[what now]

there was more silence

than ever

static frames of unfinished

with darkness in-between

it would all play itself out

in the end

the nothing that followed

it was a  high season of dreads and wants

scenes tirelessly replayed

in and out

this story should make us laugh

instead -

another misunderstanding

is frying on loop

life-adjacent

we keep pace wrapped in guilt

entangled in the fabrics

of our own apprehension

forever postponed

wait

for as long as you can

I'll let myself disappear

inside those incoherent dreams

free of tomorrow

bit by bit

it's either now or here

for as long as I can remember

the water comes up - I surrender to water

now it's me again, drifting all the way down to the bottom

so very slowly

go back on your feet

later you can tell me

what it feels like

now that it's over

without the sticky labels

I can almost see it

the bare of my self

it must mean something 

unless someone just left it here

if I melt into angles

you too may be able to see me

made of rough patches

is the past

when I stand up

it's almost as if I was never going to resurface

on with it

I do my usual counts

hard pass to the summary

deductions for the crossroads

all and none of the woulds

you say you like it

this little hopscotch

still my heart

still so much to shutter

today comes against the mirrors

my daily tremble

moving on

edges of presence

melt

into shape

trims of our past

come and go

relentless

stories retold

stripped of their frail existence

forget tomorrow

you

then me

then us

together, alone

me

in front of you

at times

us

boundlessly

apart

a second together

whan you close your eyes you'll be able to see us

infinitely held in space

where we don't belong

some days

without any particular reason

anxiety is all there is

subtle

throbbing

brutal

almost necessary

walls become waves

broken up into yearning and time

this thing that was

but couldn't stay

the next day usually

it's all kind of gone

so when the crash happens 

spontaneously inside

all is

more or less

under control

those days

are still better lived in the heartache

than not at all

they arrive after all the minutia

hefty doses of prescribed play-day

how things are

versus how things would be

you know better how to vanish

I guess at some point

you will discover

that I took the bait

unwillingly

we turned on this continence mode

after all

this

was not-a-thing

but it was everything

[a drop of life even]

modern fairy-tales come in all shapes  

colours of forbidden

they kind of write themselves
 

it was going to be nothing of sorts

random spark
the tantalizing trick played by universe
 

second time is always a warning

there's simply no time for background stories

burning the need to run away

burning the need to forget-and-move on

to erase every memory of each other (you learn as you go)

as most heroes of fairy-tales, they're good for nothing

drifting apart, they dissolve in a fantasy

unable to let a single day go by without poking fate

words, which carry them, like any other story

fuse all the yearnig and set everything back on fire
 

somewhere between water and land he stops the day to say hello

over at a different turn and hill she stops the night and says hello

little words, their ubiquitous code, fast-paced irrelevance

modern fairy-tales are written in all kinds of code I guess.

silence. it always had a meaning. the glossy, good silence, one that builds and tingles, is replaced by the silence that yields reality.
and then silence right behind our thoughts, melted into the walls of the room. us in it.

we come together for a split second. we only make the shortest of stories.
our rituals of hot and cold.
we have no place in this world. half started, jammed, forever unfinished.

I stand and watch my thoughts free themselves from the rugged clouds. I put my head way above. only when I tear every fiber of what's-left-of my wings, I can lift myself off the ground. limping towards the blue sky. so it appears.

an ongoing broadcast from the bottom of my soul. everything else stands still.

I only know some of the triggers. break down, run away.

we had something there. pulled out of fairy-tales.
loaded with gravity.
us. unarmed. like empty barrels that still fire. a giant swindle.

we went on
to lose it again.

when we got back there was a lot of talk in the news about simply being.


