” I was in the countryside, in a blue room, and the words appeared big and blue on the paper. I felt proud but didn’t show it to anyone. It was the first thing I ever wrote. After that, I continued writing. I wrote about cats in danger, princesses in love, bravery, holidays, and seasons. I wrote essays for school and kept a journal for myself.

1 month ago | medium.com | Andreea T. Felciuc |Smillew Rahcuef

When you write a lot, you realise every sentence you compose becomes a calling card — an explanation of who you areAndreea T. Felciuc·FollowPublished inThe Pub·4 min read·--Photo by Ishan @seefromthesky on UnsplashAlmost everything I’ve ever written — probably except for shopping lists — was meant to be read by someone else. At school, I wrote essays because I had to, and I gave it my all because it mattered tremendously at the time to get a star or a perfect grade in return.

1 month ago | medium.com | Andreea T. Felciuc |Mehmet Yildiz

And how the purpose has shiftedAndreea T. Felciuc·FollowPublished inILLUMINATION·3 min read·--Photo by Tomas Sobek on UnsplashWhen you spend a lot of time communicating in writing, you begin to realise that every sentence you write becomes a calling card — a way to introduce yourself to the world. Almost everything I’ve ever written — perhaps apart from shopping lists — was meant to be read by someone else.

1 month ago | medium.com | Andreea T. Felciuc |Ben Ulansey

Devotion, Jealousy, and Fragile LivesAndreea T. Felciuc·FollowPublished inThought Thinkers·3 min read·--Photo by Maria Lupan on UnsplashShe told me, in a language no one knows,That a woman has ninety-nine names. I like illnesses that kill quickly. Spending too long in a hospital ward leaves you confused. The moment one enters the ward, it’s as though the reality of the outside world is forgotten — as if one was born there, always lived there, and will surely die there.