The puzzle

The coffee grows cold, the longer I stare at it. Did I just dance the night away, or did I spend it tossing and turning in a half-sleep? It doesn’t matter, because the outcome is the same. I’m not yet awake and definitely not ready to wake up from the possibility of different realities. Even though the sun is not out yet, the world has already started the day and you already left.

Just hours ago you had laughed when you unwrapped the new take on the rubik’s cube that I had gotten you. You had twisted it, turned it, until it had deformed completely from it’s original; for some time struggling to solve the puzzle and to put back the pieces. Like you were twisting your stories, and turning your words. Maybe you even convinced yourself enough to make it through the night, tossing and turning in a half-sleep.

Just hours ago you had laughed when you unwrapped the new take on the rubik’s cube that I had gotten you. You had twisted it, turned it, until it had deformed completely from it’s original. For some time you struggled to solve the puzzle and to put back the pieces, but got confused as you cannot do two things at the same time, and your stories were more interesting to share. So we talked, and laughed, and danced the night away.

Did I give you my body, and am I sure that you want me? The cold coffee won’t give me an answer, as I’m not even sure which version of you is true or not, nor which version of the story I want to believe. Here’s the puzzle, I twisted it a little – but it might be a piece of my mind.

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Take me back to

As I’m sat on my bed, I’m staring to the wall where a stain disrupts the continuous white. ‘How did it come there?’ I wonder, but it doesn’t distract me long enough, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, as I’m haunted by ghosts of you. Repeating last night’s conversations in my head.

As you proved yourself to be a collection of empty promises, and raising hope still, I could not help myself but smile. I already knew to keep in my tears, as I already knew the outcome of this conversation; I would have never believed, to still love you. In some twisted way, instead of resenting you, you motivated me to be the best version of myself.

So are you ready to forgive me, are you ready to forget. Is it a time for new beginnings, or am I closing the book? Did you blow me a kiss goodbye and did I close the door behind me. Did I just abandon my best friend, or will you take me back to the night we first met, and start anew?

Air castles

Filled with dreams, I leave my bed behind. The stairs feel cold under my naked feet, and the coffee machine is buzzing a symphony as I turn it on. In an attempt to jolt myself awake, I pour the coffee straight into my veins. Light a cigarette and have rain join me for breakfast. Absentmindedly, I’m moving away from the air castles built during the night to return my gaze upon a reality that hasn’t changed since yesterday. I think my mind is playing tricks on me, because I’ve never wanted you more than I do now. I could find home in your arms with my eyes closed, but they would not emulate the movement of catching me in a fall. So I trip over time and stop looking back, and as the cigarette is exhaled one last time, I lock up the air castle behind me to start the day.

Wondering, wandering

I’m walking on deserted, black sanded beaches. The waves are washing the ocean’s salty water over my feet. Already, my step is untraceable – it’s memory washed away at creation. Maybe I’m dancing; maybe I’m just wandering. I’ve walked into abandoned houses, breaking into an unknown history, marvelling at the decayed construction. I got lost in the Balinese rice fields, to the point only technology could bring me back to my temporary home; just to spend the warm sweaty night entangled in dreams of you. And as I wake, I collect these images as I would seashells that no current can take away. How backwards this paradise dream is: rain during the day, but a clear starry night. Just like how I am here, but you’re not at all. Yet, how I love this state of wandering wonder that took away all doubt that I’m at home with you.

 

Enigma

The attic is bright and sunny, with all the roof windows over my head. I’ve opened them, so the calming summer breeze can chase its welcoming cool through the house. The sky is blue, only decorated with a few spots of white – it won’t rain for the coming days. The city’s sounds are safely tucked away far underneath me, I’m alone but not lonely.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot my friend. On how to explain to you how unbroken yet broken I feel, and if you possible could have an answer to questions I don’t even dare to raise in my mind. You’ve been an enigma I can’t seem to crack, and all the while it keeps me riddled how at home I feel with you. Whenever I see you, every time I see you.

So for now, all you do is make me smile in the most unexpected of times. For now, I’ll just think of you on this bright and sunny day, whilst the summer breeze is chasing in the city-sounds and fond memories. For now, I’m alone, but knowing we will meet again, I don’t feel lonely at all.

History

We met on the same place as four years ago. It’s a different life now, but it doesn’t matter because we are reliving the past. You smiled, put your arm around me – for some reason we’re still so used to each other. You smile, I smile, you talk, I talk – we talk. You pour me a drink – the same, but with a cruel twist of time and topped up with double meanings.

She walks in and you go back to her. You smile, she smiles, you put your arm around her – for some reason I’m surprised how well you know each other. You talk, she talks, she smiles again. I finish the drink and leave our history in the past. I go back to being myself, and you just went back to being the stranger I once knew.

Random thoughts on a Monday evening that do not require an answer

I have always wondered why four is your lucky number. It’s not in your date of birth, nor an exact amount that ever proved to be of meaning for you – it was nowhere to be found, except for this sheer feeling of luck that was connected to it. It was a question you could never fully answer, so it became uninteresting to ask.

Why do people perceive taste so different, why do some of us enjoy sweets more whilst others enjoy crisps and other salty snacks? Is this connected to the taste buds, sense of smell, or is it wired in our brain – how our receptors work?

How much can we change whilst staying the same? Is there really a core ‘self’ that is impossible to shed? How much have I changed in a year, rethought, retouched, and rewired – but still not much of a sweet tooth. Where are the borders of change, and if they at all exist, are they solid, or shifting?

Could it be that your lucky number connects to the four seasons, that it fills a year? In this past year, have you reinvented your own self – rebuild you – deleted an old identity? Have you shed your past, or do you still think of me?