4 october 2015*

Inhale.
I hold the smoke in my lungs.
One. Two. Three. Just as you taught me.
To think;
I’ve never even thought about a cigarette
untill I met you.
The januari night is piercing cold,
my hands tremble as I bury my head in them.
The moon turns my pale skin blue.
Exhale.

Listen,
I am not crazy,
though two strangers are not meant
to yearn like we do.
I do.

Listen,
maybe I am crazy,
though I have never been before,
not;
untill I met you.

Inhale.
I know you are drunk right now,
or leaned over a toilet lid
with rolled up money between your fingers.
So I am not in my bed,
but here,
with a cigarette between mine.
Exhale.

31 october 2014*

There will come a day
education, career, kids, love
after,
when all the feelings in the world have
allready been felt.

On that day
there will be so much, still
but all is old, recycled, outworn
Like that old sweater you used to love,
only wistfulness keeping it mourning in its drawer.
One day you will find it
recognise it, smile
only to put it back,
never wear it again.

There will come a day
laughter, tears, irresponsability,
later,
when we will live but not.
Routine kills the reckless,
only absurdity fills their lungs.

On that windy day
there will be so much, still
so please,
don't tell me about used up feelings.
Please, I beg.
Tell me I’m wrong.