Running is not an option,
because there is a pond between us.
Your delayed gaze from across
burns a hole in the front pocket of my shirt.

Rambling is not an option,
because nobody wants to listen.
We throw messages to each other, they
fall under a million shaking voices.

Arguing is not an option,
because lovers do not disagree.
Words leave my mouth and travel until I
forget what I have said.

Dreaming is an option,
I'd like a penny for every nightmare, so that
I could afford a rocket to take us away.

Time is lying, withering
on a beach, wondering
if it can still gather itself.

They say he is crazy, but
he is closer to the flow.
It scares him. Even as
a man from the old times,
he is sophisticated and
he thinks to himself.

You say they are from
another world, but they
eat, sleep, fight and
sin just like you do.

They are young, but
they are already used to
uniforms and fighting
against the evil.

Scattered on a table,
I interpret the messages behind,
making sense
of every photograph,
and of myself.

I no longer see the red toothbrush
next to the green one.

Their hugs squeeze me
to death, almost.

There is a smell of pancakes
around, but I have nothing to eat.

Hitting my head against the wall
still does not make me understand.

I try to smile, it pour on me.
I hear him laugh.

I rush out on my bare feet
to see the hands waving me

Goodbye.

You open the window,
stretched out is one arm,
waiting for happiness to fall
into the palm.

I put on our favourite song.
The old rhythm sounds like our footsteps back at school.

We lie on the bed,
absorbed are two idlers,
watching as memories drip down
from the ceiling.

I hear your breath.
The steady pace feels like the music in the background.

I know you are looking for the letter she gave you
before the plane took off, it was too short to be
read during a flight.

I know you are looking for the drops of rain you collected
in a jam jar for primary science class, you got soaked but you
saw a rainbow afterwards.

I know you are looking for the scent of Grandma's sweater, you told
her you were too sick to walk so she carried you.

I know you are looking for the longitude and latitude
on the map where you used to
lie on the damp grass.

I know you are looking for the poster
of your favourite punk rock band, it was
torn apart by Dad.

I know you are looking for the tiny mushrooms that grew
in the garden, you thought they could be eaten.

I know you are looking for the lyrics of the song you sang
with your brothers in church, which you
tried to recite and scrutinize.

I know you are looking for the laughter that brought you
up in space when you leaped through the mountains
covered in snow.

I know you are looking for that place in the long abandoned woods,
and you might find it some day.