It's been a while since we last spoke,
3 years to be precise, but who's counting anyway, not me.
Definitely not me.
By the way I unfriended you on facebook,
I figured it's about time, I mean after 3 years of radio silence,
a long term girlfriend for you,
and a series of unsuccessful hookups for me,
I figured it's about time I gave up the illusion of being friends with you.
Every now and then I look you up,
and thanks to your disregard for security and privacy settings,
I stalk you, and her.
She seems nice, positive, bubbly,
committed to all the right causes,
I cannot really find any reason to dislike her. Shame.
Perhaps if I said yes the second time round, or the third,
perhaps if we hadn't been so young and had another go,
perhaps if you said yes, when I eventually felt so,
we'll never know.

Two weeks ago when you popped up on facebook chat,
and arranged to 'catch up' via skype today,
I should have known.

I should have known that just as it happened three years ago,
only I would stick to the deal,
I would be here waiting, cause I keep my promises.

But then again, today is the first of April.
**** it!
"Can't believe that I'm the fool again..."

I despise you
not for being the sexist, fascist, racist,
unreliable twit you are,
but rather for making me say
"I told you so" to myself,
for the fourth time.

3.00 am, the witching hour,
when people wake up screaming
panic stricken and weeping
praying for a lost soul somewhere
yet completely unaware
that an hour an forty five minutes ago
cupid died by drowning
in a tall glass of something strong
into which a young lass was crying.
Every dawn at this very time
he chokes on ***** or cigarette smoke
straight after posting
a suicide poem she wrote.
As his heart beat slows
eyes close
no one notices no one knows
incidentally another John Doe.
Disturbed by love songs
all night long
rocking back and forth
losing all control
she inevitably gives in
and revives him
only to watch him die again
the next day at 1.15 am

I like Spring,
When the flowers bloom and the birds sing.
When the brutal lashes of icy breeze are long gone,
and the burning sun rays are still unborn.
When all living things come alive,
and dance under clear blue skies.
Temperate, moderate and just right; but,
there's something about Autumn.

With Summer comes all the joy.
Joys of long sunny days and warm evenings.
Ripening and reaping, and young brides dreaming.
Trips to the seaside, camp fires late at night.
Fireflies and stars synchronize,
to paint a breath taking sight.
Warm and cosy, lively and bright; but,
there's something about Autumn.

With Winter comes the hope of peace,
wrapped up in layers of pure white snow.
Celebration of the birth of a baby boy,
who came to save us once long long ago.
The smell of pine, turkey and wine,
carols and laughter as the Northern Star shines.
Lush and tranquil, with a touch of divine; but,
there's something about Autumn.

Struggling to be heard, struggling to be seen,
as something other than an evil foreseen.
When even Gold loses it's value,
over the demanding cries for Green.
Caught in a war between Appolo and Boreas,
when the battle, is to survive, to simply last;
Failing with fury tearing all the leaves apart,
ending the warmth, leading to a frosty start.

Yearning affection, veiling pain and remaining solemn,
there's something about Autumn.

Lately I've been feeling quite numb.
From the time I wake up until,
my head hits the pillow.
I want to call you, text you, miss you, think of you,
but, instead I feel numb.

I read all the poems I wrote for you.
Heart felt, deep, passion
gushing out of every single word scribbled, but,
tonight as I'm lying on my bed,
typing away on my Android I just feel numb.

I remember the long romantic conversations that lasted forever?
Words, feelings, thoughts came easily, but now we communicate via poems.
All I know is there's something missing, and it's not you.
All I want is to write another love poem.
But I can't cause I feel numb.

"Oh, I see. It's your passion is it?
You like learning about them? Wow. You got a first?
You are planning to go into research? On that very subject?
I'm really very impressed. I see! You avoid buying products,
made using them?
You don't even consume them? That's quite lovely.
You must be really strong willed.
You like talking to people about it?
Oh yes, those big companies; definitely their fault.
You want to stop them? That's one of your goals?
Excellent. I admire your passion!

