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.

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!

And months pass again and we dream.
And we don't even remember the other's voice, 'cause we try so hard to erase it all.
And all we have left is sensations.

her breath on your neck
the hand that wipes the tears from your cheek
the cigarette smell mixed with her perfume

Or  how her long hair would ****** you
and how any small part of her would grasp on to you
even though,
through words
she would say something completely different.

And months would pass again.
And when it is best for us,
Fate would bring us back to remind us of things that,
such fools,
we thought we forgot.

ardent lights

whizzing tv

cigarette smoke

and you.

i don't like it when you look at me like that
i don't like it because i will get home and
i won't be able to sleep

this memory

and that stroke

or how you  cover me carefully

so i am not (afraid) cold

or the tears


and you're telling me you don't know?

I have waited for you.
I always wait.
When you are with me, I wait for you,
in my sleep, I am waiting,
and in my dreams, I wonder where you are.

I look at you and I ask myself:
where are you?

Patience is my only weapon.
Patience is the ***** in my glass,
which I always down 'til empty,
even though it burns and it cuts my breath.

And you know I am waiting for you.
And still, I wait.