1.

She wants me to write. On saturdays?! I'm still smelling

of cigarettes, and the summer she is referring to, is long

overdue. Where were you in summer 2017? Sitting on a ter-

race having coffee, and enjoying the sun with a friend. 2019,

who knows, I might see another world. I am writing, she is


now sleeping in our bed. The night is bugging me, I am not

connected. Not trivial, anyway... What is happening out there

in the world when you're not gaming? AKA as privacy. Do I

love her? Only in the summer, a warm answer or not. We are

moving to another place, the writing place, if lucky, this summer.


2.

Arctic weather, I am feeling cold. From wind sails, minutes

to seconds, here it is not what you include. Drifting away,

time is frozen. Song in the sharp winds, you are now in the

shattering cold. Memory is like a prison bed, S.O.S. written

all over my face. From here planet size nothing but snowpacks.