Sorry, what was that? Is that so?
You will never care for one? It's a silly idea is it?
Yes, of course, you are right.
There might be no end result.
A waste of time, money and energy.
Messing with nature it will be, is it?
A childish way of holding on to silly hopes.
Really? Scientifically you are hundred percent right.
That's nice to know. With your dedication towards the subject,
I guess you would know for sure.

Guess what!
F@#$ your passion. F@#$ your dedication.
F@#$ your knowledge and F@#$ science.
You made a choice not to care. You don't give a ****.
You know why? It's the easier way. Shortest way out.
Because you don't want to be involved,
in an 'emotional commitment'.
It's too difficult. You will never gain anything.
But there's so much to lose.

But me;
I am different. I am not afraid to connect.
Not afraid to give unconditionally. Not frightened to commit.
Cause as long as there is hope, my dream will be alive.
If or when hope dies, the pain, the memories, the emotions
and the love,
and the fact that I know I cared,
will keep me alive.

Oh and guess what...you've just lost!
You've lost again in life.
Your interests lack real passion.
Your work lacks dedication.
Your knowledge lacks emotion.
Your life lacks fulfillment.
So let me do the math.....one more second please...
Got it....
That equals to emptiness...
In fact you are already dead; inside! Lifeless...."

There's something so fundamentally romantic about a broken man
or should I simply say, "I dig that!"?
A man tormented by the demons of a shattered childhood, or
a shattered heart on which a pair of expensive pencil heels, the shiny black kind with a blood red sole, has stomped all over.
Or maybe shaken to the core from the long cold nights and
scorching days spent at a military base with gun fires and screams
ringing in his ears even after all these years.
I long to hold him,
as he twists, mourns and shivers through the nightmares,
I want mine to be the only embrace that makes them all go away.
When those scars hurt, or the injury from the practice session
is not as unbearable as the fear of not being able to play again,
I just want to hold his hands as they grip mine so tight,
almost in an attempt to transfer the pain.
When that fever is burning so high he's going in and out of reality
with a wet cloth on his forehead all bundled up and drugged, I want
my name to be the only thing he calls out.
Every now and then when he breaks down in the shower crying
his heart out, or explodes with vengeance in his eyes ready to hit,
destroy or ****, I want
my palm pressed against his heart to make the storm pass.
When he becomes unsteady and slurry, with the smell of Whiskey
overriding the aftershave, I want to be the one to take him home
and tuck him into bed.
I want to know, see, hear and feel all his pain, his fears, his
darkest moments and be the remedy, his only escape.
I don't want to fix him. Or change him. Or save him.
I want to be his lifeline, his anchor to the mortal world, and
rope ladder to heaven.

When those two words popped up on my phone screen,
I thought of a million come backs from, "Honey,
I didn't know there was anything to replace!",
to a simple, "**** right off!"
But of course instead I replied,
"Some things in life are irreplaceable :P",
right after deleting my dignity!

We could have had a baby.
It was just enough time to have a child, to
let it grow inside me, to see the bump get bigger, and
bigger, and for it to be born just today, wailing loudly
so everyone around is aware of its much awaited presence.

But we don't. We have ended just like that. Yes,
I ended it just like that and I'm still uncertain what
triggers a girl, me, to let go of the only man in the whole
world who loves her, you, I will never figure out.

I'm confused, lost and broken, and without the
privilege of being able to feel sorry for myself.
Fighting the hardest battle I've fought in a while,
trying to stop myself from running back to you.

I loved you. Somewhere not too deep down I still do. But,
for a while it hasn't been enough and I'll never know why,
because your sad smile and the lingering smell of your
after shave as we hugged for the last time still haunts me!

Is how I want to love you!

Ever since you kidnapped my heart and held my mind a hostage,
haunting my dreams, dominating my thoughts, driving me
insane, I've stopped caring about the future, about consequences,
about heartbreaks and breaking hearts, all I just want is you!

To hold you, to feel you, to touch you, to be touched,
frankly I'll settle for what ever you want to do with me,
or to me, as long as I can just reach out and feel your
skin, against my body I'll be happy, I'll be content.

