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Andra Aug 2018
i believe we all have in our lives
a crazy love
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 boys
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
live with each of them
a late 20 of July
i will
meet them
every time
in an empty intersection
at midnight.
and will
wear the same clothes
the same flowery top
the same shoes
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.
it is that love which is
and ******
in the same time


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
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
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
i wake up in the morning
one more bud
one more root
one more blade
is pushing through

is it fair?

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
more and more
more and more

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,
We want to be always ready,
to always have plan B close-by,
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
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.


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

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!
Andra Jan 2018
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.
Andra Jan 2018
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?
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