”You better decide what you want”,
he wrote me. But I had already and
told him and I have nothing to add.
I know well what I want, but what I
want is not available and not possible.
I know what he wants – he keeps on
writing to me to keep us in touch.
“You are not the one I thought you
would be and I am not the one you
thought me to be.”
“Sure I love you, but who are you?
Zorro? Phantom of the Opera?”
“ What if ….”
What if “life” had provided me with a lover
simple and nice, like a salesman working at
the local Supermarket nearby I live – packing
my plastic bags with bread and cheese, tells
me a “have a good day!” with a plain smile?!
And then I walk to the Supermarket and
outside the entrance sits as usual a beggar
on the cold and wet tarmac. It’s one of those
poor gypsy women from Romania.
And she reach out her hand, saying “please”.
And who am I complaining: ”life is not fair”,
I ask myself? And I return home after shopping,
eat my dinner and take a nap and I get a dream…
I am travelling to a place to see someone
(special). There are rooms and phones
not connected, people and people and all
in confusion… Lastly I end up on a bus –
but all I want now is to get a flight back
home but I was given milk, lots of sweet
…milk I had to pour over in bottles. I fails,
filling them over the brim and I try to save
the flowing milk in new bottles, it’s all messy…
And I wake up with all this very white and
sweet milk over my hands and in my mouth.
And all this whiteness is pure overflowing
and overwhelming sad pain, a pain whiter
and sadder than anything possibly can be.