[I think there was something else. I know it]

unsolicited bites of reality

come sooner this time

renewed imperative

thoughts move like water

little waves that lack impression

rivers of disaster carried in bare hands

I go slower but can't help it

spilling every drop of hope

memories of barren landscape as if nothing ever happened

soaked by the deserts

there comes a storm of ideas

one that reads louder

remove yourself from this unsolvable equation

wraps of feigned stillness

after the storm

we were here to make waves

deep down, enough
it's late but you know it now
it's time I got off this rollercoaster

over at the Anxiety-Inn
the newly recalibrated mind in brewing
room service order

freshly boiled cascades of thoughts
almost every bit of incoherence
memories like slides
blink, rustle then fade

in a concerted effort
until they're long gone

everything and anything
eventually is forgotten
now I fade away
all of me all of the walls
more is a no, there's more of the same
ignition. slow. start. over
lost without prejudice 

when it does it will

hit

crash-boom-bang

then we stop.

200 odd years to never
piano steps
all that crescendo
into the quiet
summary of what wasn't
everything stops inside here
all that we knew
dusty thoughts under the clear sky
maybe less

she is.
he is.
they aren't.

make me

into shapes that can exist

against all odds

never mind the resistance
air those trinkets of joy
go-on
make it fall apart here
I'll pick up some pieces

over and again 
every-thing I ever felt
some of it
less is more
more to carry

games
is all I know
this game is nearly over
now that I think about it

it was always meant to be

lose-me losing-game

I let my awareness grow

gardens of quiet

I thought I knew myself
longer than shadows

all it was, was
and now we’re here

almost happy

ocean between us.

over at suspension

everything remains

the shit is always about to hit the fan

no rush

flight or fight

uninteresting secrets

all the gory details

messages in the bottles

struggle is in the struggle

everyone's in therapy

what are you if not a frightened little boy inside

no external thing will ever be a fix

either you find it in you
or it's been for nothing

gather your thoughts

up and down your real you

spill your guts

who are you when you're dreaming

god dammit

will you sit down already

inside your perjured mind

no one's listening

never mind the chair

so you have your story

you know..what you really need

is to sit in a dark room

all alone

let the silence in

make dangerous waves inside you

and understand what it means

to come back

from battles, mini-wars

shifting chances and playing with fire

not whole

never quite free

but alive

do you see through the dark now

how different is the presence

you choose for yourself

if you dare

stars are crowding the ceiling

eyes closed, imagine

it's a slowbomb.

nails of desire

underneath the surface

scratching continues.

bright machinegun sun

closing to survive.

there was always some kind of mess

the neatly organised high and low

above and beyond the surface

short waves would come to break

long hauls of denial

inaudible sighs laid carpets of sorrow

greater than an ocean dive.

tomorrow, who knows

if it even exists

the impenetrable nexus of meaning.

there was always going to be 

a new order of things

mind without limits

abundance of joy

where there is an error, there are things to consider.

I lay my index finger down and I gently touch the top
of the vortex I created
then I watch how the circle keeps spinning
I open the palm, submerge the whole hand
it doesn't make a difference, not a dent
as if I don't exist
and my skin, my fingers, my eyes
turn
from powder into liquid
so I pull away
my entire remaining being

and it is always too late

I think it was better

when I didn't know you

before you had an idea, I'll get a drill and push through

in your nonchalant way

think about it

no one asked you to open these wells

so that it would start pouring

before you

I held it

more or less together

it was fine

fine, it wasn't fine

but I could make it work

a little longer

I live in the world that I know from somewhere.

Nothing can be new inside a giant balloon

of eternal repetitions.

I follow the trajectory of the sun

into the forests that hold both

present and past

every story, every moment

except for the future.

I've lived and died

many times before.

I've learned and forgotten.

Memories that blurred away

can be a blessing

and a curse.

I've known a heartache

and inflicted pain.

I cried, once or twice

made others cry.

I took and I gave

never knowing if it was enough.

Centuries of relived existence

the world I know inside out

sticks to my skin

like a summer day.

There are things I understand

not to yearn, feel less

to overlook the void.

