Tell me. 


Time of death.



         At least I know how I want to die. The peaceful sky will be having the color of midnight blue; a star here and there; not too many; enough to shine wonderfully around the moon. The waves will be hitting the shore quite hardly but in the deep; the sable line will be clear and still. The roundness of the moon will be perfect; its’ hues will have a scarlet color; bloody but still dusty grey. Across the beach no soul will be whipping beside me. The horizon will seem endless and I will be greeting it. Opposite to the endless sea,  at the exit from the beach, a wooden bar will be still lightened. No soul will ponder on the porch. The unclean dishes on top of the sink will torture my soul. I will not leave unfinished business behind. The tick-tocking of the clock may feel exasperating but not so much as I will know it will be the last I am going to hear it. There is a half empty glass of whiskey on the corner of a table. I observed that night and only, the brunette woman sitting there. She would leave the same half empty glass every night, I would take it and toss it. That night I will not. I will ran my fingers over the shapes of that glass, sink one inside, rub it on my lips and flash it inside me. It will burn but I am sure I will not mind. The void will be filled with a song from the radio. Elliott Smith will be playing his favourite song, something about us between the bars. I will take that emptied glass and walk on the shore holding it. At some point, I will fill it with the ocean’s water and  when I am ready, I will drink up my unfulfilled  dreams. Their poisonous effect will be the end of me; there, on that beach, shaded by the midnight blue sky. The clock on the wall of the bar will stop tick-tocking. Time of death: 02:30 a.m. .
I woke up in the afterlife and all I did ever since was wonder; what if I had no unfulfilled dreams? Would that water still poison me? That was my hell. I was tortured by that idea, of never finding out; what if I had done all that I wanted? No remorse, no going back.

Lightning moon.


     In the misfortune of summer I found an abyss in your heart. The soil wasn’t dry anymore. My soul wasn’t wounded. I gasp on the thought and continue pursuing my goal as your love is a motivation for my dreams. In the mist of August I found the lost child in me. In the still of the night I found your pure eyes shining bright and conquering my heart. Electric blues and radiant violets. You were that. You are that. You are an electric blue shadow of happiness and pain. In moments of unawareness, I panic on the thought of losing you. I stutter your name. Then I fill my lungs with the memories you gave me and hope rises like the sun at dawn. I misinterpret the dreams and tire myself with worries. Minutes after I smile. I am wondering how can you make me such an unstable person. You change me. 
     In the cold of winter I missed your body. I thrilled for your warm blood. I was craving for your soul. Now that the breeze of June is flirting with the cells of my skin, I feel an intense desire to kiss your lips. I dream of your colours. I dream of your electric blues and radiant violets. 
     The night is a friend again. I am hugged and lucky to be accompanied by such a beauty. It whispers me that you hug your pillow and turn on the left side of your bed. I am told that you are dreaming of waves and exotic places. I am delighted of the stories. People can be thrilling creatures when their subconscious runs wild.