She's going to break your heart some day

Called me three times today.
Hardly talked,
mostly we looked at each other's faces.
I adore him
but the silence was echoing inside my head
and I was restless to hang up.

My friend says
I'm the kind to make
love to the bad boys
and leave them.

I break both our hearts
in the process.


(I read somewhere "She looked at me softly; that's how she stabs souls." I suppose it is appropriate and the joke's on me.)

Happy/Sad matter

Talking to you makes me happy.
It also makes me sad.
It was never
supposed
to matter
so much.

I am not here to be magnifiscent
or alter the courses of people's lives.
I simply am.
So I burrow myself
in art and books
and all the beauties I can find on my way
home
somewhere,
I look for the beauty of solitary numbers.
I expect their memories
to remain untouched.

*

God, I miss him still. I miss them both but I miss him still. And it kills me to know we're only two hours away and we have not met yet even though he said we would. And the other one wants to get a flight from his country to here to come see me and I miss him too and love him and adore him but I miss him still. It shouldn't hurt so much to not have seen a complete stranger after a whole year.

I miss you, it's not healthy, but it still breaks my heart and your name is everywhere. It will stop I guess but when?

Not a muse

I am not magnificent in any way.
I am not poetry
or art.
There is nothing remarkable about me
you can find many more interesting copies out there.
You will find
no song written about me
no dance poisoned with the thought of me
no indelible intoxication
I am nobody's muse.
I'm awkward talks
and stares of curiosity
and an abundance of tenderness.
I'm here to touch you
break you
give you what you need
and then leave
with not even a photograph
or a memory left behind.
Only a slight perfume
of skin and soap,
light and fading.

Imaginary conversations

It's been over a year
since I've last seen him.
Then there were miles of sea
and land
but mostly people between us.
Now we're two hours away by car
and a recent message plays over
and over
in my head.
"We'll meet soon."
Fast forward a month
and silence has been ever-present
the anxiety has not subsided
though I recognise
there will be no meeting.

I try not to count the possibilities
to map out the possible outcomes
but nevertheless in one scenario
there's a meeting
and somewhere along the way
one piece of conversation
goes along like this:
"I was in love with you you know."
"Me too."
"Where does that leave us?"
"Nowhere."