And there are things

I can never figure out

little things

or things of importance

but mostly

the reason of my returns.

later comes now

and slips away

oceansize pockets of time

slowly marinate

in a quiet fear of chaos

rivers of waiting

carry on unnoticed

none of the words

can describe loss of meaning

later never comes

a drop comes down

lands on my cheek

second then third

cathedrals of rain

my forehead raises

lips open to taste

wet air

crashes my face

into smile

the night can barely talk

skinny and hungry and long

fragile in the hands of time

it is here to make you hold your breath

conscience to slip in

do you see how it screams into itself

all the anxieties

before I can absorb

it goes away

another morning

of unnoticed

every little thing

comes back

minutes skip the hours and turn into days.

months go by barely observed.

you can cut the-small-talk
we can afford to live this way.

water won't flow. the nights are made of steel, their metallic taste form sharp edges that divide us. we emerge naked, brushing off the smell of rivers that broke into our bodies. hearts apart.
the current holds hope of putting it all back together. but the morning comes and we wake up.
glimpse into life that never was.

[the hours force the matter into now]

days get rewritten

when you play hide and seek with memories

now is as good as skipped

life of projections

conceptual mind opens up

neverland for happiness

nights are longer now

they never really end

different kind of sanity

slow fast

keep going

fabrics of longing

sold by metres

that no one wants to buy

all the skipping

paid off

lock. unlock

the sea of waiting

the longest of turns

so much effort

to just wake up breathing

quick

I make myself into something that holds

stitches of time break me up

where we belong today

means distance of unknown

all the dots of horizon

melt

on a piece of paper

earlier today things turned gray

it's only the two

unaccounted souls

see me go

eternally yours

this was kind of new

place inside the reason

home of all the answers

few resolutions that never stick

vague promises

those empty words

all the wimps

that we became

here and now

the two keys on the ring of life

for a thousand time

you leave behind

bring me the rivers of doubt and disbelief

so we can both gaze ahead

nothing but blurry horizon to see

views of the mountains lost at last

replaced by hills

shapes of now

our life of substitutes

my heart
forest deep

I want more

you say I'm brazen, but you make space for my vessel of desires

and you hold me

behind my back the trees are whispering in despair

for the light chooses to become a shadow

valleys that swallow and spit us out

decades of yearning

invisible ropes inside white walls

almost done

life we never got to have

you make something out of your mind

one step forward, two hundred back

this place of shallow breaths that takes you

where voices are whispering still

quiet darkness suddenly brings you back

only the dots stay disconnected

thoughts get stuck in the future

runways fade, like winter paths

it's easier now to deceive yourself

one day you'll live the way you want to live

projections

your consolation prize

silence that puts the fire out.
light breaks. words, like underwater stones, last a moment then drown. turned by waves, their edges smooth over time. we fall right down to the bottom of the sea, here things happen fast. we watch the silky sand moving towards us. the current finally reaches us. hot then cold.
we can no longer remember where we meant to go.

on the ground the memories like leaves disappear. nights carry on restless. all is relative but what changes, doesn't really make a difference. time brings relief, desires diminish.
what's left is of no comfort.
hearts divided. looking for a place to stop.

isn't it all rather strange. the stories we've written.
this dance over time.
we played to let go.
run out of possibilities.
back then when we talked, we nearly knew.
altogether there was almost something else. little crack.

all the forces of universe. push and pull.

tomorrow, when the world splits in two -

break me again. time goes by so fast.

days slip in under the hooded sky. the fog falls down. low to the ground -
it logs and lies still like frozen sheets. if you focus your eyes, you might catch it. 
a glimpse. shape of tomorrow flickering. 
everything is an illusion.

we carry the world inside us. all and nothing.
casual paces turn into flights. over time we master the art of escaping. 
or maybe it's always been easier to run away than stand.

if you think about it. if time does not exist, there is no such thing as being.
we dream. we wake up. the only journey back is in the breath we hold.

the time lapses where the leaves are still dancing. the day is squinting its eyes to examine the night for the details so carelessly missed. somewhere between the dance floor and dusk, all the shivering stops.
the night lasts a little longer.

