Home is: where you live.

We are not from a country --


but from our childhood.

Today, too much is

happening, I must pretend --


it is a story.

Afterwards it is

only vague what it was like:


a passion, a pain.

For gods' sake,
Life, meet Weird.
Weird is your breath
And Weird your legacy.
Alas, You can't be alive
If You don't let Weird free.

End of the story,

because she says the sentence:


But I did not cry.

I want to experience the world
But I don't want the world to see me,
I don't want to touch it,

I want to know the whole of the world
and the whole world to know of me,
Without it really knowing me at all,

I want to have it
without it being had,
And love it,
Though I'm in denial that it could feel so
Or I could be

I never dream
I am grateful for that

You used to experience night terrors

No idea why
They occured every single night when you were young

I have nothingness until morning wakes me up with a brutal slap to the face

You occupy daydreams though
It is odd that in that realm you still retain that indifferent demeanor
As if I have conjured up your essence for a few minutes

Peculiar how you talk to me in the familiar condescending tone I have grown used to the past two years

Unusual because I would rather picture you the way I always yearned for you to be

My mind consistently has worked in a literal process though

Someone who left skull strives to remember exactly as they were

So in matter of seconds
Brain's wandering fantasies quickly transform into nightmares

Every occasion

So I attempt not letting my head wander these days

No amount of discipline enough to stop it

The harder I try containing it the more it roams