Quiet steps

Looking for your presence in every little  mirror of the paradise of non toxic arguments for a better kind of being. Looking for your presence in every corner of my heart, as you steal the pieces that pour the softness in my quiet moments, when it is just me in a mirror, that gets changed every now and again with the little steps of a child that runs up and down my mind. 

A younger version of the implacable, unsoftened and unrully manner of the self, younger self.  

So I need to stop looking for you. I need to stop wishing and to stop talking. I need to just move on the story above the way that your presence and absence is felt inside my eyes, somewhere in between those little feet that dance to make a fire. A fire to quiet my heart. 

falling off the spoken word

I climb up in the woods of words unspoken. I notice the little glass of water that needs to be their light dinner. It is in the glass I wonder for a century of slow seconds and dust. It is a word unspoken that transcends the glass, the ceiling, the little corners of the woods universe. The word I have fallen from so many times. Desire. 

hide

hide between the lines. Between the fall lines. hide in the armour of corporate wording. Hide between my arms. Incorporated in ashes and pinching my scarf. hiding. 

Talpi de foc

Ma ard talpile, imi lumineaza pieptul, creez lumi paralele, se limiteaza cuvantul la a fi si la a face. Imi ard pleoapele la ganduri sterse de vant si ma rup de tot ce e rosu si crud. Ma lepad si ma incred. Mi-e frica si strig. 

the veil

there is a saying in what passes and it is not said. There is a variation of the music in your eyes. A quiet not ever humble, but awaiting thought of the potential closeness in a little corner, of a distant universe, of our minds. When our minds collapse, when our thoughts make up for words unspoken, when the symphony of business vocals, of ambition and laughter is wrapped in a veil to see, to keep, to guard inside. A veil that hides nothing else but closeness. 

Dancing in the snow

List of things that pass bye: A mirror in the snow, a smile that says i know you, a good conversation, the quiet remembering of a possible limited future, if you dare, if I dare. If you want, if. Some ifs are complicated. Some ifs come with much more than just a dare. Some ifs make my heart run faster, my dreams become blue and white and a bit of snow. It is in the snow where our dreams may have met, or may not ever do. It is what it is. Without not being the ifs of the story. And the ifs have always a beginning and an end. In the middle only emotion. That some of us claim not to possess. So let's dance in the snow, emotion (less).