I can only touch you through words.
piano of our existence.
some keys get hit hard. then comes the gentle brushing.
hands freeze mid air.
our play in the final act.

infinity inside us is reversing. I play cards with the presence and I pity. quiet steps melt into a lullaby. I dive in.  
my arms open the water. the first gentle stroke divides years of unrest. hands join in and turn into slices of yearning. 
skies get closer, another tide bends the universe. the centre of the earth flows through my fingers. gasping for air, I look up. it's just waves softly whispering their story.  
the swim goes on inside a long underwater dream.  

some days, we silently turn into Nights. meaningful conversations fade away. those words we invented somewhere along the way, they may have lost their meaning.
the world halts and we stretch. once again. before the day breaks us into the old maneuvers -

we make peace with darkness.

leftovers of sun. memory of something else. before all the cold.
inside the silence, we gain our distance.

all of it. the blurry past, slow present, none of the future.

little by little. we grow. we inhale. we try.
the more we understand, the bigger the mistakes.

feelings concealed, once hurt. with summer gone, colours fade in us.

relatively close

[we're world apart]

remember how we used to

imagine the impossible?
and the fear that dragged along, the daily routine

then, out of nowhere we got saved and everything-just-stopped

spinning.

paces of the day. cocooned in the dusky hours that slide
moments that may have a meaning
walking up and down. I come back without old/self
swept by streams, I find breathing in the open water

the hushing echoes of my past. my eyes, when they close
I step out
yesterday is no longer now, what else tomorrow.

I vanish for as long as I want to. time can reappear or take me forward
I almost know where I need to be

where everything stops, I move in

so

slowly

there were more red leaves
dancing around me
married to the wind
flirting with an idea of flying
up to the higher sky
always see them resisting
touching the earth in the end
almost pleasant
kiss of resign

what's left at the end of the day, except for dreams almost fulfilled, quiet anxiety.

time, the heartless survivor. brazen demon of all the steps.
ghastly persistence we go against, empty handed.
the loneliness is suddenly all that we can carry.
the hours of every distance we traveled. secret words that made the conversations, all the misunderstandings. time we took seriously to laugh it all off eventually. there’s more to hurt us so we play the music.
time ahead of us. endless nights and convoys of shallow breathing.

and so we go into the night. weary of routine, its long recaps. we fold under sudden eclipses. dust settles, dreams we kept unbroken turn into sudden desires. mornings of hope we try on like a pair of new jeans.
we know they'll fit us.
 

for every grain of the journey, we carry the torn braids of memories.
our fragile lives that burst bit by bit. the entire beings pushed aside like night trains and lukewarm coffee. following the same track. we yearn to tell our story to a perfect stranger. to be heard and forgotten. no more soul searching. all we need these days is to quietly slip out of our lives to safely go back to them in the morning.
 

before dawn we blink. we move forward.
involuntary.

far from thinking

where only the feeling. the place of joy

what do you wish for

if things were different just a little bit, would I do, not wish

every now and then we'd lose all inhibitions

pause and feel. come back from the end
exhale

the world inside us about to explode

high and low. tides, as they come

standing at the top of the mountain, I see the river as far as it goes

its stream, building me up. before all the broken pieces fade away

I can, I almost can crash every fear.

back on the hill, losing sight of what I almost found

this way something was, something wasn't.

if we owned all the words

what would you say to me

the heat goes away. I can barely remember what it felt like to wake up in the middle of the night, restless. memories turn into clouds.
the rain persistently moves in and replaces the anxiety. I can almost see how it's taking charge of cooling things down.
I am. no sighs.

the days get shorter, the nights are eternal. insomnia doesn’t get tricked by seasons. fearless angel written all over its shadows.

heading for the dark, there’s nothing we do can to stop the disquiet.
this is how things are. fast, slow, change of air. I’m suddenly saved by a chance.

motionless on the go, breathing can be put on hold. go on, type your heart away. ink that cannot be spilled, coffee that brings life every day.
balance that won't tip. an ordinary day.

all shapes, all dimensions. spaces fill ellipses, conversations are slowly reclaimed.
after all events are not as meaningless as they first appear.

