The sun decides to shower with light,
and to delicately touch with love
the paleness of the birch trees.

Little spots of light
sneaking through the foliage,
like little skylights
allowing the sun’s stroke.

My eyes try to catch
and quickly put together,
the puzzle of light and shadow.
But it’s already too late
for my my eyes won’t ever see again  
the same mosaic in the same mystic disorder
chosen by the sun,
adorned by the dance of the forest.

When I see the trees,
when I see the woods,
I imagine I get to lay over the trees.

I’m part of their leaves, I’m a pine cone,
and I let myself be swang by the wind,
I smell and breathe the salt and fish from the air.

I just move smoothly side to side,
I’m being coined by the wind like a baby inside trees’ arms.

I imagine I get swallowed up by the woods,
my veins become tree roots,
my palm lines mark the lines on the salty rock, the paths of the river watched from upside down.

I’m not myself anymore,
If you want to find me I’m being washed by the inlet,
fish swim up through my chest,
seagulls stroke my needle hair.

With such ease
they cross the street, walk straight, and talk to each other
With incredible calm
they work, flirt, talk and move
up and down, side to side, in and out
like a performance with no rehearsal
While I struggle and words stuck in my throat
for the tiniest conversation,
For I make the most simple social interaction
a great feat
For I retreat in exhaustion
after what might be the easiest of the days outside myself.

I imagine that the best possible future,
is the one in where I can look at the sea waves breaking on the shore,
without mourning their end.

He couldn’t understand that my heart was already shattered,
and no matter how much he tried to glue the parts together with sticky words,
tiny bits out of his sight went  missing,
scattered on the dusty floor of habit and weariness.

Just never rely on people
but never ever rely only on yourself.

I want to sit at the edge of the world
with my legs hanging
and wonder how my life could have been
If I have lived that other life so far away from here

It might just probably be the same cycle unfolding,
The same old dusty vices, same me eating my own tail

And I pretend that is my consolation
to think everything could have been the same.

Summers make me sleepless. The heat inflames my thoughts, it starts from my ears all the way down, going through my neck and my spine.
And if breeze touches me, like a tender stroke from God, I feel sweat getting dry on my temples.

My head is all heavy of thoughts. So heavy that it prevents me from standing up. Daydreams get more vivid when the background of my dreams is the reddish warm color of my eyes closed. Soon it all turns into longing, painfully desirable. My mind takes over and then my tangible world becomes meaningless.
I dream, painfully, a sailer, a burning sun that turns white into red and makes blue so delicious. I want to melt into it. Lay down, fall into the abyss of desire.
And then I am longing for fresh sweet green. The humid lush smell of green. Sweet grapes falling into my mouth and I am in between the greenery.

And I don’t want the sun to hide itself, I want it to burn me even though I’m feverish and thirsty.

The sweet juicy dream departures as soon as the earth turns cold again and transforms my feelings. I say goodbye to the dream hoping it burns me out again.