duminică, 31 martie 2013


I could write a entire novel about that moment.
 I mischievously play it again and again in my mind as if everything stopped then and there,
As there were no more colors left to spare. 
Curiously enough, it seemed that only me was held in time, 
As everyone else moved with 66,600 miles per climb. 
I have watched you from afar for many rainy years: you, this perfect little aragement of atoms, always searching for your wrinkles,
 Me, this naive gathering of dead cells, always hiding my sprinkles. 
I know if I would get closer, you would scratch me with your smile,
 So, now, instead of sleep, I like to dream once in a while. 
I would draw you a lipstick letter 
And you would carve a little of your blue,
 I would wear only your favorite sweater,
 So people would see the artist in you. 
I could write an entire novel about that moment 
And maybe I should get a grip 
But you dissolved the alphabet by accident 
When you bit your lip.