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Andra Sep 2019
and life has changed...
and coffee got cold

and i had no words to explain.
to you.
to myself.

and i was asking you: let me be, please.
and then i was searching for you

in hope that i could hold you in my arms for a bit more
'cause you had me in your palms anyway.

and you kept telling me to fight.

what a stupid cliché.

and i, as the naive that i was
i listened.

and you, as the lunatic you were,
you were the force i was fighting with.

what should i understand, then?


i

have

no

air
Andra Sep 2019
let me

i want to be

me and you

so
stay the heck
here
and stop making me be afraid
that with every day that goes
you go as well.

i only want to trace itineraries on your forehead
and lose my dreams in your arms
and exhale wishes on the steamy window of your car
and cry green tears tasting of gin and tonic
which you will hold in the palms of your hands
and when you have no more room
you will hide them in jars
in the room at the back where there's always cold
because the heater doesn't work

i can't be like this if you are not here
and my cheeks tremble only when i feel your presence in the room

if you need the certainty
that i will be here when you come back
well then,
just so you know,
i will be
waiting
everyday
at our place
especially at 9.36am
and i will think about
how lovely would have been for you to kiss me then
but i will smile because
you were so
happy
that you didn't know what to do

stay here
don't make me ask you
again
I have written this years ago and have just re-discovered it... Funny how you learn from your old self.
Andra Aug 2018
i believe we all have in our lives
a crazy love
consumed
too late or too early
too fast or too slow.
we all have that love that will always stay there
no matter what
whose remnants won't be able to be erased
no matter what.

it is like a scar from childhood which will remind you of that fall...

there will be other men
each of them will hold my hand
they will muss my hair
each in their own way
and they will all laugh at they way i sleep.
each in a different way.
i will
probably
live with each of them
a late 20 of July
or
i will
maybe
meet them
every time
in an empty intersection
at midnight.
and will
possibly
wear the same clothes
the same flowery top
the same shoes
or
we will run foolishly under the same umbrella.

i will have a particular ritual
with each of them

we might drink tea instead of coffee,
or we won't drink anything,
or on the contrary,
we might drink too much.
or we will smoke like Turks.
maybe we will quit smoking.
we might ride our bikes every day
or go out rollerskating
or maybe i will get my driver's licence
i will drive one of those old Beetles.
we will listen to the same riotous band
we will sway on the same songs
and maybe then
he will hold me in his arms
the same way.

and so what?

everything will be the same
but in a totally different way.
with someone else.
always someone else and not him.

it is that love that made you fly
and then slammed you to the ground
for a few times
without thinking about anything
and then
it repeated the process for a few times
and then
it left you like this
hovering between sky and earth.
adrift.
it is that love which is
agony
and ******
in the same time

and...

it is that love that has left a scar in your soul
and whatever you would do
you can't forget it.
and you hope that
this time, maybe.
but it's not working.

it's that love...
Andra Aug 2018
i write you
tens of letters
which
i then break in
hundreds of pieces
i fill
thousands of pages with
your name and then
i press assertively the red button in the corner and

you dissapear
off
of the screen
of my mind
of my heart not really

and i don't know what to do
to get you out of here
i squeeze this soul out of any sentiment that could exist within
so then
i could squeeze you out as well

but **** you
you are still stubborn and you don't want to
and i try
and you won't
and in vain

i am tired
i don't want this anymore
i go to sleep at night
with hope
tomorrow i will be clean
of you
and
i wake up in the morning
and
one more bud
one more root
one more blade
is pushing through

well
is it fair?

now
tell me
what do i do?

but you are silent
more than ever
but you elongate you arms
more and more
and further and further
and you squeeze
more and more
and harder and harder

and it is
more and more
loathsome
more and more
terrible
more and more
longing

it's ****.
Andra Aug 2018
the problem is that
we still care about the effects.
We still plan,
we still schedule what we are about to do.
What we MUST do,
right?
We want to be always ready,
to always have plan B close-by,
because
we don't really like any kind of surprises.
But you know what?
We lose everything by sitting
and calculating,
organizing the things as we want to,
and they will fly by
and...
We wake up, then,
with tons of list in your hands that you were expecting to tick.
And time passes,
because it does not forgive,
and you end up realising how you can lose
any essence, sense and purpose.
Andra Aug 2018
to make a scene,
even if you're not on stage...
it really is your style.
i applaud you.

bravos!
bravos!

i thought
i was the actor and
you the director
or more like the puppeteer
and i would
drag Myself,
the puppet
along and dance
dance to your poorly written songs
and recite your pathetic soliloquies

amusing
how you are trying so hard
and all i can think is
that this might be the interval
and some lunatic got on stage
wishing he could be part of all this.

but i am really enjoying my ice cream, you know?
Andra Jan 2018
you know
i waited for you.
like a child waiting for the first day of school, the coming of Santa Claus or the first snow.
you didn't come.
eh, i am not going to get mad just because of this.
but i'm still thinking
if you're okay,
if your smile's the same or
if you got new wrinkles on your face...

You're fine, I know that!
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