Each time my phone beeps it feels like Christmas, and
I'm opening a pile of gifts hoping they are all for me, your
texts with a simple 'x' at the end of every message, just
lightens up my day like a child seeing snow for the first time.

So maybe there will be a next time, hopefully soon, when
I'll be a little more sober and you a little less, and we could try
again to kiss and this time make it last long enough, so I can
remember and cherish every moment of your reckless caress.

If you kiss me like no one has ever done before,
causing ripples of warmth to crash back and forth,
between my lips and heart...
If you gaze deeply into my eyes while my mind crosses the abyss,
searching the depths of my soul for beams unveiling myself,
until they reflect on my iris...
If you caress me with your gentle, refine touch,
feeling my pain, fears and uncertainties,
inducing goosebumps on my skin...
If you listen to me when I stop speaking,
grasping precisely what the silence portrays,
from the rhythm of my exhaling and expiring...
If you whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
simply letting your breath ****** my neck,
creating an aura of comforting assurance...
If you break the walls around me,
allow me to let down my guards slowly yet completely,
and make me fall in love again...

I will do the same...

When the hormones kicked in I do not know, but
somewhere in my teenage years I tripped on love.
An exchange of looks, a wave, a wink,
was all that took for my young heart to soar.

They were all northern stars,
shining brightly from a distance.
Taking me on illuminated journeys through the night,
only to get dimmer and leave me in the dark.

Some shone for longer, some twinkled brighter,
but only now do I know that sometimes the light we see,
are from stars that are already dead!
Thus, I was following death, though it seemed like light.

Maybe that's why my heart still aches,
from being lost alone in the darken sky;
why my world is filled with rains made of tears,
and emotions bursting into hurricanes.

Maybe that's why the wind refused to carry my cries,
and blew louder to drown them in it's wailing.
Maybe that's why the rainbow in my world,
is covered by dark clouds with no silver lining.

Maybe that's why like all other times,
he will not be mine; he will never stay.
Like other times I will wait for my star to shine,
almost see it, but then watch it die, again.

As I'm sobering up
from your intoxicating hazel gaze,
realizing the spark I've been seen
is merely the reflection of my own,
I find myself no longer lost in your eyes,
but simply... lost.

Loneliness,
disguised in high heels,
tequila
and loud music.

Is when I trace the purple bruises
and the scarlet scrape marks on my arm,
longing to feel your dominating grip
disarming me one more time...

I have a dream.
Not a noble, revolutionary one that will change the discourse of humanity,
but one which would most definitely change my own life,
and possibly yours.
We are driving in your car, which in my imagination is a dark blue skoda octavia, but frankly it doesn't matter,
'cause I'm smiling looking out the window and fighting with you over the radio channel choice.
The smell from the basket of muffins I baked secured on the back seat is wafting through the air,
and I'm playfully slapping away your wondering right hand up my left thigh which the little white summer dress I'm wearing can in no way cover,
only to reach out and ruffle your hair and the back of your neck 'cause I truly can never get enough of you.
You are smiling too, 'cause you know, you always do.
100 miles later as we pull in front of your childhood home I'm excited and nervous at the same time,
so you do have to coax me out of the car and we walk hand in hand to the door and just as you reach out to ring the bell,
I hide behind you trying to pull myself together and touch up on my smile,
but as the door opens I'm back by your side smiling 'cause your grip on my hand is more assuring than anything I've felt before.
I'm shy at first but your mom is lovely,
though it must be hard to see her little boy next to another woman,
God knows I could never share you.
The twinkle in your dad's eyes may as well be a reflection of yours,
his handshake is strong, warm and reassuring.
Your little brother, whose already growing on me, is making eyes at you and you're warning him, almost threatening him to behave, silently of course, it's all in the eyes.
I take in the house,
the corridors through which you ran, fell and got up again,
the walls which echo your laughter, pain, sorrow, fears, achievements and failures,
and stood strong throughout every step of your life's journey in becoming the man you are,
it's like a story, a novel or a theatrical extravaganza unfolding in front of my eyes.
I follow your mom to the kitchen, not because I want to be the perfect domesticated future daughter in law,
but rather because it's where I find comfort.
The stove and oven are hard at work, and I immediately take over peeling potatoes,
as I try to make conversation with your mom in my incredibly limited vocabulary,
and I can tell she appreciates the effort.
When we sit to eat I'm already at home and I just cannot stop smiling,
because it's absolutely perfect.
It's a little too perfect.
After all it's just a dream. My dream. A cliché.
But dreams, hopes and expectations apart I just wish I knew,
if we were more than ***.
If I knew I'd at least have the truth,
because we both know dreams, particularly the perfect ones,
almost never come true.

