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CUVINTE DE UMPLUTURĂ

hope

God, I’ve been sleeping so well since I accepted That I’ve been defeated by life this time around,  Even though  I sometimes feel miserable At least I’m much more rested; he dark circles have turned  Into a pale blue, I look Almost alive and I could become handsome again in no time There’s no more hope  Keeping me awake at night. sursa imaginii: unsplash

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hazy

We’d  step into a hazy dawn, birds singing in the distance We’d wave them goodbye, farewell, tiny miracles We’d coat ourselves in salty summer breeze Swim naked at dawn and fall asleep in tangled limbs Oh how I miss youth and how much I resent myself for missing it Because there’s no other feeling that’s more pointless Such a futile little thing – useless longing for something That is forever lost image @ unsplash

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narrative

Now that I have lost your infinite gentle touch Your disheveled morning hair, the tangled constellation of freckles On your pointy shoulders, the way you nibbled on the pies crust And tossed aside the filling, the way your lips would plump After eating too many strawberries, the way you used to say ‘Oh how you’ll miss me one day’ and ‘Oh how you’ve been loved’ What remains for me to do now, in any case, is take A merely narrative…

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Thoughts on music

U-la-la-la and la-di-da and such she singed along My lover used songs the same way other people use  Sipsmith London Dry gin and pineapple haze to manipulate their emotions and raise their spirits Or get some inspiration, he sang nursery rhymes and catholic hymns Pop hits and rock ballads, he played the piano and stroke His ancient wooden guitar in the evenings,  Like in that strawberry colored sky Tuesday afternoon When we both realised music leaves no room for people…

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balmy night

A balmy Monday night it was, stars flickering unsteady  Discarded clothes pushed into a corner like fallen leaves Sheets moist and clingy, breeze sweet and cold Windows squeaky, crooked floors, lukewarm water, Salty skin and bedroom eyes, soft voices and million of years ahead Waiting calmly to break us apart Image@ unsplash

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roller coaster

You can stay, if you want to, she told me, blowing away The smoke of past, present and future cigars Seeming as distant and cold as the pale moon and I Began to feel so useless in her arms, like a broken vase With dried up flowers sitting in a remainder of a muddy water And ever so foolish, like waiting in a queue for a monster roller coaster  That I had no intention of riding. image source: unsplash

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this man

Mornings come and morning go Faded in a mist of coffee and pale smoke of Burnt toast, I feel this man’s hands could squeeze me Breathless just as easily as he can ease the pain  From my tense shoulders, his jawline skin is blue and bruised from razors From midnight fights, from lustful kisses, he never tells me Where he’s been, but I don’t mind, I’m only thinking He’s surprisingly young for a god image source: unsplash

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Movies

The movie had ended and the boy sat up He looked so solemn, so troubled, as he fought The tears awaiting behind his eyes, the photography was lovely, The story simply brilliant, he especially liked The joyful play of the sunlight flaring on the windows, The growingly opaque blue smoke swallowing the tiny houses The forest mist to which they woke each morning The beginning of a new day, so significantly blooming Why wasn’t real life as cinematic? It would…

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end credits

We sat there for several hours The wind squeezed its way into the car Through the slightly cracked open window It made a whistling sound, like Thomas, the building site worker, Used to make whenever high school girls in skirts passed by Oblivious to his hungry, wolflike stare, surprising Isn’t it, she said, suddenly breaking the silence,  How little is there left to say, and I nodded in agreement Watching the end credits roll down my car windshield image @…

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common courtesy

We broke up just yesterday evening, It was a common courtesy to wait until The tea had been drank, the cookies have been eaten, The sugary crumbs thrown away to diabetes prone pigeons, Tip tapping their little crimson feet on our window pane You don’t make me feel good anymore, I said Opening the window, patting one of the most Domestic pigeons of the pack, you know, he said Rising up to meet my gaze, no one  Can make you…

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