[sometimes] happiness is any little thing. so it is. or so.

late at night certain things make more sense. even if daylight must end any brief moment of clarity. I submerge into thinking of days to come. moving slowly, fast forward no more. and only myriads of thoughts are running loose. here we go again, fading out into inside, all alone.

if limit of how many good years ahead would not have to exist,
- think about the possibilities.

the midst of summer, all the waiting. days go from hot and blue to a silent gray. how did we become so undefined. anticipation of everything and nothing. repetition is key. the same sequence of events, years that fade us. some of us need this sort of safe routine. others, just want to rock the boat.

at which point did we stop living the dream. making room for fantasy to become all that we dare. go get what you want is out of question but sooner or later the comfortable lives fall short of everything we want. desires paired with restless minds. we're here and there's no running away.

so we stop half way through. generously responsible. over at common sense.

we lay our heads on the pillows at night. temptations conquered. once again, we didn't do anything, we did well. generation of glass half full.

for a split second our souls strip carelessly in the moonlight. lonely, we let it. the flesh divides itself into clouds, a brief moment of honesty. soul searching means something in the future we’ll never have. our imagination dissolves. we begin counting the holes, the punches, the heart, on how it’s torn.

never-mind that missing part. we'll find something like-that, some-other time.

addicted to feeling. surrounded by walls, we make it stop. we sigh.
we smile. we say goodnight.
someone there watches the show we put out. we get praised sometimes.
we always belong.
what we owe to ourselves, we give it away.
hard calculations, sharp divide. all done to excel.

we win the reality. and reality wins... us.

[now we can fail ourselves a little bit more].

days flow. minds of summer haze. minutes entangled in what could have been.

slow fast, then eternity.
 

all the melting. the oblivion replaces the memories. disruptions that win.

moments of passion we missed. outrun in corridors of reality.

life full of life we never had.

we move on, beggars for excitement, we want to feel. something, anything. it's all so out of reach. all the yearning.

nostalgia with imagination, pounded in a blitz.

so we let ourselves feel less instead. there goes an emotional puree.

we're free to give up.

no pain.

risks, only the calculated ones. a saving bond. something warm.

unchangeable.

responsible.

impotent.

we push through. eyes wide covered. seeing is longing.

and we'd rather be blind.

we fill the days. busy with things.

useful. the important that counts.

our hearts are meant to fit the scope.

years go by, we're no longer required to grow. we stand still. in a certain way.

time changes everything.

here we are. for a light moment.

in the end, what does it matter.

song after song plays itself out.

the universe is plotting. we go against each other -

just to be safe.

and so. I finally wear you down. my words hurt, they give no hope. but crashing is harder than you think... for someone to be a monster here.

another choice is made. silence enwraps us. it is all suddenly underwater and breathing becomes harder. conquered, we make peace with reality. the only thing left is to walk away.

you were right to give up. right where we stood [you were] holding on to memories, [I was] trying to imagine another moment.

something vague but shaped of upcoming. such paths cannot cross.

so it's done now. the end sometimes brings a relief.

so they say.

there's something about making a real conversation. this sentiment of constructing a marvelous cathedral. fruitful encounter of minds, a profuse feeling that someone is wrapping your soul with a delicate silk. words so powerful, they can build you up from scratch. something to lean on in the darkness.

and then it's us. not far away from speaking in monosyllables. broken themes, unfinished thoughts, overdosed ellipses.

these days. that's all we have for each other. helpless, against all odds, against time stealing fragments, dismantling memories. not sure where we're heading.