My parents' worst nightmare,
becoming my most enchanted dream...

       A
    (0_0)  
       B
    h O i
w    Y      te
      i  e  
   r       n
f             d

Your eyes,

                      they're a sensational
            how                                     shade
  I love                                                        of hazel,
                                         i  r
With a mystic orange   c       c   outlining the pupil.
                                         e  l
Reminds                                                      sun­set.
                  me                         Caribbean
                              of      a

Not that I have the slightest idea, cause
I haven't been there, or anywhere near.
But, suppose anything's possible
in your Vanilla Dream Land ...

W** hen you eventually turn up
r omance and
o ptimism would be
n onextant; long
g one.

The 2500 km between us seems unreal,
when the picture of you in my mind, almost tangible,
keeps me grounded on most days.
Trekking across the corporate bog clinging to dreams of a country life,
with a peculiar combination of smug sheepishness,
provoking instincts to ravish or protect, I cannot decide.
The way you have with words is supernatural,
because your eloquence leaves me hypnotized,
the best case of spellbound I have ever been.
You had me at your first email,
keeping me sane and driving me insane,
you are, my favourite kind of perfect.
You've managed to lower all my guards,
breakdown all the walls, and
gather up a life's worth of insecurities into a ball.
Just as I stopped walking around on tip toes,
you've shattered it to a million shards,
and now I'm lying bleeding on the floor.
I'm drowning in air, waking up to a nightmare,
lost in my mind, paralyzed in my senses,
so much for believing in second chances.
Touché,
for perfectly blind siding me,
I couldn't save myself.

The harshest truth about unrequited love is
when all is done and dusted
hands washed
rejection accepted
there is nothing left.
All the talk about memories made,
to have loved and lost than not love at all,
to have made a friend forever,
is a load of ******* to be honest,
like your puppy who was sent to a big, happy farm in the country side,
like Santa Claus,
like telling yourself in the mirror over and over again "you are over him. you are happy".
So when he's sat cross legged on your bed calculating the final chess move to checkmate with a devilish look in the eye,
limping around on a sprained ankle after football,
explaining how light works,
cutting an extra large pizza into four and folding each quarter in half before devouring it,
moving close to show a ******* star pattern only he can see,
giving a pair of ******* gloves for Christmas cause your favourite pair was lost on a night out in October,
always lighting your cigarette first,
casually mentioning over dinner how he might move to Belgium next spring for an internship,
you have no say. You have no right to feel.
You have no right to say how you feel.
So you pretend,
admiring the ******* star patterns you could never see in the first place,
acting tensed when he hugs,
congratulating him on the amazing job opportunity taking extra care to make sure your smile is wide and reaches your eyes.
You pretend,
putting to use 16 years of professional drama training,
regardless of having an out-of-body experience each time he does something that takes your breath away,
where you watch yourself crumble to the floor, face flat, gasping for air, one hand on the chest and the other over the mouth,
while you stand strong, smoking and smiling,
listening to him talk about electricity, FIFA  or something,
all while watching yourself die, from the corner of your eye.
Unrequited love is superbly overrated,
by poets, artists, writers and all those who have loved and lost.
In reality it's a simple phenomenon which drives one to the mental intersection of insanity, self-destruction and creativity,
caused by a sense of ownership one feels towards another which is nonexistent, not reciprocated, not mutual and really ****** up.
So really don't get up or stand up,
infact don't even bother to feel,
cause you really have no rights...

