on a wintry,
frosty,
fulfilled night,
he said "stuff"
which left
her some
misery
and trickery.

falling for every
trap, she had
to trip,
all over again,
forgive,
all over again,
for the usual.

angry,
yes, she was?
no, she wasn't
******,
yes, she was?
yes, she was
and is.

some words
aren't meant
to be heard,
but rather
felt.

this is a continuation
of what took place
that frosty night
with glimmering,
shiny
phosphenes,
endless bokeh.

he was right there,
parallel from my
spot,
and we thought
of nothing
but what we are
in, right at that
moment.

as he sweep
my hair from
my cheeks
to my ears,
from my face
towards my back,
he took his hand
placed it on top
of my eyes,
cold they
were,
he then
gently,
touched my
left cheek
with his
chapped lips.

on that friday
night with showers
or rain
t'was chilly
and windy
and loud
and crowded
lost and
shrouded
with endless cheers
and yells.

after everything else
there comes
goodbyes and
farewells.

she then grabbed
him by his arms
neared her face
towards his side
and with one stride
she left a warm
and frosty touch
on his cheeks
and blurred the
whispering, cold
mob.

under such
grayish, rusty
roof,
with the howling
sound of violins,
there she witnessed
the mini, gentle
foot steps,
the ligth-weighted,
vibrant,
elegant
blush of her dress,
with pure, innocent,
angelic eyes,
dark hair,
and crowned
heir.

she was my darling,
my sweet nightingale,
my beloved strings,
seemingly unwanted,
but completely,
a wish granted
by the stars, the galaxies,
oh, my beautiful
anemony, my antonym.

how do i live,
a life that i
so seek?

how do i kiss
farewell
to companions i
so unloved?

how do i sing
my poems
to people i
so care for?

how do i die
and say goodbye
to this "her"
and offer
some "real"
excuse letter,
rope, venom,
knives,
oh, never mind
the latter...

we are born
to live,
not to die.

we walk
to explore,
not to please.

we sing
to express,
not to keep.

but,
during this
seemingly
endless Saturday,
she was dying,
she was pleasing,
she was keeping.

she had
anhedonia

a dear friend
mentioned about
how to
redirect the stars

a dear she
thought me
how to make
something
from those
stars

but
a dear he
told her
to enter
a beginning
from the amusing,
entertaining,
stitched and
loved ending.

she was for he.