Dessert 39

The traffic stopped, the rain did not. The man who stopped in the middle of the road has gone, somewhere. To stand in the middle of another road?

This is the rain I wanted elsewhere, to watch from another window. 

It finally stopped. I can go. 

Come and go

Easy come easy go,
So how come,
It's mostly easier to go
Than to come.

Someone

Now I am someone you never met.
But if you did...
Would I be someone you remember
Or someone you forget?

It's a line

A function of time.
When time comes
It will be crossed...

It's a bullshit haiku
Of more than 3 lines
About trendlines
And who gives a fuck if it rhymes.

My way

I want things to go my way, for a change, for once. But which way is mine? I don't even have the conviction to pick a way -  where should those poor things go?

It's a line

A function of time.
When time comes
It will be crossed...

It's a bullshit haiku
Of more than 3 lines
About trandlines
And who gives a fuck if it rhymes.

What would you say if

anyone asked you to speak?

The only one

- So why him?
- Because he was the only one there. Not the one and only. Only the only one.

Unfinished

If I wanted perfection I would leave you unsaid,
But I'm greedy and wanted to speak.
So the least I could do was to leave you unfinished

Profound Understanding

How to feel close to someone? Offload on him... all that heaviness that weighs on you, but is empty – no content to show for all that weight. You will feel relief, rambling about all the meaningless things that you want to get off your chest. And if the someone listens patiently, without interrupting, you will get the feeling that you are understood and will feel closeness to your presumed understander.

But... you will be too busy with your unburdening to notice that he does not say anything. He nods in rhythm with his own thoughts. Had your words resonated with him in the least, he would have been eager to jump in and contribute to the conversation. And then you would have realized that he sees things very differently from you.

But you will both be so absorbed in your non-overlapping worlds that he will not mind your outpour, and you will not notice his absence. And you will feel listened to, and understood, and close... Good for you.

Oversupply

I don't need more time.
It would be of use if I could spend it on you,
But you are not here

words... the less the better

words... the less the better.

then why am i writing this? because i want to speak with someone but have nothing to say. and not much curiosity to listen.

because if i delete this writeup, at some later point i might have this warm nostalgic feeling about it: once upon a time i wrote something so sweet and deep, oh... had only i kept it!..

or if i don't delete it, at some later point i can have a conversation with my younger self... that is, now i am speaking with my older self, and then my older self will be listening to the younger self. a mild delay but still - gratification of communication.

win win. the only loser is you, dear reader of this blog, stuck reading this. fortunately tho, no-one reads this, so you don't really exist, do you?

About nothing

oh, you know...or you don't.

even i now forgot...

just for me - one more dot.

She was very unique

She was very unique. There were many things that were not quite unique, of course. For example, the fact that she was quiet and private and didn’t talk about herself. But those things about her that she did not tell were rather unique. I would love to describe them here for you. The problem is, she didn’t talk about them to me either, so I don’t really know. I could generalize, extrapolate from other people, and invent, but it wouldn’t be about her, would it?

Sloth in the tree

There's a sloth in the tree -
A branch has moved.  But I can't see it.
Or was it just the wind?
Does it even matter if there's a sloth in the tree if I can't see it?

Maybe there's a sloth in the tree,
Maybe he does like me...
Does it even matter if I can't see it?

Thought prints

They came and left – the thoughts. They didn’t linger. Small thought prints in the memory: a thought was here, but which one? 

I should go too, not looking for them, just go… for a walk, you know.

Wet Noise

It's a habit to walk and to look for a rhyme,
It's a song with the rain, by the rain about nothing.
White noise, wet noise, faster than any drum.
Diri diri diri rum.

Maybe the answer

Maybe the answer will come.
Maybe the question will go...

Second chance

You always get the second chance
But every time with someone else

Anyway

I didn't ask for a poem from you,
I didn't ask for a memory of sparks.
But you gave therm to me anyway.