we would have met in Paris, Barcelona, Montpelier...
--written long long ago
i and !
Tides of feelings flow,
in the ocean of time,
up and down,
left to right.
Isn't it just the same water,
meeting lighthouse's lights,
sun's shines,
over and over,
through the same darkness.
But somehow,
memory only keeps "now".
No one tries to change,
the size of the ocean,
no one tries to fill it,
with black or yellow water,
and any other color but blue.
The hardest thing is,
to change facing changes.
The girl is tired,
she lies down,
red skirts on white bricks,
yellow skin under blue sky,
black hair at pink cheeks,
with white smiles.
She looks to his direction,
with black smiles.
She turns to the other direction.
Will there be anyone, anything,
pick her up on his way,
or will she just wait, wave her smile,
hold herself up to her may,
to a season called, "sumtumn",
to a place called, "heavell".
She enjoyes these moments.
She suffers these minutes.
She tries to feel that,
the earth turns itself,
she tries to turn herself with.
She wants to chatch up,
with earth, then the sun, then stars...