It wasn't until you pulled the carpet from underneath me
that I realized I was never the princess;
I was in fact the genie.
I had been blissfully unaware,
enjoying the view from up there,
dazzled by you,
when the world was never new.
I'm trapped in the dark now, again,
free falling through the starless sky.
It was never magic was it, just voodoo?
Well, no more wishes for you.

The thing that makes us intangibly connected, painfully aware and eternally unsatisfied,
each time google asks 'Did you actually mean this  you illiterate oblivious *****?',
or pin interest shows a wedge of black forest cake at midnight,
or facebook goes out of its way to advertise an ex's new relationship
only for linkedin to suggest you congratulate him on the new job.

We continue to see, hear and feel, but we cannot touch and we cannot reach,
so we search for other lost souls  within this virtual abyss,
unable to torrent love, stream joy or download content,
We have now created online forums and communities,
to share and like the pain, solitude and void.

It's that time of the night; that time of the night
when you've made a new year's resolution to give up ****,
smoked the last cigarette and the shops are closed,
but sleep as it appears has little regard for the better person you are trying to be,
so you scroll through random videos and searches on how to beat insomnia to find,
Historic photos of love during wartime.
Suddenly you are craving for that kind of a grand love;
a love so great it hurts, it stops time,
it's commemorated years after,
but would it have to be a soldier?
Would there have to be a war, because #WorldPeace and #SayingNoToViolence is trendy at the moment,
so perhaps a sailor or an astronaut?
Does it have to come with an epic good bye, miles apart and no guarantee of return?
Though we all ache for an epic romance, that may be just a little too much work.
Suppose it's only natural when you're living a daydream and think in cliches,
the kind of love you sort after is ironic.
Is there just one?
Would it still be grand, hypothetically speaking, if it's lucky number six you are on,
As we've got the goodbyes, the distance and unpredictability down to a T,
before I become all dried out--- of love,
hope you'll make it rain, for me.

I felt it after a little while,
and not at the very first glance.
I just began to realize.
that I'm given another chance.
Now I want this divine moment to last,
to be lost in this sweet romance.

So please for me, will you save your last dance....

Slowly but yet steadily you are
waltzing into my dreams.
Words alone cannot explain,
how ecstatic it makes me feel.
I could feel myself swaying away,
and my heart begins to leap.

Tell me, would you hold me for this dance..........

I'm too scared to open my eyes,
for I dread the reality.
Frightened that I'll lose you cause,
you seem too perfect for me.
All I want to do now is
to live in this sweet romance.

Would you say "I love you" while we dance.....

I don't want to be your
Friday night girl,
one night stand,
end of a busy week's treat,
or pastime.

I definitely don't want to be your
fetish,
score,
drunk companion,
or ****** relief.

If I'm being perfectly honest (to myself),
I'm rather confident,
I don't want to be anything of yours at all...

Today was special.
When I dressed up and put make up on,
and slipped on those high heels,
and did my hair to the side, sleek, straight and deep red,
I did it for me.
I sang and danced and sang and danced some more,
for me.
I hadn't smoked for 48 hours,
since you left me in my ball dress in that cold winter night,
smoking on my own,
I thought I'd quit.
I'd quit smoking and I'd quit you.
I was doing so well.
I almost made it but then....
I rolled one.
You were creeping in and out of my subconsciousness,
along with the urge for nicotine,
and I'm only human.
I'm fully aware of the consequences,
I've seen, heard and read the warnings,
on health advertisements and cigarette packets,
I know smoking and you are so bad for my heart,
but tonight I could really do with you...

Lying in bed cocooned by sweaty old sheets,
un-showered with last nights make up on the face,
binge watching Grey's Anatomy for the second time,
I felt more closer to you than anyone else in the world.
Isn't it ironic how the love which once made us soar,
see the world in a brand new light,
added a skip to our stride and a boost to our pride,
can bring us to our knees on a bathroom floor,
gasping for air,
for that same love was now taking our breath away,
in a humiliating, excruciating, soul ******* kind of way.
But you were only acting.
I'm not.

