Sometimes I would deliberately sleep on the couch.
(weird behaviour, one would say)
But the couch had something different.
With just enough room so you don’t feel lonely,
and the same warmth as that of human skin,
I always slept well.

One morning as I’m paralyzed in sleep,
A grasshopper begun to challenge me.
It is as if she was defending her home,
It is as if she was letting me know she ruled these parts
(meaning the couch, of course)

In the dimness of the light, I saw her.
And in one full motion I swung, as she crashed into the wall,
Fixed my pillow,
and attempted to sleep once more.

It wasn’t over though, she came back with vengeance.
Landed on my ear with a droning sound, waking me,
as she flew parallel to my eyes,
where our starring contest lasted a good 10 seconds.

With intentions of finishing the grasshopper later,
Looking like a zombie, I made my way back to bed.
Admitting defeat over the battle of the couch,
I leave her with this win.

Every second it pounds.
Each pierces more vigorously than last.
Each with variations, yet, all to a similar tune.
A never-ending explosion.

And where the drinks to go rest,
feeling something so intangible stirring.
A whirlwind perhaps?
Or a circus at its peak performance,
overflowing with a vibrant attendance.

As adrenaline do, it comes,
everything altogether.
As I vision, through cracks of lost history
The touch of her largest *****.  

Her voice, the old fishermen would agree,
is like the sun racing the surface of a still ocean.

Her body, you are convinced,
the God in the heavens came,
and carved personally with perfection.

Her skin, so unaltered by age.
Greater than the finest linen.

Her soul, both frightening and free,
can tremble the knees of the most confident men.

With hands like those of old carpenters,
and a face the magazines of the times
would never feature, but,
O desire, O desire,
for her again,
I lack none of.

Nil are the things that conquer the speed of time.
Not the cheetah racing to its prey,
nor a car upwards of 200 kmh in a 85.
Not the sinking of confidence when faced with doubt,
nor a kid escaping against curfew orders.
Not the changes of a lover’s feelings without warning,
nor changes of one with bipolar struggles.
It’s the spasm of the way things exist.
Distracted even for a second, as
everything gallops into history you can’t recuperate.
Close the curtains of your sight,
and be amazed at the speed of the sun.
From the beginning, time a long stream,
forever a gravitational pull,
for those who wrestle to keep up with it still,
while abundant of others who have finished their race.
It’s always the same orbit.
With the impossibility of changing choices,
welcoming this new year,
In something so metaphysically tangible,
yet so unaltered.

A great flood, in a room.
Water filling up the corners,
but it's just you,
at the bottom of this ocean.
The hand you once searched for rescue,
is the same one you've lost.
And the cause of everything;
these feelings you can't explain.
For a moment, the water disappeared,
as you grasp a hint of fresh air.
Never liked lies,
but you hope this is one of them.
You try to convince yourself,
but your eyes don't believe you,
and your heart knows what it's feeling.
As the uncontrollable flood, begins again.
You sit here, in this awkward space and time,
as the past flashes and the future seems unsure,
and all of your questions beginning with "why?".
You start to think.
Some things aren't meant to last,
Some things aren't healthy,
Sometimes the one you love the most,
Is the one you shouldn't be with.

Dear friend,
          
                  I know that this letter will do nothing.
                  I know it can't fix your problems,
                  nor is it the cure you're in need of.
                  They're just words written on the internet.
                  Though, I hope it will remind you,
                  that I am still here,
                  and so are you.