Violent intentions

He says he doesn't
beg
instead he'll make me.
I smile
because he does not get
that I don't need to hear it
it's enough for me
to know he can't have me
even if he wants me
even if he fucks others
breathing out my name.
It's enough to know I can break or touch
a fraction of him
even as he's whole
even as he has already forgotten me.

It was his birthday

She wished him
Happy Birthday.
He replied
I am too far away.


I smoked three cigarettes straight
when she told me.

Arriving in Rome

A week after
reaching Rome
everything is already faded
my old life back in Greece
the people
the moments
everything
they feel faraway
are part of a dreamland.
I am in a parenthesis
where nothing is real
except the now
the here
a here in which
I feel to strangely belong
to myself
to the city
to the unknown
to no one
nowhere.
It's starnge to say I do not miss him
there is only a slight melancholy
a slight upward turning of the lips
and then he's swept away
by the roman heat.

Final goodbyes

I try to make light of his loving remarks
but that is hard because
how do you ignore the solemn ones?
I smile sadly at his words
because I have seen the future
have already lived it
- am already on recovery.
The expiration date has passed
and now it's rotting
and I'm letting go of control
- I'll take the emotions as they come
feel them all the way
le them wash over me
then fade away.

(I don't care if it is love or not
- I adore him in my own way -
but it hurt to say - the last - goodbye.)


Ten minutes later:
a text.
"I already miss you."