Having googled and failed to find the right metaphor
to express this all too familiar phase in life,
the alarmingly low levels of self-esteem
conveniently stepped up to suggest,
a fresh pineapple at the local supermarket
during the harshest of Finnish winter.
Its exotic and festive look draws attention,
everyone wants a bite but no one knows how the **** to peel it.
So they observe with great curiosity from just far enough,
to avoid touching the prickly leaves or skin.
The go to center piece of any, maybe just hipster, parties,
misplaced on top of an excruciating variety of pizzas,
spiking Sangria since the beginning of time,
and most appreciated upside down on cakes.
It draws attention and triggers discussions,
but no one knows what to do or how to feel about it,
except to watch with keen interest from a dramatized distance,
and take the canned stuff home instead.

My sweet sweet girl,
you should know that in this land of tormenting coldness
and mind numbing loneliness
you are my ray of hope.
We all need a source of positivity to draw on
and you are mine.
To laugh out loud for no apparent reason
to get drunk with on a Thursday afternoon
to talk about world politics, boys and the future
you are my partner in crime
the best wing woman
cheerleader
all in one.
Ironic isn't it?
Because I am that to many
and I used to think I was that too.
I guess sometimes even saviours need saving.
I was like you once, many many years ago.
Expecting the best of everything and everyone,
looking at the world through large, bright and sparkly lens of positivity.
I still do.
I still think there's something magical about snow,
stop in my tracks to watch jet paths in the sky,
give the benefit of the doubt to everyone,
and keep searching for Prince Charming.
Only difference is I now identify myself as delusional,
as opposed to optimistic.
The thing is love,
once you find yourself doubled up on the floor,
with every single blood cell infused with *****,
crying out to a God you perhaps no longer believe in,
to just bring you sleep, just this once,
so you can sleep through all this pain and darkness,
there is no turning back.
You can no longer unsee, unhear, undo, unbreak,
change becomes inevitable.
It used to be that if you don't bleed you are not ill,
so no one took us folk seriously when we said it hurts.
So the ******* shrinks drew a list of symptoms,
which did not include big smiles and out going personalities disguising the excruciating burning inside,
so once again no one really believes us when we say it hurts.
Unless we **** ourselves and finally everyone gathers around
with their shocked expressions of disbelief to claim,
'but she looked so happy',
when the first thing we all learnt was how looks could be deceiving.
Everyone looks for love in different places and have different ways of loving.
Specially parents.
You see I thought I broke and hit rock bottom many years ago.
To be honest it wasn't until my mother turned her back on me
that I realized what the definition of broken was.
Parents love their children and God knows mine loves me,
but on nights like this I just want to hear from my mother
that she loves me and believes in me,
but all I remember is the look in her eyes.
It was hatred. It was pure hatred.
Months later after supposedly patching up everything,
that look haunts me,
and breaks me a little bit more every single time.
But I am delusional so I see something profoundly poetic
in my brokenness.
I now truly know what the world holds.
So next time I see someone throwing her head back with a smile little too wide stealing the show,
I'm going to appreciate her effort so much more,
because its not easy to remain delusional.
I hope this world will only bring the very best to you.
I hope you will only know love, acceptance, admiration and success.
As for me,
I hope one day I will be able to stop getting broken,
or in the least get used to the pain.

Though I never searched for you proactively
on night outs, family gatherings or by the side of the street
here you are
so very far from my notion of Mr. Right
an incredibly small fish
in an even smaller pond
leaving both my brain and heart baffled
about this burning sensation I get in my ****
every time I think of you.

Marry me,
I want you to be just mine
I don't share
I'm an only child.

I like the way you
always light my cigarette before yours
check the road before letting me cross
hold the office door open
stay calm and composed
rock pink and purple shirts and ties
crack insanely hilarious jokes
talk ***** on facebook chat.

Mostly I like that subtle change in your stride
and the vengeance in your eyes
when you are angry.
Your iron grip
so painful bringing me down on my knees
leaving me breathless, craving for more.
I think you'll make an extraordinary lover
with exceptionally passionate love making skills
but I will never know...

