so ordinary,
other things.
when i first saw you
sadness made sense.
coffee
and a heavy heart last week,
sitting on stairs
nowhere to go
was for a reason.
us,
here,
just before "too late"
is not coincidence.
succulents, bookshelves,
refrigerated milk —
we will make home here.
long ago in school,
the year i broke my wrist;
sitting at my desk
i imagined this.
so,
here you are
just before "too late",
and so
unmistakable.

I have feelings;
you're dramatic.
as the back of my notebook
soaks in condensation,
at a remote coffeeshop-table
somewhere,
i check my phone again.
you're misunderstanding love
and I wish I had the time
to explain.
i'm glad
there's hardly anyone here;
waiters too bored to check.
leaning against a window
i hope everyone is happy.
you don't know love;
i have nothing to say.
wildflowers —
you can't plan them.

looking for you
in places you don't go to;
i'm feeling lost.
do you miss home?
do you miss me folding
the clothes you put out to dry
and the tea i make?
i miss home —
biscuits you know i'd like
and when you clean
the kitchen counter.
my feet hurt
and i'm tired,
and i want to cry a little bit.
closing my eyes
to the sound of the ocean,
i'm thinking of
me on the floor with the laptop;
you on the bed.
other people are scary
and i'm wishing
for the biscuits i like,
with you.
all this time
i'm not sure what i was looking for,
but now
i'm looking for you
and i don't want to head home yet.

I'm tying my hair up
into a messy something
as it starts to rain outside.
The radio is low in the background,
and we're on an empty road.
Reflecting city lights;
leaning against the window.
My shoulder, neck, eyes
are becoming the colors
of a traffic light.
The downpour is cold
and beautiful.
I'm warm and tired
and unsure
about where I'm going.

the light is soft here;
I feel oddly present
and cold.
we're playing like a really fast-paced
film in my head;
everything — years
are going by quickly.
do you know of mornings so early;
sleepy stars haven't left yet?
it's magic, this moment.
I feel like anything I wish for
now
will come true.
the skies are not entirely blue,
and my eyelids
are still heavy with sleep.
alone here,
it's the opposite of lonesome.
we're playing like a film in my head,
so many years — gone.
the stars are slowly fading away
and if anything I wish for
in this moment
will come true,
I wish for you.

Walking through a sea of sellers and buyers,
shaking your head "no" a few times
you find a beautiful shop of tired, mellow people looking through  a contrast of clothes.
The sun is suddenly shy
and your eyebrows relax.
Your cheeks are warm and pink;
hair dry and sweaty at the same time.
You smile at the shopkeeper
who smiles at you as he suggests a floral scarf.
Trying on beaded shoes at a small street-shop,
you're becoming something different.
You're not who you were a year ago,
in February or
even yesterday.
Your voice has a slightly new tone,
eyes shine quite differently
and your hair is growing another kind of wild —
You are lovely in another way.
The world has comfortably shifted
just a little bit
and you're at the corner taking another road.
Suddenly in a busy market
in the sunlight,
you've become you in a new way.

wiping the outside off my face with a soapy tissue,
I wash my hair,
get dressed
and head to dinner.
coffee and the smell of cigarettes
from an European couple at the next table,
I am letting myself have alone time.
not writing much about anything,
only occasional "i'm here"s
and "i'm there"s
in my notebook.
waiting for the cab at an empty-ish street
of returning bicyclists and slow cart-pullers,
I felt the ocean crashing against the insides of me.
just me here,
and red car-lights
reflecting in my eyes.
returning to nothing in particular.
taking off my shoes,
my bracelet,
my shirt;
i'm wiping the outside
off my face.
with my feet up on a glass table
in nothing
but a necklace I know I will struggle to unclasp,
i'm looking at the streetlights in the city from this big hotelroom window; thinking
of asking for another chocolate-coffee for one.