[our music, though it quietly resumes in the background, what are we trying to do exactly]

some ideas are worse than others. let us carry on with the abstract. ask me a real question, I'll make myself up again to avoid giving an answer.

take a breath, reverse.

now it's your turn to change the subject. handcuffed by what's real. we collect abandoned threads, ambiguous plans to be never realised. we become masters of making it all about nothing. in the end, there is no substance to what we are.

free from crossovers with reality, there is not much for us to worry about.

so we carry on. products of imagination, random words. an aftermath. universe clashing two into one for a brief moment. hours really but long enough to leave us in this strange suspension.

you might protest but. take my word for it.

we, the little accidents of twisted destiny, we're nothing out of ordinary.

this happens.

[just as we cannot happen]

days go by. hot. humid. but then, the wind, my dear friend... a blow of air borrowed from decline. an entity of relief. we chose not to ask how much longer and when. what could have been. but we may allow a moment of fantasy.

how naive.

it's nearly now. with little eternities inside our palms, we come to a full stop. we've aimed for a dignified surrender, we got a different bit.

time is of no essence. tension eases under the fingertips, words bring the oblivion.

it's me and you're safe.

I only respond to grand gestures and here, none of that exists.

the realities we live in, they bring suspension not movie climax. there is no waiting for a scene speckled with greatness. we don't get a turning point.

it's alright.

we outgrow the story, or the story moves away from us. we go back where we came from. into the schemes of real. the music stops.

after all.  

your intuition doesn't seem to fail you. strange how you know which buttons to push. I go out of my way to run away, you bring me back in a manner that knows no objection. and yet your methods are simple. words are all you have. you, the perfect stranger, who does but shouldn't know the bleedings of my soul. me, an imperfect infrastructure of flashing pasts. our hopes, those fragile cathedrals, tissues of unfulfilled desires - gods know what we're hoping for. things between us have no right, instead nothing manages to fall apart.

despite unrooted silence, despite my feeble attempts, despite you counting on time passing by.

and everything else entangled.

unmistakably, we bring the storm upon ourselves.

something out of nothing that holds.

so this where we are

busy creating fantasies, we only exist in distant realities

as things stand it's not clear where you end and where I begin

later on when it's dark and quiet, I can sabotage my being

and your version of events

it's not a game changer

I'll have some reservations, many opinions

upside-down by design

I turn to you

Mr big shot

your capital ideas bring more suspension

and my diversions, big buckets of undone, a giant hole ripped in my stomach

[you say, butterflies]

I don't know what it is about the middle of the night that feels so important

shadows go deeper, daylight and free from hurt make only a brief appearance

your eyes are the distant satellites, navigating me through the dark

but I'm here and I can't find my way back to you

my soul goes to the highest bidder

you can't make me yours so...

letting me go, this was always a backup plan

fractions

demonic equations, hope, surrender

what I/you want doesn't really matter

painful consciousness turn into half escapes

over at blissful ignorance, we run towards each other

[we end up even further away]

tears, desires, dreams and the rest, they have no importance

our breathing make shallow waters, intertwined

until we dare to utter the obvious

- all we had in that shortest of moments is already lost.

I want more of these days when the wind mixes with quiet.
I want them to pacify me. praying for miracles doesn't seem to befit me.
leave me now,
hopeful
so extraordinary is the feeling of unknown.