I'm sitting by the window, watching rain drops hit the ground
Wind is blowing harder and faster making the trees turn in rounds
I thought the sun shine would last, I thought I'd see a rainbow
But it only became darker and colder, and suddenly began to pour.

I loved watching lightning, I enjoyed thunder storms
I would watch the rain for hours from my room, which was once cozy and warm
But today for some reason it is singing a different song
It's murmuring over and over again the fact that I'm alone.

I want to dash out into the garden and start crying in the rain
Then you will never see my tears fall, you will never know the pain
Alas, I am still in my room, thus I cannot weep, it isn't the same
Cause you might see me wailing and break my heart, again!

It all comes back to you.
A premature declaration of love,
hundreds of cigarettes,
several one night stands,
many bottles of *****,
sleepless nights,
pep talks,
and six months later,
I still miss you when you are gone.
The hopelessness that surrounds me when the comfort of your presence in our apartment building is absent is almost indescribable,
if it weren't a precise forecast of one millionth of despair I'd feel when you eventually leave for good.
That despair I'm certain is going to feel like a gun shot would to the spleen.
I know I'm not your type of girl,
considering our only common denominator is nicotine,
when we cannot even find a film or a song we both like,
let alone anything in between.
It is evident you are far from my ideal type of guy, except
I think you are the guy.
Mixed signals and star patterns apart,
when you helped unzip that play suite,
there was nothing confusing or unclear about the shock of electricity that followed your touch from my neck to the waist down my spine.
They all say we look great together,
and I always think only if how great I felt when I was with you could be painted, photographed or just captured in some mainstream form for them to see,
the definition of absolute greatness.
But I am not much more than the smartphone you leave in your room,
the same owner and little use.
I dislike physics and gaming, as much as you detest large crowds and dancing,
but I idealize the thought of being different together,
which I know you don't.
Metaphorical or not you wondered out loud what it would be like,
so let me tell you,
I will be the lights out and shy kind of girl,
I will be submissive, amateur and giddy,
it would be absolutely indescribable, except
I am certain it will resemble the first time one sees the Northern Lights only a million times more incredible,
when you must truly experience it to know the feeling.
The fact of the matter is I obviously never stopped needing you, and
apparently didn't succeed at not showing it either.
The bottom line is when you are not sleeping in your room two floors above my own,
I really miss you very much, and
it's a lot worse than missing you when you are casually sprawling across my bed.
I wonder if you maybe feel one millionth the same...

Like smoking and faith in God,
no matter how hard I try to give up,
think rationally and move forward,
when I see your face,
I'm addicted,
I'm a believer,
a cliche,
over and over again...

Just when the ****** I found on your bedroom floor,
was finally clarifying our relationship as casual and nothing more,
you went and blabbed about your nan.
I wish you'd stop baring random bits of your soul,
when this has been nothing but a *******,
and quit crossing the line I keep drawing in the sand.

If you knew, if you even had the slightest idea
how incredibly fragile my smile is,
how acute my craving for affection is,
how lost, broken and lonely I feel,
how every bone, every single cell of my body aches to just feel your warmth,
how emotionally hungover I get each time I close the door of your flat behind me,
I wonder if I'll still be your Friday night girl...

I wonder if you knew
when you turned the lights out
closed my bedroom door
and stood behind me
by the large misty window
to point out a star pattern
in the night sky
all I wanted was to turn around
and watch their reflection
in your eyes.

I wonder if you knew
at that very moment
those stars felt far more close to me
than you were...

Among many other things summer nights are so profoundly exhausting in this part of the world at least,
as the sun battles ferociously with the night,
refusing to set, protesting to go down quietly,
mocking late evenings with brilliant rays of light,
tricking the minds of us mortals,
particularly the birds who naively sing mistaking the time of day.
The breathtaking view, apart from its beauty and poetic inspiration, is tormenting,
creeping in through tightly shut curtains,
making those trying to get a good nights rest or a good old lie-in stay awake out of guilt,
almost as an unspoken but mutually agreed sense of duty to capture and preserve every beam of light while it shines.
Ironically, some of us prefer the bitter winters and have little reason to stay awake,
and most definitely have enough tan to feel outcasted from the entire Nordic population,
so excuse the nights owls, bats and myself for wishing the summer sun to set already...

