Inspiration — what is it?
Not the warmth of the moment you trusted,
not the hand of a lover you longed for,
not a childhood dream.
It is the smile of a stranger exchanged just now,
the city you have just stepped into,
the sips of old red grape you were not supposed to have.
It is the stranger I met this afternoon,
the stranger I kissed in a dream,
the stranger I lost back to the moon.
It is the warmth of a teacup
that cooled a little while ago;
a body you could hold,
a touch you could keep.
It is an empty world
in which I am lost.
It is the stranger,
it is me.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 10:53 PM UTC
Inspiration — what is it?
Not the warmth of the moment you trusted,
not the hand of a lover you longed for,
not a childhood dream.
It is the smile of a stranger exchanged just now,
the city you have just stepped into,
the sips of old red grape you were not supposed to have.
It is the stranger I met this afternoon,
the stranger I kissed in a dream,
the stranger I lost back to the moon.
It is the warmth of a teacup
that cooled a little while ago;
a body you could hold,
a touch you could keep.
It is an empty world
in which I am lost.
It is the stranger,
it is me.