And

and the mess
and the want
and the need
and the noise
and the urge
and the rage
and the sadness
and the anxiety
and the boredom
and the bitterness
and the revenge
and the escape
and the guilt
and the laughter
and the feeling
and the shivering
and the kiss
and the wine
and the warmth
and the photo
and the space
and the distance
and the laptop
and the melancholy
and the screaming
and the abandoning
and the want-need-want-need-want-need-need-need-need-NEED!

and all of it tumbles through me. I NEED. Where are you? Where did you go? When did I lose you?

and it's all a failure.

Shiver

My skin feels foreign.

Wish I could take it off and step into that of a stranger.

And so let my acts go unnoticed, as they would leave traces on a stranger's skin.

As I think of her my hands shiver
Is it longing or fear?
Is it fear of her or myself?
Does it matter?
Can we hold? Can we not?

Rain

As I turn off my motorbike
I look for your face through the window.

Dimly illuminated by your laptop screen,
it is there.

Of course, you said you'd wait for me,
you said you'd be there.

And when I come in and sit in front of you,
(because next to you is just too much for me to handle)
you'll look at me and say hi.

And I will say that it is rain on my face,
and I will think that no, it can't be anything else,
that thinking about the day when you will not wait for me at some cafe,
and I will not see your tired smile as you look at me away from your laptop,
and that I will ride through the rain to something else...

No, thinking about that couldn't have anything to do with this.

It has to be rain.

Time

Little details get my mind started,
A name on my agenda, that should have long been deleted,
and suddenly your skin, your voice, your lips, your witty sense of humor...

It's all still here, it's all still in my head.

A version of you that doesn't exist anymore, a you that should have long been forgotten,
a thousand moments that should have long been gone...

They say time heals everything.
Well, years have gone by, and obviously,

Time is overrated.

Stable

Changes are coming.
Looming in the next weeks, next months... I see them.
The easiest option is flowing with them.
In the midst of all these changes, the inaction keeps me... stable.

Or, you could say, dull.

Dripping

The future slowly drips into the present.
Six day-sized drops further, and the color of my life is much duller already.
My mouth feels dry, as my words must travel a much longer distance
not in a practical way, but surely spiritual.
My river of emotions has gone to dry up by the shore.
I wish I could see the waves.

Unsaid

I look at you.
I feel the clock ticking.
I act clumsy, I say superficial things.
I feel the air around me, as if it also is expecting.
I search my mind for the perfect words.
I feel my blood flowing, humming the passage of time.
I give up.

I would have said a thousand words more, and still, it would not have been enough.

So that that can not be described, that that is too big for human words, that that has had me floating in a storm like the dead leaf of a weak tree, that that has turned me into a clumsy superficial fool when I look at you...

That has remained unsaid.