You said confidently
"I know you'd like me even if I were fat",
ogling at my tiny waist,
long legs
and firm ***.

The space between my finger tips and the phone
is cramming with pride, doubt and hurt,
it's suffocating.
Can you hear me choking?
I can't hear you,
but I bet you're breathing just fine.

*****,
cigarettes,
knives,
many options,
when you are not one.

When you light a fire
to get rid of the darkness,
and end up burning all your bridges...

To get to sleep tonight
on the same pillow
your head had laid
moments before
knowing all I'll ever have
is your lingering scent
and my imagination...

Though I'm confident I know every inch of you by now,
I'd rather not say 'like the back of my palm',
for the familiarity is more tantamount to the air that I breath.
If I were to describe you to a sketch artist,
I would be stumped, completely lost for words.
If I were pressed I'd ponder for an eternity,
and reluctantly begin with your eyes, if pressed some more.
I would say they are dusty blue and deep, deep not in the hue
but the capacity for me to get lost in them forever.
The beard, rustic and playfully speckled in shades of crimson,
is a tug of war between a starving artist and an ancient Greek philosopher.
Freckles in-between resemble the night sky with my favourite constellation,
plus a few more stars scattered for that extra sparkle.
Those ridiculously long eye lashes completely wasted on any other man,
forcing me to restrain blinking in your presence,
so I would not miss a single time you blink,
hence witnessing third of a second of divine artistry.
You are indescribable and defining you as perfect would be an extreme misstatement,
for you are not the ultimate level of mortal physical attraction.
You are a memory, a vision and an everyday feeling,
inherent yet I relentlessly pursue and strive to own.
You could make raging atheists superstitious,
whereas for me you are salvation.  
So if I were truly pressed to describe even vaguely the way you look,
it will have to be in animated glossolalia, or resort to a quick intake of breath
followed by a wistful sigh and gazing dreamily into the abyss.
On most days I think you are my every dream,
but here you are, very real.

When your favourite song came up on my Spotify,
I froze.
For just over 4 minutes I couldn't move,
I couldn't think,
I could barely breath or even blink.
I felt cold, abandoned, disoriented, hopeless,
like the moment I knew we were done.
I'm holding on to Winter,
but there's the sun.
It hurts more than anticipated,
but I'm not deleting the song.
Shuffling between self destruction and being strong,
I must go on.

Snowflakes stuck on the window pane,
mesmerizes me every single time.
Each with its own intrinsic pattern,
like fingerprints of a thousand angels,
scattered about delicately,
in multiple shades of pearly diamond dust,
trying hard to appear abstract,
but failing to disguise the meticulous magnificence
with which they have been created,
not only restoring faith in a divine power,
but also confirming she's an artist.
But, they say it's really bad for the window.

I wonder what we are trying to do.
Are we trying to write our love story,
or fit into the characters of one that's already written,
by just you or just me or an anonymous author or society?
Either way as it appears improvisation is not our forte
and the plot is yet to thicken.
Do we really have things in common, or
pretending to believe in the opposites attract notion?
I can see us shaving bits and bobs of ourselves off,
as usual me more than you,
and wedging mismatched corner pieces together,
almost hoping we'll some how stick, grow and evolve,
like a transplanted ***** or a candle wick in wax,
when in reality all we are is a badly in-completed puzzle.
We share a sense of brokenness and a fear of being broken,
so together we are skeptical of most things, and all people,
and hold our emotions hostage,
while using emoticons and gifs instead,
hoping if we play independent and self-love cards often enough,
we'll somehow win the hand,
when no one knows the rules of the game,
except that the stakes are really high.
Perhaps what we are doing is to see if we can walk together,
you on your side of the road and me mine,
sometimes one leading the other, and sometimes side by side.
But if neither one of us knows where we are going,
will the journey still be worth the while?