[it's almost good when we rewrite the history]

dear white little dress

you haven't been quite yourself
since he held you tight
I know you didn't mean to make me change my heart
I thought you and I were nearly done
he really had no regard of that

sure, you dealt with only good intentions
sleepless nights aren't necessarily all that bad
decades of longing, desires unsuppressed
me, him – did you really mean to tear us apart

listen now, there's music everywhere
so many windows
strangely enough, lyrics tell us the story we know so well
two hundred years and one night
it turns out
running fast didn't get you far enough

as the day slowly sets in
you bring a thunderstorm upon yourself

I wonder
is this how one should smoothen a crease

so this is what it feels like. and isn’t it all quite strange? to suffer a loss of something you never had... and yet the feeling seems very real. like an engine or clouds. breathing hurts, instead I take one deep breath and I hold it down. you know me /any-thing/ to escape pain.

just waiting for a quiet prompt from my heart: you will be alright.

but my treacherous heart? it takes its strength from a pungent pound. like a wild animal, broken and freed in captivity. yet it doesn't come as a surprise - my heart has never been faithful to me. made of self-destructive fibers,  
it exists on a continuum.

and now [...] it wants me to fail
fall down like I never fell before
hungry for wreckage, it wants me to give you up.

I am out-of-breath  [I'm going-under].  

the summer is over. or ahead. the wind like newspaper comes daily now. rearranging things. my thoughts go spiral. on the good days, the time simply counts and I don’t think much of anything. you're always on my mind. life goes by. unattended.

the clouds spread and a tiny, feeble light breaks the shadows.
I live to see what else. days get shorter but hours turn into eternity. adventures are locked in the books I read when I was little.
these days it’s a work week; we push stories and half-smiles.
we lose sight of why. hopes are tepid, probability of failure?

- magnified.

then comes spectacular nothingness. my head is spinning in silence. too much, last night is tonight and tomorrow. there is no way to tell days apart. some like this sort of routine. others go out of their minds.

[I go in circles].

before we made it all up [life],it must have been really something.

after inventing everything worth forgetting, we may still look at each other down the line. those glimpses, perhaps the last attempts to explore - what happened to human kind?

for what purpose do we cry to be rescued? it’s not the end of the world where there is no human kind. perhaps we are just a resultant force posing as something else than incidents. when the nature slowly scrolls away from us, we halt for just a second. making sense of there and then, of what we carry and what never will. and so we carry on with our accounts.
we come from interminable spaces, solitary hills. voices take us forward and we suddenly remember the eternal.

[yet we still don’t know each other].

if I could really live, what would I be?

tenacious thoughts and restless nights. longing. I lie quietly on my bed, my eyes wide open, my heart pounding. fear embraces the dusk, this day will be as meaningless as the days gone by.

[let me have a do over].

I no longer do. these days I only study the opportunities of going back. then I get stuck.

[you say stay, I never listen].

smudges on my consciousness. drops of nothingness and my last slices of yearning. half frozen in a long moment, still figuring it out. answers are scarcely dispensed. the wheel of fortune has not been our friend.

oh, so what now?

how delightful is the arrogance of youth. and then we make a small discovery - love does not, as promised, conquer all. drowning to see a shipwreck is one way to go.

there we had it. hope applied daily, like a night cream.

before we take a look at infinite horizon, we'll look back one last time. should all the memories live in the deepest quiet?
over a feeble heart lies our silent despair. so fragile, it fails to terrify.

[perhaps] everything must be this twisted. or right. the only middle-gray options. an annual bonus paid in form of emotional roulette.

counting days slows it all down. phew, I hear I mustn’t worry, consequences are a daily bread [wtf?]

only breathing.

stars must be the biggest fraud in the universe. bright, shiny, deceptive. deadly celestial navigators for a naive soul. perhaps useful in cheap novels.

I travel. the plough follows. for my endless journey of errors and misconceptions, I become another illusion of direction. specific point of reference would make more sense at daylight. but the plough shows up at night [only the fear doesn’t leave at dawn].

nightmares stop briefly. sunrise doesn’t bring anything special other than conscious life. maybe tomorrow we'll dress up and slip into the daylight. diffused, we'll miss each other but we won’t really need to be together.

half times.

it isn't cold. it’s barely the end. a new type of queasiness, the old paralysing fear. walking feels like a backwards motion, a preposterous design. still, we wait for something else to happen. we practice conversations with the leaves.

[I/you] don’t have to lay here anymore.