5/13

we drench ourselves in the rain of conversations -

another conversation comes to an end, creating a sense of loss

the way the end of a good book does -

every sense of self, time and the world around is lost

i wring myself and hang me on the line to dry

moments slowly pass and the world returns slowly -

things begin to make sense, reality spreads all around

a droplet of blue ink on blotting paper, drenched in rain

with a bunch of feathers that the birds that flew away left behind

i sweep the floor carefully and gather

all our words that lay scattered all around

i put them inside a box and hide it safe in a dark corner

and try not to think about it till the time is right

for me to go back to it again

the stars twinkle in the night sky and shooting stars fall

outside my window

there will be another day, later, a long time away from now

another night like this, when the blue moon will rise -

then i'll stand by my window, clutching the box to my chest

i'll look at the night sky and listen to familiar tunes of the breeze

like the night of some other time - the night will feel the same -

the same stars will twinkle and the same shooting stars will fly

everything and everyone that had to go would have left

then i'll open the box full of words from old conversations -

sitting on the floor, i'll let the blue glow of the moon

spread my shadow on the floor - on which i'll arrange the words

one after another, one after another -

recreating a conversation that once was -

creating again all alone a world that once was, with those words

and i think i'll smile to myself then -

but till such a night arrives, the box will stay hidden in the dark

with all the words and the attempts to forget them

or the tries just not to remember them -

till a night like this is back again